He suspects his explanation goes a bit over Jack's head, which is fine since Eliot doesn't have the most solid understanding of it himself. So they move on, and Eliot has to readjust his impressions again. It's not just that Jack doesn't want people thinking he's brand new to the century, the implication here is that he cares about having a cohesive look. Eliot supposes he shouldn't be surprised, given what little he knows of the historical Jack Rackham, but still.

He steers them towards an array of dress shirts, letting out a legitimate snort at Jack's playacting. Who gave him the right to be so charming? "I'm sure you'd get plenty of takers," he grins, "but you might as well keep it, unless you're that pressed for cash. It'll probably get warm enough for it in the summer, and it does make a good statement piece. Who knows if there's any place to get good quality linen around here." Eliot's certainly hanging on to his own poofy shirt for that reason, though who's to say how long any of them will be stuck in this dimension.

"So anyway, a lot of them are packaged up like this," he gestures to the shelves of folded and wrapped oxfords, rolling his eyes, "because it's assumed you're not going to put any thought into your shirt beyond if it fits. So you should probably try on some more casual styles to get an idea of sizing before you jump into that mire." Thankfully there are plenty of button-downs hanging on racks, though Eliot frowns a little at all the flannel. Surely not.