The Best Spies Believe Their Cover Story

When I finally shaved my dreadlocks off, in my early twenties, I used to joke with my friends that I wasn't selling out, I was "going undercover." Presumably, the idea was that I would look normal enough to somehow infiltrate the "straight" world, while still being a freak on the inside.

Today, I catch sight of myself in a storefront reflection as I'm walking down the street: dress shoes, wool herringbone pants, white oxford shirt, purple silk tie, vintage tweed winter coat that looks straight up 1962, stylish short hair parted on the right, and I think, God, look at me. Looks like my disguise is complete.