By Manish Puri
I’ve been commissioning made-to-measure and bespoke garments for six years.
In any other sphere, that amount of experience might qualify me as an expert. So, it’s telling about the nature of bespoke - the slow production times, the incremental improvements to a pattern, the subtle differences in house style, and the gradual evolution in taste that comes from having a broader palette to create from - that I still very much consider myself a beginner!
Even so, in that time I’ve commissioned tailors from London, Hong Kong, New York, Naples and Stockholm to make pretty much every type of garment save for an overcoat (note to self: ooh, an overcoat).
I’ve had one almighty calamity (aborted partway), a few things I’ve outgrown (figuratively and literally) and have ended up with several pieces that fill me with joy and gratitude whenever I wear them.
So, this article (the first of two) is about some of the lessons I’ve learned from working with different tailors. Of course, this is just my experience and the Permanent Style archives are stocked with articles dealing with Simon's take on similar matters - I’ve added links to key pieces at the end.
My target reader is someone who is about to embark upon having clothes made for the first time. For the old hands, I hope it gives you the satisfaction that comes from knowing the safe route through a minefield - and I insist that you share your hard-earned wisdom in the comments.
In the final reckoning, to be in a position where you’re even considering having clothes made for you is a gift of fortune. By all means research tailors, agonise over fabrics, measure and remeasure garments, snap selfies, curate look books, and interrogate makers. But, my best advice is to enjoy the ride.
In Simon’s review of his bespoke suede boots from Roberto Ugolini he wrote something about the bespoke experience that had me knocking the nearest table in agreement:
“I am increasingly specific about what I need…and it seems to be paying off. When I was younger I didn’t, and a lot of shoes were just too small for me. Partly it was awe at the bespoke process itself - the work these makers were going to do on my behalf, the combination of skill and strength. But just as importantly, I didn’t have confidence in my own opinions.”
I’ve been guilty of this myself (and perhaps it’s that “natural English reticence” that Simon alludes to). I subordinate my own gut instinct to the tailor’s skill and experience. And on the occasions where I have voiced a concern that something is too tight (and, by the way, it’s nearly always an issue with something being too tight, because, barring your pants falling down, it’s amazing how quickly you can adapt to something being slightly more relaxed than you’re accustomed to) I’ve learnt that reassurances of things ‘giving’ through wear are futile if the current state is so uncomfortable that you can’t bring yourself to wear it - I’m looking at you dry denim!
As Simon says, “it takes time to know what you need”, and over the years I’ve gotten to know that my tailoring ‘pressure points’ (the areas where an uncomfortable fit can mark even the most beautiful garment for the eBay corner of my wardrobe) are around my elbow, across the shoulders and in the crotch.
And so, I’ll try and take a seat at the tailors to see if I can feel any pinch. Not a prim perch on the edge of a stool mind you, but a full gangster-lean back into an armchair with legs tightly crossed. I’ll take imaginary phone calls to see if the elbow feels tight. And I’ll reach into the air as if I’m gripping the hand strap of a Tube carriage to examine if the collar creeps away from my neck.
I sometimes feel a little silly and even (here comes the English in me again) rude doing this - as if I’m casting aspersions on the quality of the work done. Your tailor won’t care. They’ve seen it all before. One told me that they had a regular client who would go to the corner of the room and assess the fit by contorting their body into shapes that would make Houdini wince.
If the front of a finished jacket and its attendant embellishments (lapels, quarter, pockets, buttons) conveys a tailor’s style, then the back, a landscape of pure cloth, is where their skill is on naked display.
The large (and largely interrupted) length starts wide at the crest of the shoulders, peaks over the shoulder blades, troughs and narrows through the small of the back, before spreading its form to envelop the tuchus. This undulating journey reveals a lot about how the jacket fits and how comfortably it will wear.
And, so, it’s a minor frustration (and surprise) of mine that not all tailors have a setup that offers customers a closer look at the back - a rear view mirror, if you will. This is especially true of travelling tailors and trunk shows, although I can forgive them for being reluctant to check a full-length three-way mirror onto an aeroplane.
Fortunately, these days we all carry our black mirrors with us so, if you do find yourself trying to catch a glimpse of your own posterior like a dog chasing their own tail, I would encourage you to enlist your tailor’s help in documenting the back of your commission - photos will give you a sharper picture to nitpick over, while video will offer a sense of how it looks in motion.
And to those who say this tip is essentially just a 21st century repackaging of Cher Horowitz’s advice in the film Clueless to never rely on mirrors and always take polaroids, my retort would be that you’re a virgin who can’t drive.
In Permanent Style’s infancy, Simon would often bemoan the fact that tailors didn’t have enough examples of their work on display to help prospective customers get a clearer picture of what the house style was.
I think this is undoubtedly an area where tailoring houses have improved - both in the showroom and through the curation of a library of commissions on social media. (Indeed, at the last Mortimer House talk, Anda Rowland of Anderson & Sheppard appealed to customers to tag them when posting looks online).
However, even within the relatively narrow parameters of a house style there are still so many decisions to be made where even a modest adjustment can have a dramatic impact on the finished product.
Shoulders. Drape. Notch height. Lapel width. Belly. Buttoning point. Skirt length. Openness of the quarters. Like you, I’ve done my homework and I have a notion of what I want from each of these, and I also understand the theory of what a change to any one element might induce.
However, what this looks like in practice, and how multiple tweaks might work (or not work) in concert sometimes escapes my aphantasic mind. The problem becomes particularly acute on a second or third commission with the same maker where you’re starting to find your bespoke legs and are emboldened to subtly develop your silhouette.
In those cases, you’ll find a helping hand on the commission rail, where finished and semi-finished garments dangle like ripe berries. By trying on other people’s commissions, I’ve been able to answer questions about how closed I want my quarters, how I like the collar to feel, how much belly I want on the lapels of a DB, and how extended I want my shoulders more precisely than I ever would otherwise. It doesn’t matter a jot if the coat is ill-fitting, you’re only looking for visual cues on one or two elements.
Personally, I’d be delighted if one of my commissions helped to steer a fellow enthusiast in the right direction. Just remember to ask the tailor first!
4. Lisztomania
Once you’ve made those micro-decisions, make a list of them.
You might not realise it (because it’s probably been skilfully done) but you’ve just shared more information on your style, and made more choices about your wardrobe, than you ever have before. And even with a relatively quick turnaround (six to eight weeks minimum) you’re going to forget some of them. Or, if you’re like me, you’ll start daydreaming about the next commission and conflate the two in your mind.
Making a quick note of the fabric code, lining (cloth and type), number of sleeve buttons and any other atypical design choices can really help. Now, the tailor should make notes too, but this is a human transaction - accidental error or misinterpretation can occur, and you should prepare yourself for that possibility within reason.
Or course, if you went in for a navy worsted single-breasted suit and your tailor fishes out a lime-green corduroy double-breasted then run for the hills. Your diligent transcriptions in a notebook won’t help you in these forsaken lands.
5. Tell her no
The golden rule of retail is that the customer is always right. However, as someone that has previously purchased stretch denim, I can attest that not only is the customer frequently not right, they're often crying out for a style intervention where the errors of their ways are patiently and systematically laid out in front of them.
I do understand why some tailors are minded to tell the customer “I'm going to make whatever you want”, but, in the long term, you’ll benefit from working with a tailor that is comfortable saying no to you.
I’m a regular (and very satisfied) customer of The Anthology, for example, and still remember messaging Buzz (one of the founders of the brand, above) to enquire about making a jacket out of a cashmere glen-check cloth that had caught my eye on his Instagram stories.
In characteristically polite fashion, he steered me away from it. He understood my budget, my existing wardrobe, my style and my lifestyle, and he knew what I didn’t at the time: that this wasn’t the right piece for me at that particular stage.
That careful handling of a customer when there’s a sale at stake gets to the heart of what makes a good bespoke relationship - trust and longevity. You can’t build a long-term customer relationship without their trust and you won’t gain their trust without looking out for them in the long-term.
Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram
Six recommended PS articles to delve into this deeper:
- Going to a maker for the first time (video)
- How to talk to a tailor
- The first fitting process
- Let the tailor cut his style
- How to buy a bespoke suit (video)
- The guide to suit style (a series of articles)
