It’s somewhat distracting. Somewhat. But it’s not Kevin’s fault that programs wear the most tight-fitting clothes imaginable. (Why they wear those outfits is another matter entirely. And it’s something Kevin doesn’t feel entirely equipped to examine.)
Anyway. The point he’s trying to make is that he can’t look at Alan Bradley in quite the same way as he did before. If programs are meant to look exactly like their Users in every way, then Kevin knows what Alan’s body looks like under all those clothes. He knows that Alan’s physique is lean and muscular, that his thighs could probably crush him, that he has an ass that simply will. Not. Quit. And he has to wonder—when does Alan find the time to work out? He never even thought of Alan as the sort of person who works out in the first place. And now he’s basically compelled to think about Alan working out in general. He’d be annoyed if he weren’t so—
Anyway. The point he’s trying to make. And it’s simple, really. He’s traced it to its crux. Like a detective. A regular Sherlock Holmes. All the way down. And the simple fact of the matter—the crux of it all—the conclusion that Holmes himself would come to—is that it’s all Tron’s fault. Tron’s too good at moving. He’s too good at standing still, too—especially when his back is turned to Kevin. Because fuck, man—those outfits do not leave anything to the imagination. Every little divot and curve and line of muscle and—
A-ny-way. He knows he’s being unfair to Tron. But that’s not the point he’s trying to make. Which is this: he needs to find a way to get those clothes in the real world. And, as a little subsection, a 1.B.: he needs to find a way to get Alan Bradley to wear them.