Hipster. Bearded, naturally. Age 26 or 27. Recreational pot-smoker. Single. She confirmed the claim tag was in place and hung the faux-vintage men's sport coat on the rack.
Woman, mid-60s. Man, mid-30s. Mother and son? She sniffed the wrap and the overcoat. No. Cougar and her boy-toy. Good on you, ma'am. The items went on the rack with the rest.
Wool cropped jacket. Female, early 30s. She ran two fingers over the collar, pulled a single hair from the shoulder. Genuine fur. Genuine vintage. Faux blonde.
The next pair of coats gave her pause.
The jacket belonged to a man in his early 40s. Buttery soft black leather. Zip-and-snap closure. Belt. Worn frequently but well-cared for. He values his possessions. Short, blond, ex-military. Medical man? Possibly.
The heavy wool overcoat was a joy to behold. Belstaff! What a treat! Irish wool. Beautiful weave. Red-accented button hole. A man of means who appreciates the finer things. Dark hair. Approximately six feet tall. Here under protest. Privately employed. A scarf hung from one pocket and she tucked it safely in. Cashmere.
She placed both reverently on the rack, giving the coats to either side a bit of a shove so these would have room to hang uncrushed for the duration of the evening. She sighed appreciatively. The pairing was, in a word, beautiful.