False pockets, like false doors, documents, and Christs, are an abomination from Satan and must be stopped. When you need a space to hold business cards, pens, singles for the ladies at Live! Nude! Girls!, or just a lonely hand when the requirements of low temperatures force you to protect your digits from the cold or prying creeps who are only interested in your body, pockets are the protectors and keepers of our collective fates.
We place value in the hidden, like Paul's secret shame or a nerd's Nirvana; the promise of a pocket is the promise of protection and preservation. Even lacking possessions, a man's pocket is his own, and is sacrosanct. One feels pockets are needed, even if one has nothing to put in them.
That is why false pockets are so hatefully and morally corrupt. Like the Obama adminstration, false pockets deceive with the promise of openness, but the veneer is painfully and obviously that: a door that opens into a brick wall, a mythical lamp with no genie, an LA street with no drainage.
What is worse is when false pockets aren't actually false at all, but are sown shut. What the hell are we supposed to do with a pocket that's been sown shut? Manufacturers insist the pockets themselves are not false at all, but are merely sown shut for sale to retain shape. I call shenanigans. What shape? It's a pocket, not a balloon animal. A pocket's shape has nothing to do with its opening being shuttered. And in the layman's defense, what other item of clothing requires the systematic destruction of tailoring to enable functionality? It's like requiring the mirror on the Hubble to be scrubbed free of black paint off the facing before using, or putting legal notices in emails.
I suppose the sown pocket prevents wily customers from placing items in the jacket pockets, such as fecal matter or used tissues, but then again, the kind of customers who shop at suit stores aren't typically the kind who also play middle school pranks on suit shop owners.
Cheap suits that feature a Gob (that is, a Poof! cover, AKA a disgraceful illusion) are responsible for thousands of hopeful Turks' diminished hopes and dreams as they dress to impress on a budget, but are met with the futile fingering of a Planned Parenthood Pocket--a foetal fold snuffed shut before it was given a chance to hold something, anything.
Beware the false pockets in your midst, and don't be entrapped by the appearance of a good slot of fabric, lest you be consumed by the Tailor of Justice, the Sew-er and Reaper of Men's Souls.