IF THE SUIT FITS...
Some of us are natural clothes horses; lean, lucky people who can stroll into any store and buy a standard, off the peg suit that looks as if it had been lovingly tailored specifically with them in mind.
I, on the other hand, am a clothes hippo. Having been somewhat hastily constructed with an absurdly long back and the precious gift, from my mother’s gene pool, of short, fat hairy legs, not only do I need all the electronic wizardry the Lexus LS430 driver’s seat can muster to effect a perfect fit behind the wheel, but I’m also only rarely able to so much as shrug on an humble jacket that even vaguely fits. 99 times out of 100, within five minutes of putting it on the unfortunate cloth looks as if it had simply been shot out of a gun as I happened to be passing by.
To that end, I’ve spent the last 20 years telling anyone who’ll listen that all a gentleman really needs is a proper motor car, good shoes and a fine, automatic timepiece on his wrist. But, truth be told, I’ve had enough of turning up at formal functions looking like a tramp who’s just lobbed a less than furtive brace of bricks through the windows of both jeweller and shoe shop on the way there. High time, then, to invest in clothes that fit as if they had been made exclusively for me. Which, of course, they will be…
No Briton would think of going anywhere else in the world but Savile Row -home to the finest bespoke tailoring in the world- to have a suit made. And, once there, it’s impossible to ignore the allure of London Fashion Week’s ‘menswear designer of the year’ for 2001; Richard James. Established in 1992 by Richard James and Sean Dixon, the company has become the tailor of choice to the likes of Madonna, Tom Cruise, Christian Lacroix and Elton John, once famously even cladding Robert De Niro and Dustin Hoffman in camouflage suits for a magazine cover shoot.
A Richard James suit is distinctive for being unselfconsciously modern, yet drawing heavily on Britain’s past tailoring pedigree: “What I like is classic but special clothes that are not boring or ‘dusty’ ” Richard considers. “I love the spirit, the edge, which Savile Row suits have.” The silhouette never changes; single-breasted, three buttoned, tapered at the waist and cut long with a double vent. “It is almost a caricature of the traditional British look” adds Richard. “The nipped in waist and flared cuff are very Savile Row; more stylish, more dapper.”
His label uses fabrics from all over the world and, indeed, finds great favour with a British manufacturer just up the road in dear old Huddersfield. But that’s hardly going to give the latest iteration of the LS430 the sort of pan-European workout I’d envisaged in collecting my chosen fabric from the factory, in person. So it’s a stroke of luck, on my first visit to the crisp white walls and polished beech floors of the shop, to bump into Alberto Oioli; export manager for the renowned Northern Italian fabric manufacturer, Loro Piana.
The production of wool fabrics dates back 4,000 years in the northern Biella region, and was the very cornerstone of medieval Italy’s wealth. Within sight of the snowy peak of Monta Rosa, rather more spring rain than is seemly gangs up with torrents of meltwater from the Alps to produce huge quantities
of water with exactly the right neutral ph balance for wool fabric manufacture. The Loro Piana family have been producing fabrics here since the beginning of the 19th century. And in 1924 Pietro Loro Piana founded the Lanifico Ing. Loro Piana & Co wool mill at Borgosesia. Today, the company has 6 mills in this area, producing 4 million meters of fabric per annum; enough for 1,300,000 suits.
Now, whereas it’s a widely held belief that quantity and quality do not make excellent bedfellows, nothing, as I will discover in the case of Loro Piana, could be further from the truth…
Not many would consider a 14 hour drive from London to the gleaming string of lakes that bejewel the foothills of the Italian Alps for the collection of a scant 3.5 meters of wool fabric an entirely worthwhile journey. I’ve made this journey before in one day, and remember creaking out of the car at journey’s end as irritable as a wasp in a freshly shaken jam jar. But loaf the same long-haul distance in a Lexus and the difference is nothing short of astounding.
Lexus designers and engineers studied all manner of luxury and craftsmanship before setting to work on the LS430 cabin; five star hotels, presidential suites, luxury jet interiors, jewellery and watchmakers… Even a guitar maker to help hone the art of moulding wood. And the upshot is leather upholstered lounging that’s more comfortable and considerably better equipped than my own living room.
Not only is the air-conditioning system fitted with a pollution sensor that even helps staunch the flow of diesel fumes that are an inevitability of driving the length of France, but it also now boasts automatically swinging dashboard vents. This gentle movement of air intermittently teases the tonsure into believing it’s atop a hill some balmy summers day, and also greatly reduces the risk of nodding off on those interminable autoroutes. Even the front seats now boast climate control; built in blowers direct hot, cool or ambient air through perforated upholstery to pacify the parts other air-con systems cannot reach.
Topping off all this unalloyed, touch-screen operated luxury is a Mark Levinson audio system of astonishing quality. Strangely, I didn’t use it as much as I had predicted: When you’re aboard a car shaped in the same wind tunnel used to develop Japan’s legendary Bullet Train, that runs so quietly you can wind down the windows at 60mph and hear skylarks arguing overhead and hedgerow crickets sawing in the sunset, it seems a pity to shatter the peace of near silence.
Loro Piana’s second export manager, Dr. Vittorio Ossella, meets us in Borgosesia for a tour of the various mills that will produce my chosen fabric, and I’m immediately buried up to my arms in cashmere. The company is the world’s largest producer of this wool, combed -never sheared- from the chest and throat of goats from Inner Mongolia. It’s ridiculously soft, even still in the bale before being washed and cleaned, due to being rich in lanolin. Vittorio’s father once told him that all wool workers have extraordinarily soft hands… “Good for the ladies” he chortles. This may explain why he gave up a previous career as an agronomist trying to grow rice in Ethiopia.
But it’s Merino sheep -so woolly they look like more run of the mill sheep wearing huge, baggy jumpers-that will provide my suit fabric; a wool produced today with such fanatical expertise, care and hard fought competition between Australia and new Zealand that brothers Per Luigi and Sergio Loro Piana now annually award the World Wool Record Challenge Cup to the breeder producing the finest bale.
Most suits are made from wool of between 21 and 23 microns thickness. Loro Piana only uses Merino wools measuring below 17 microns. But this year the trophy has been won by a 90 year old Tasmanian who has dedicated his whole life to reducing the micron grade limit of his wool to produce a World Record Bale boasting wool a staggering 12.8 microns thick. From this wool Loro Piana will produce the finest thread yet manufactured, classed as “Super 210’S”. The wool grading system has evolved over centuries to a level of boggling complexity, but Vittorio explains with a simple rule of thumb: One kilogram of Super 210’S wool will produce a single thread an unbelievable 210 kilometres long; that’s the distance from Milan to Venice…
My suit will be cut from a Super 120’S fabric; the very finest wools are not appropriate for bespoke tailoring, requiring machines to replace clumsy human fingers and eliminate the risk of flaws. Which is also the main reason why Loro Piana’s manufacturing, as with the finest wool fabrics the world over, is now fully automated.
Once cleaned with that alpine meltwater and enough alcohol to make the bystander’s head spin, the wool is combed over toothed rollers into flat plates from which the basic yarn is spun. A machine called a ring then twists the yarn into ever finer thread; this twisting giving the thread its tensile strength. Warping then mixes yarns to produce any elaborate design required, before looms take over finally to weave the fabric. Dying takes place at one of three stages; as raw wool, in the yarn or in the completed fabric, each technique giving a different look and finish to the material.
But the real secret to any manufacturer’s fabrics is in the finishing which will affect the look, feel and performance of the cloth, and contribute to at least 50% of its value. And at the mere mention of the final processes, Vittorio shuts up tighter than a clam exposed by the low tide. “Each Director of Finishing puts his own personality into the process” is all he will confide. “And each director trains apprentices who, once they have started with the company, know they will be there for life…” Indeed, in gorier days, it was not unheard of for apprentices who tried to jump ship having learned the secrets of one company’s finishing processes to meet a somewhat sticky end.
Final checking of fabrics is always meticulously carried out by hand and eye; “It’s the one process you cannot automate” says Vittorio. “And women are much better at it than men” he smiles. “Not so easily distracted by football, or…”
Today, Loro Piana is experimenting with paper fabrics, and Vittorio even has a suit made from bamboo. “We tried out a fabric in the factory but decided not to run with, so I took it to a tailor and he made it up for me. The suits OK” he grins. “But its not very flexible and I have to keep away from Pandas.”
And so, surrounded by more bolts of fabric than you can shake a stick at, it’s time to choose… Mercifully, or I’d still be there today, Richard James have already narrowed the field to a selection a fabrics from Loro Piana’s Winter Tasmanian Super 120’S range. And, shunning some of the more deafening alternatives, I’ve opted for a classic, dark charcoal grey material with the wool dyed on the loom to give the grain a little definition and texture.
With 3.5 meters of the most expensive fabric I’ve ever handled safely stowed aboard the LS430, the return trip to London is greatly enlivened by the fact that the Simplon Pass over the Alps immediately to the north of the mills opens for the summer months this very day. At the flick of a switch, the same air suspension that provides such a serenely quiet and comfortable motorway ride toughens up to tackle the twisting alpine pass. And, at the touch of another button, the engine management system also adopts ‘Sport’ mode and allows me to hold each gear as we climb for long enough to be rewarded by a pleasing, muted. 281bhp V8 growl from under the bonnet. The Lexus is, frankly, far too comfortable to make me feel like throwing it about. But, nonetheless, it’s good to know the ability’s there if you really must come over all rally driver…
Back in Savile Row, Clive Darby takes me through the dozens of detail decisions inherent in a Richard James suit: Four button sleeves with two buttons that undo; the mark of a bespoke garment. Three buttons to the jacket front. Pockets at an elegant slant, with a second, higher ‘ticket pocket’ on the right hand side. Double vented at the back to ensure a clean jacket line. The number of pleats in the trouser department. No turn ups to the trouser bottoms; not a good idea for one with legs as short as mine.
Next, I chose a Bemberg lining (silk won’t last) called Richard James Sky; nothing too overt -just a tasteful flash of the morning alpine sky when the jacket falls open. And then the tailor, Brian Pusey, sets to work with the tape measure. “If I had a pound for every time I’ve heard that one…” he murmurs politely at my midriff, as I re-avow the intended weight loss lie once more…
Using these measurements, Brian cuts a first pattern of my suit in brown paper. This will stand as a record of my measurements for any future clothes I require, and is re-cut to match the actual garment with every fitting adjustment in the process. This paper pattern is then laid out on my chosen cloth and Brian will chalk round it to produce an image that rather resembles the murder scene of a dismembered body on a charcoal floor.
With the basic shapes of the garment’s construction cut from the fabric, they’re sewn together using white, basting cotton to form the first physical iteration of my suit. Bespoke tailoring is not a process to be hurried -a Richard James suit is some 3 months in the making- and it’s three weeks before I first return to Savile Row for what’s known as the baste fitting.
And this is the moment when the uninitiated customer will throw up his hands in horror: “A great deal of what goes into a suit you simply don’t see” Brian reassures me as he shrugs me into a bizarre assemblage of cloth, canvas and padding held together with outsized, white kindergarten stitching. Interlinings, chest canvas, body canvas, pads, even an area of horsehair fabric in the chest to return the cloth to its original shape if you pinch it; all are exposed to the public gaze at this first fitting. Brian and Clive fuss over every inch of fabric to assess the fit, and tailor’s chalk marks streak to and fro adding to the visual carnage.
Finally satisfied, Brian takes the unfortunate garment and, as he puts it “rips it flat”: The raw suit is dismantled and re-cut to his chalk marks before once again being assembled for a subsequent fitting. Brian has been doing this for over 30 years and, hence, reckons to be able to finish a suit with a minimum number of fittings. But be warned, when asked how many fittings I’ll need over the next few weeks, Clive simply tells me “until it is perfect.”
Naturally, catering for my clothes hippo frame, the tailor’s art is taxed to the limit before, one morning 12 weeks later, I find myself standing in front of a mirror dressed in the most comfortable, stylish and, let’s face it, flattering suit I’ll ever own. This, unlike the wearer, is thing of style and rare beauty.
Bespoke tailoring is a lengthy and expensive business but, much like affording a luxury motor car, worth every penny. And don’t take my word for it; just ask my wife.