We try to teach our editorial interns at Esquire in hopes of preparing them for promising and intrepid careers in journalism. We show them how to report, how to research. How not to look senior editors in the eye. (That last one's a joke—maybe.) But we don't often teach them how to dress. They're usually pretty good at that themselves.

But when Ross Benes, a bright young reporter from Nebraska wrapped up his last month at the magazine in May, we couldn't in good faith send him out into the world of job interviews and first-gigs without some sartorial improvement. If Esquire was going to be on his resume, he ought to look like it. While he may have some working knowledge and interest in the Insane Clown Posse and the Church of Scientology, style was a self-admitted zero consideration for him.

With the expertise of Esquire's fashion market editor, Nic Screws, and grooming expert Rodney Cutler, Ross became our guinea pig in an Esquire approved makeover (Complete with a hashtag courtesy of Nic, #therossproject) for the recent grad or fresh intern entering the working world. Young men, take note.

PART I: THE HAIRCUT

I'm a guy whose wardrobe primarily consists of hand-me-down button downs, baggy jeans, and free t-shirts. I haven't had a hair cut for four months. I merely want to avoid looking like absolute shit.

Sitting in the chair before he got started, Rodney Cutler (of Cutler Salons) broke it down for me. "It couldn't be any worse," he told me. "If someone asked me to construct this look, I don't think I could. 'I'm a Nebraska farm boy. My friends cut my hair in their garage.' It is only through those means that something like this could happen."

Which is exactly how it did.

"You look like the guy from No Country for Old Men, mixed with Moe from the Three Stooges, and Jim Carrey in Dumb & Dumber," he tells me.

While I pondered Llyod Christmas' chances of getting laid or Moe Howard getting hired, Cutler went to work. He used scissors the entire time. I'd only ever had clippers taken to my scalp. The scissor cut created texture in my hair that allowed for more styling options later.

According to Rodney, I had to quit leaving the extra length on the top corners to compensate for a receding hairline. Rather, if everything's kept short, there's no need to overcompensate. And it's easier to style each morning.

I couldn't afford to go to a salon like Cutler regularly with a starter salary at a job I'm hoping to land, but he told me how I should talk to barbers down the line. I should ask to keep the hair off my forehead, which was making my eyes look close together and emphasizing my heavy eyebrows rather than my eyes. And I need to ask to square up and shorten the sides, keeping the weight out of there. Up top, I should ask to leave the weight there, and have the barber texturize the hair with scissors.

After the cut, I head to work, my hair no longer resembling a seven-year-old. Editors give thumbs up, women in the office say I look handsome. I think I heard light clapping.

Then, as I sit at my desk, Esquire editor in chief, David Granger pops in and says, "That's a fantastic transformation, I've got to say."

After a comment from Granger, I felt obligated to keep the hair up. I grab half-a-dozen styling products from the office. And try them out over the couple of weeks, till I find the one that suits me.

It usually takes me under five minutes to style hair each morning and has become an easy extension to teeth brushing. I can get used to this.

PART II: THE SHAVE

I now shave on a regular basis.

I used to use a beard trimmer to curb my slow-growing stubble every two weeks, and hardly ever used a manual razor. And I pretty much let my neck grow wild.

To correct these bad habits, I met Nic Screws down in the SoHo neighborhood early one work day to improve, or, really just start, my grooming routine thanks to the shaving minded folks at Harry's.

I'm given a skin treatment, laid back in a chair, and lathered up.

And after making just a few strokes the barber asks, "You don't like to shave do you?"

"No."

"I can tell," he says.

He puts some hot towels on my face and reapplys the lather. But the hair still catches in the blade of the razor. Apparently, it's because my face and the hair on it isn't used to being shaved. Combine that with steel wool-like facial hair and never using product to soften it, and you get what the barber calls. "The hardest facial hair I've ever seen."

He tells me if you shave with any regularity, it actually makes shaving easier and less irritating. Since I visited Harry's I've started to shave regularly. But what sticks out most, is that actually having a pre-shave routine helps tremendously. I'm adding minutes to my morning regimen, but it's worth it.

Here's how it goes: I start with a hot shower. Then I cleanse and lather my face. Special oils are made for this, but I just use soap or face wash. I then dampen a towel with hot water and let it sit on my face.

This little routine greatly reduces drag. I can actually shave without wincing and bleeding everywhere now, which is nice.

It also helps that I quit using cheap disposable razors and upgraded to professional-quality blades, which aren't even terribly more expensive than what I was using. The extra money seriously pays off in less irritation and fewer cuts.

I have to admit: shaving is still tiresome. I envy baby-faced men who don't have to deal with it. But my eastern European background doesn't privilege me in that way. So, I've started shaving every other day. Takes a bit more time than hair styling. But it pays off more. No longer does my chin and neck constantly itch. Also, ridding myself of my neck hair makes me look more professional and less like Juggalo. Which I imagine is good by most employers. And people in general.

PART III: SHOPPING

With new hair and a trimmed face, I needed to quit wearing baggy hand-me-down shirts and eight-year-old Sam's Club pants to pull off my new professional look. My clothes didn't match my new haircut and freshly saved face.

So, I headed to Bonobos with fashion editor Nic Screws. They're an online retailer who, I'm told, ignited the better-fitting-pants revolution. A revolution I've somehow missed.

In the store, Nic says I'm going to repel customers with my baggy clothes. I don't know my sizes. I can't tie a tie. The cute publicist in the store seems unimpressed.

But things improve as I try new, better-fitting looks on. I pose for pictures like some dashing actor. The publicist giggles.

I'm fitted with a blazer. Fitted, I learn, is the key word. Nic says to always make sure the shoulders fit. Because that's the most expensive part to alter. It's here that I finally learn to only button a jacket's top button. And that a shirt's fit makes a huge difference. And that you must rip closed seams on a new jacket and let the vents float.

I try on the famous slim chinos, worried at first that they will trap my nuts into my body cavity. To my surprise, I'm comfortable. "The slimmer the pants, the shorter the inseam," the guide in the store tells me. This is basic common sense, but blows my damn mind for some reason. These higher-end clothes beat the fit from Sam's Club. However, for the first few wears they hurt the waist around 3:00pm. I just need to break them in.

I also grabbed a dark pair of jeans. They work both casually and professionally, compared to the stonewashed guys I'd been wearing in the office. I want the most bang for my buck, something that works in the most combinations so I can buy as little as possible. I don't want to think about what matches and what doesn't. Nic says dark jeans match with anything. Put a blazer on—business casual. Put a T-shirt on—can fit in with these people I've met in Brooklyn. There's versatility. And that's what I need.

The jeans were a little rigid at first. Normally I wouldn't care. But the guide makes me try slightly shorter pants. Which stop at the top of my shoe. That little highlight looks more tailored and crisp. She tells me to avoid ankle bunches. I'm sure she noticed the jeans I wore earlier didn't just have bunches, but shackles.

And since this is a head-to-toe makover, Nic also told me my footwear needed an update. She started me off with two tried-and-true essentials (both from Johnston & Murphy—thanks!), the blucher and the wingtip, playing up the fact that the former could be worn with anything from a full suit to a more casual blazer-and-jeans combo. The latter, she said, is more traditional and the darker it is the dressier it is.

When I wear my old clothes, they're baggier than ever before. I've started to notice the fit of other men's shirts and make mental notes when something is too long or loose—I'm trying not to judge, though, seeing as I'm no Lapo Elkann quite yet. Still, we're making progress.

Back at the office, I have another run in with editor in chief, David Granger. We're both in the bathroom when he says to me, "Is that a new jacket?"

Perplexed and jacketless-at-the-moment, I say, "Huh?"

"That jacket you had on earlier. Was it new?"

"Yeah. I got it with Nic."

"It looks great."

I take a few extra seconds to zip up and bask in the moment. Did an authority on men's fashion and the Ad Age editor of the year really just tell me I looked great in the men's room?

PART IV: THE SUIT

To complete my new look, I need an interview suit. Something I can use to win over potential employers, aside from my resume.

Nic says I can find a suit and outfits that line up with my age and cash flow at the Express flagship store in Times Square. It's affordable but versatile.

I get set up with a grey suit. Like my navy Bonobos blazer, it is non-seasonal, which is important for someone like me who doesn't pay attention to clothing by season anyway. I can wear this thing all damn year, because the color isn't too stark and fabric not too heavy. I grab a 36R jacket. Feels OK to me. It's less baggy than my brother's suit that I wore for my last interview. But Nic isn't having it. Apparently looking like a zoot suited mobster won't boost my appeal.

While my body is long, my arms are short making the suit's arm-length too long. The dress shirt under the jacket isn't sticking out enough, apparently. So the Express rep grabs a 36 with shortened sleeves. My shirt sticks out the jacket about an inch. It subtly brings out the colorful relationship between the shirt and suit. A nice touch I would have otherwise glossed over, but completely appreciate now. Instead of going crazy with colors, I get a grey shirt and a blue shirt. And two darker ties that go with each. Already, I have a combination of four different looks with this one suit. And all four combinations look professional and are appropriate year-round without appearing too trendy.

With the shirts and jacket, I come to realize fit is everything—something Nic says over and over as if it's a mantra (it kind of is). It's probably the greatest lesson I'll get in this whole experience. The cheapest stuff at Express looks better on my body if it's fitted than would a luxury suit that's baggy.

Why look like a little boy swimming in his dad's suit when you can fill out a slimmer option?

I'll probably take the jacket to the tailor to bring it in the back, which will put the $300 jacket's look on par with much pricey options. As Nic and I discuss what shoes go with the look, the representative at Express asks, "You have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Well you will soon if you look like that."

Maybe. Or maybe not. But one thing's more certain. I'm getting a fking job.

Editor's Note: And he did.

Within days of wrapping his internship at Esquire, armed with a starter's wardrobe that was lightyears beyond what we met him in, Ross landed a gig at Deadspin.com. We're proud of him.

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