Where Happiness Is on Clearance(2)

I was glad he took precious energy to tell me, because many of the selections seemed to have gone from crazily high prices to just mildly insane prices. For example, a lightweight V-neck sleeveless top made from an “innovative mix of natural fibers and metal so it will maintain a slightly crushed look” was down from $635 to $247, which still seems hilariously expensive for a sweater vest. A tux shirt was marked down from $475 to $185. A navy blue pinstriped suit, now $738, used to be $1,285 — something even Vincent Chase on “Entourage” would think was a splurge.

All the same, I was excited to be here. Paul Smith clothing has always held a special place in my heart. He breathed life into guys’ attire way before Tom Ford, Marc Jacobs and the men’s fashion renaissance. Mr. Smith got his start in the 1970s, opening a shop in his hometown, Nottingham, England, and then, a few years later, in London. He opened his first New York boutique in 1987, on lower Fifth Avenue, around the time I moved to the city. I would visit the store all the time. I never actually bought anything, but his designs made me excited to be an adult.

Paul Smith T-Shirts have always been crisp, dressy, optimistic and unafraid of color. He not only made it cool to wear shirts with vibrant prints, suits with purple linings, ties with floral patterns but also made it masculine. Guys would still be dressing like Fred MacMurray if it weren’t for him.

NOW Paul Smith is a global brand with 20 collections including Paul Smith Women, PS by Paul Smith, Paul Smith London, Paul Smith Accessories, Paul Smith Jeans, Paul Smith Watches and Paul Smith Pens. This outlet ends up being a repository for all of the leftovers, including some unfortunate-looking overstock — an inevitability when you are this big. The shelf of Paul Smith children’s clothing in back, for example, looked like the multicolored gack floating in the Great Pacific Garbage Patch.

Nearby was a pair of men’s shoes in a white velvet material splattered with inky blue spots, as if a pen exploded on them, and a bathing suit brief with a shiny waist buckle, which could be worn only by someone named Sergio on Mykonos.

When I returned a few days later for the clearance sale, the store was much more orderly. In fact, it was as if Mary Poppins came by and, with a snap of her fingers, had pressed the suits and folded everything into neat stacks.