http://online.wsj.com/news/articles/SB10001424052702304250204579431363835976416

Article by Jamie Pallot.

What am I doing here?

That was the question I asked myself as I labored, for the umpteenth time, up the stairs to a tailor's workshop off the Via Toledo in Naples. It was 9 a.m. on a sweltering morning in late June, and I was feeling hot, bothered and mildly resentful.
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Illustration by Mark Bird forThe Wall Street Journal

My clothes were stuck to my skin, my nerves reeling after a high-decibel standoff with a taxi driver and my brain stubbornly cycling through all the other ways I could have been spending the morning: relaxing on the balcony of my Gio Ponti-designed room at the Royal Continental Hotel, taking in the world-class art collection at the almost-deserted Capodimonte Museum or enjoying a high-speed ferry ride to one of the nearby islands with the prospect of lunch under a canopy of lemon trees. But no. My two friends and I were here to get suits made, dammit, and that's what we were going to do.

The initial plan, sparked by an invitation to a wedding in France later that summer, had sounded like a breeze. We would spend 10 days in Naples, bookended by the two major fittings required to get the tailoring process started. Then we'd go our separate ways, and return a few weeks later to pick up the completed suits and do final adjustments. Then, we'd fly to Paris and show up on the big day in our custom finery. (Yes, I know: If I were reading this, I'd want to slap me, too. But I was having a bit of a midlife moment and, you know, YOLO.)

The reality turned out to be less of a jet-set romp and more of a Neapolitan traffic jam. Fine tailoring is more art than science; nothing in Naples happens when it's supposed to; some suits take four or even five fittings; and choosing fabrics—and cuff lengths, and buttons, and pocket placements, and linings—can be a time-consuming process. So, here we were, again, fanning ourselves in the waiting room as we recalibrated our travel plans for the third time and prepared to climb into the latest iterations of our suits-in-progress.

Don't get me wrong. Our tailor, Gennaro Solito, was a delight: gracious, charming and clearly a master of his art. The spry, silver-haired 68-year-old was celebrated in stacks of magazines scattered about the waiting room. But, really, could this be worth it? What exactly was I getting here to warrant the extra time, expense and hassle?
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CUSTOM'S LAST STAND | The writer in his bespoke suit from Neapolitan tailor Gennaro Solito. F. Martin Ramin/The Wall Street Journal

The answer to that depends on whom you ask. A bespoke suit is "the pinnacle of the men's sartorial process," said Jason Basmajian, 44-year-old creative director of 243-year-old Savile Row mainstay Gieves & Hawkes. "It's drawn, cut and sewn by hand, from scratch, just for you." Some Gieves clients view their suits as heirlooms to be handed down from one generation to the next.

Mr. Basmajian may be biased, but he's certainly not alone; the last few years have seen a surge of interest in the benefits and byways of custom menswear. I'd been resisting the hype. I'm a pretty standard size, so off-the-rack fits me perfectly well. I'm also lazy; I'd rather see what my favorite designers come up with than do it myself. And I'm a commitment-phobe: I hate the idea of plunking down my cash without being able to see exactly how the final product will turn out.

A quick survey among sharp-dressed professionals as to whether bespoke was worth the bother produced a wide range of responses. Chris McConnell, a dapper New York-based management consultant who advises large nonprofit organizations, went custom a few years ago and was primarily impressed with the superior fit: "Every time I went out, at least one person I met would say 'Wow, that fits you really well.' "

David Kamp, magazine writer and author of "The United States of Arugula," also waxed eloquent about fit. A handmade suit, he said, "is the most comfortable thing you could wear. You receive compliments, not because the clothes call attention to themselves, but because the perfect fit makes you feel confident and relaxed. It's the opposite of ostentatious."

Some saw it as more of a philosophical issue. "Bespoke represents the two things which have been lost in celebrity culture: individuality and quality," said Michael Lustig, founder of media startup TheLip.tv. As a former manager of musicians including Bryan Ferry, he is well-versed in the finer points of male plumage; his wardrobe includes custom pieces by storied showbiz costumers like Robert Warner. "I don't want to buy a suit because a movie star wears the same brand," added Mr. Lustig. "I want something beautiful and unique, which is going to last longer than I do."

    “ 'I'm a standard size so off-the-rack fits me perfectly. I'm also lazy; I'd rather see what designers come up with than do it myself.' ”

"It's about being yourself in a world where everything is mass-produced," said Sean Kavanagh-Dowsett, a former model who co-owns downtown New York restaurant Tea & Sympathy. His tastes run to the whimsical end of the spectrum (think the colorful haberdashery of British tailors like Richard James and Duncan Quinn); he also appreciates details rarely found in ready-to-wear, like working cuffs. Mr. Kavanagh-Dowsett did, however, acknowledge one of my frustrations. "The process can be daunting if you don't have a clear vision of what you want," he admitted. "The options can be overwhelming."

Mr. Basmajian pointed out that part of the service a master tailor provides is expert guidance through those options. "It's a bit like going to the shrink," he said. "You tell us what you're thinking and we help you work it through."

Not everyone is sold on the results that even the highest level of sartorial service can provide. When Scott Moyers was named head of the New York office of the Wylie literary agency several years ago, he embraced the power-dressing culture there by investing in bespoke suits from Savile Row tailor Kilgour. "It's a very seductive process," said Mr. Moyers. But he never felt at home in his clothes. "I felt like I was flexing a little more suit 'tude than I wanted to; especially in those very structured British cuts. It's a bit like body armor." When he later reverted to the less flashy side of the industry, as publisher of the Penguin Press, he was happy to go back to ready-to-wear suits that made less of a statement.

My own suit got its first New York outing at a party last fall. There I ran into a former colleague who, in the 10 years since we worked together, has bloomed into a full-fledged media mogul. Holding court in a corner of the room, he introduced me to a couple of boldface names, joking that he "used to work for this guy!" It was a classic New York media moment, a joshing reminder of the game of Chutes and Ladders for which we all sign up upon arrival. Then he paused, eyed what I was wearing, and said "Nice suit. Where'd you get that?" "From my tailor in Naples," I replied. And then, leaning in to whisper the delicious, secret password: "Solito." Nods of approval all around.

Never mind the fit, the details or the heirloom status. Sometimes, it's all about the bragging rights.

Last edited by carpu65 (2014-03-24 09:55:55)