Everything about you screams “total schmuck,” except your luggage, which whispers “OK, not TOTAL.”

Face it, wherever you’re headed, you aren’t going to arrive in style. With your ill-fitting get-up, your shuffling gait, your scoliotic posture, and your astonishing propensity to sweat, you’re a walking counterexample to the argument that travel is “glamorous.”

That’s cool, we don’t judge you. That’s your look, or lifestyle, or whatever it is. But we kind of feel bad for your travel iron. When it was sitting on the shelf, it probably fantasized about being bought by Sylvester Stallone or someone like that, and steaming the wrinkles out of pricey dress shirts in the bathrooms of Europe’s finest hotels. Now look at it: unceremoniously lugged across the terminal in an old plastic shopping bag from Rite-Aid en route to a connecting flight for Pellston, Michigan.

Wouldn’t it be nice, just once, for that travel iron - and indeed, all your stuff - to ride first-class in a swanky three-piece luggage set from Skechers? Check it out, y’all, this bad-ass baggage has durable ABS hardsides with four wheel spinners, fully lined interiors with divided compartments, push button locking handle systems, the works.

Remember that time at what’s-his-name’s wedding? When you guys all rode in the stretch limo? With the tinted windows? And people on the sidewalk thought maybe you guys were celebrities in there, because they couldn’t look inside to see you were just a bunch of no-account putzes?

Your stuff will feel like that. People will see it riding the carousel in baggage claim and wonder “Whose stuff is in those sweet bags? I bet it’s all silk shirts with French cuffs in there.” They won't have to know your clothes look like the leftovers from the estate sale they held when Grunge died.

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