If you're reading this, it probably means you're past living through the shame and self-loathing that goes along with copping basic clothes off the Internet. You're probably unfamiliar with the exquisite pain of clicking "purchase" on hundreds of dollars worth of vanilla, mass-produced product. And why wouldn't you be? You're a Complex reader who understands the value of menswear. You appreciate the freedom that goes along with living in a world with a near-infinite number of clothing choices. You know better than to buy cheap denim from an online retailer who stuffs your inbox with 40 percent off coupons every other week.
 
You're probably also not 6'6".
 
Being tall isn't all it's cracked up to be, especially when it comes to finding the right alphet. For every woman who prefers a tall man, there's an event with a low ceiling that makes me stand uncomfortably for hours on end. For every basketball I can dunk, there's an old person who berates me for choosing to do something with my life besides playing basketball. For every suit that should thank me for being tall & lanky, there's a pair of dope jeans I'll never fit because of my 36" inseam.
 
Shit is a hassle.
 
Especially living in New York. As one of the billion or so New Yorkers who escaped the city from a suburban hellhole hometown, it's beyond embarrassing to have to still have the 'burbs' finest posted up in my closet. What once didn't bother me (shopping at the basic spots at the mall) is now a necessary evil, as it seems no designer or label worth their weight in denim offers pants in my size. 
 
What makes it even worse is that I now know better. As a suburban teenager with little interest in style, copping at the Deptford Mall was the pinnacle of stunting. But now, surrounded by tastemakers and trying to survive in a workplace filled with motherfuckers who professionally stunt, having an NBA-sized inseam is killing my opportunity to flourish.
 
And I need to flourish. I worked too hard not to. I didn't bust my ass for years to move to the capital of the world so I could show up to my buddy's South Jersey Christmas party wearing the same Banana Republic Traveler Jeans as everyone else. It doesn't even matter that they're more impressed with the B-list pro athletes in my DMs than the #rare kicks on my feet. Doesn't matter that they think Rick Owens is T.O.'s brother. Their ignorance doesn't come close to excusing my bland wardrobe.
 
I am an #influencer. I am a man of stature. I own many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich sativa mahogany. When I come across people from my past life, I wanna float into their split-level homes draped in fabrics those whittling IHOP monkeys have never even seen before. I wanna be their fashion gawd. I want the fits to be so good and the pieces so impeccable that my clothes actually make them feel guilty about their lack of taste. I want them to hate themselves. I want them to know that they couldn't find this shit even if their very lives were at stake, and I want it to subconsciously haunt them for the rest of their lives until they're buried in a polyester Men's Wearhouse suit. I want my clothes to make them doubt every decision they've ever made. To make them regret their entire existence, from the Bed, Bath & Beyond trips to the children they birthed to the pumpkin spice they drink to the family that brings them a general sense of purpose and happiness in life. I want to my clothes to destroy it all.
 
But I can't. Because nothing quality fits.
 
Only certain mass retailers carry my measurements, and even then I have to shop online. I remember even going to Big & Tall way back before realizing that Big & Tall is actually just Tall & Fat, as there wasn't a reasonable waistline in the entire damned store. What about the tall skinny guys, world? What about the dudes who need an extra medium? Are we supposed to just rock Kohl's jeans and tall-section Macy's button-ups for the rest of our lives?
 
I've been living at the supposed height of life for many years now and still don't have a solution. Boutiques don't carry my size. Pop-up shops might as well be designed for Inuit dwarfs. Online stores? Yeah, those are fun if you're into waiting five days to find out shit doesn't fit. I'm sure extra-tall style kings like Swaggy P and Tyson Chandler don't have these problems since they can afford to fly to Paris and force Kanye's muses to produce a season's worth of pieces...but I ain't rich and I ain't famous. I'm just an extraordinary guy who's dying to leave his basic brands behind.
 
Maurice is an Associate Editor for Complex Sports. He also accepts free clothes in his size (34 x 36, 41L). He Tweets here.