Italian tailors can't make a two button jacket? Without it looking wrong? What a stupid thing to say.

Napoli Tailoring:

This is the trailer of the documentary on Neapolitan tailoring tradition . It's been published on the Huffington Post art, Esquire mag on line, Selectism.com, Men's Reverie and some 60 other blogs around the world.It's 1 hour and 7 min long.

So what, Mr physician? have you ever seen a negative review on this kind of guide?
Seriously, I'd be interested to discover if he offers the same quality level of my shirmaker, at a fraction of the price.. It would justify the trips to Rome and maybe the ridiculous initial minimum order. But neither your enthusiasm nor some (likely payed) reviews are yet sufficient to prove it I'm afraid.
Cheers, laters.
You know what they say, if you have to think about price, you can't afford it.

No worries, Walmart sells a perfectly functional shirt to suit your needs.


There was a butter-curl moon hanging over the Castel dell'Ovo, where the Lungomare juts into the inky Bay of Naples. From where I sat, the scene looked like a postcard pun staged for my amusement: butter moon, castle inexplicably named for an egg. Tires hissing on the pavement below the rooftop terrace of my hotel were the only disturbance on a still, cool evening. How could this be Naples?I asked myself. Where were the police sirens?Where was the chaos and the din?

I had just arrived from Paris, where my hotel room happened to be located above the service door where Princess Diana and Dodi Al-Fayed made their fateful final exit. Automobile racket on normally sleepy Rue Cambon was so loud that I was forced to shut the windows tight. I had felt jailed in my peach-colored room, with its peach walls, peach upholstery, and mirrored vanity table—a penitentiary as imagined by Barbara Cartland.

Here I had the sudden sense that the two cities had miraculously exchanged personalities, somber Paris traded for Naples's hubbub, Naples's sidewalk carnival rolled up to present an aspect that is unexpectedly prim and sedate. Is there really a contradiction in this, I wonder?Or is it that the best way to meet this gorgeous and filthy and ancient city is to find that place in consciousness Fitzgerald once wrote about, where opposed thoughts can be entertained simultaneously in one's head?