My two-hour initiation into the world of bespoke suits

Having a suit stitched has always been straightforward. You visit your tailor, take the material with you, and the tailor measures the material, then measures you, asks you a few questions about your preferences, calls you for a trial after about two weeks and, a few days later, you get the suit on a hanger and in a case. You pay, both smile and you walk out.

Not so today.

Making a suit has taken on a whole new dimension, and you can find yourself being tested in innumerable ways.

Getting a well-fitting suit is, in reality, an essential rite of passage for every man. But these days, it can get rather overwhelming, with so many options and styles to choose from.

A well-fitted suit made of good material makes a man feel ready to take on the world. An ill-fitting one, on the other hand, and you can end up looking more like Beetlejuice than Bond!

For years, I wore good readymade suits that looked and fitted perfectly well, until I met a friend in the UAE who raved about bespoke suits. Readymade suits were supposedly anathema to him, and he eventually talked me into going down the bespoke road.

And that is where my story begins.

It was a Saturday morning and this ‘bespoke person’ and I drove down to a large mall in the city where the shop was located. During the fifteen-minute journey, I was briefed about fabric, cut, fall, lining, buttons, lapels and several other things I had never previously given much thought to. By the time we arrived, I too was an authority on suits — or so I imagined.

Pushing open the opaque glass door, we walked in. A young man in a black suit ushered us into an inner sanctum where we sat on a plush, curvilinear sofa and began, for reasons I still cannot explain, talking in whispers.

Possibly it was the dim lighting, the soft cushions, the rather opulent room, the scent of jasmine and the soft music wafting through the heavy silk curtains. In the adjoining room, which was on a split level, we could hear laughter and friendly banter.

The young man followed us in and, picking up a tray from a hand-carved, French-looking table, offered us cold watermelon juice in fine-cut crystal glasses.

On the 56-inch television, the stock market was being discussed. I thought that rather strange for a tailoring shop.

A few minutes later, two things happened almost simultaneously. A very jovial, rotund, bald man passed us, smiled and walked out, while another very handsome-looking man walked towards us.

By his demeanour, I gathered that he was obviously the owner. He was well built, of medium height, had a drooping moustache and slick black hair, was dressed in white and wore suspenders. I have to say he gave me a bit of a complex right away.

He was friendly to the point of being irritating, but he was also a terrific salesperson.

For the next twenty minutes or so, we discussed suits, fabrics, styles and everything that seemed to go with them. By then, I was beginning to wonder if this was some sort of elaborate fraud. But I had already spent almost half an hour in the shop, drunk the watermelon juice and engaged him in friendly conversation, so I felt rather bad about walking away.

We looked at innumerable fabrics, each of which was draped over my shoulder while he explained at length about its quality, colour, texture, weight and how breathable it was.

Words like ruched, slubby, fluted, threadbare, uncrushable, unforgiving and fibrous were also bandied around. By then, my head was spinning.

I finally settled on a light wool in navy. He also showed me cotton, linen and luxury fibres such as cashmere, vicuña and mohair. I think that is what he said they were, but I could be wrong.

We then entered the inner room. It was carpeted, and in the centre was a sort of circular pedestal about a foot off the floor. There were two leather sofas, two focus lights and a row of about fifty suits on a rack on one side of the room.

The master tailor was then summoned.

He was an old, experienced-looking man and looked as though he knew his job. His beady eyes, however, did not do much for his personality.

Taking a suit off the rack, he asked me to go into the trial room and put it on. I was then asked to get onto the pedestal and the lights were focused on me.

The master tailor began taking measurements and marking the trial suit with blue and white chalk. He then used pins and tucked the material in all over, all the while talking to himself — with a pin between his teeth.

He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and his fingers moved deftly. He took some more measurements until there were no more areas left to measure.

After about twenty measurements, he rattled them off while the owner made notes in a leather-bound register.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I was about to get off the pedestal when the owner reached behind him, pulled out a mobile phone and took about fifteen photographs of me in the suit, from various angles.

It was then over.

Or so I thought.

The four of us went back to the outer room, where a few books were laid out on the table. I was then helped to choose the actual cut, the colour and texture of the lining, the number of buttons on the front and sleeves and several other details that I had never previously considered.

The whole operation lasted approximately two hours, and by the end of it I was pretty drained and exhausted.

A few weeks later, I finally picked up the finished suit.

It was okay, but nothing much to write home about.

And yes, you guessed it right — I have moved over to bespoke suits, but I have found another tailor!

The gentleman who introduced me to ‘bespoke suits’ and I are still good friends.

So, while I did not quite fall in love with his tailor, I did eventually fall in love with bespoke suits.

Michael Guzder is Executive Vice-President, Education at GEMS