Sixteen years ago I got married, an event that was monumental for two reasons. First, I acquired a wife. Second, I acquired my first suit for the occasion.
Until then, I’d had no reason to own one. I largely avoided office work until I fell into the journalism trade, and while I’m certain the public image of reporters combines the sartorial suavity of James Bond alongside the wit of Dorothy Parker and the steadfast courage of Winston Churchill, in truth I’ve rarely been required to even wear a tie.
Marriage called for a suit purchase, but even then I went for a vintage green sharkskin number I found in the West Village. It looked sharp, if you ask me, but the hard truth remained that I’d never walked into a clothing store catering to an upwardly mobile adult clientele and purchased a suit. And the more I became ensconced in middle age, the more I felt it was time.
So, on a recent afternoon I found myself under the tape measure of Raffi Ajemian, the tailoring expert at Peerless Clothing, the largest manufacturer of high-end tailored clothing in North America. Peerless produces suits for more than a dozen labels, including Michael Kors, Calvin Klein and DKNY. They’d accepted the assignment of deflowering a suit virgin, and fitting me in made-to-measure by the venerable Chicago label Hart Schaffner Marx.
I was excited, but I also had some trepidation as I arrived at Peerless’ Midtown headquarters. I was about to be under the scrutiny of people whose life’s work is style, which was a bit like Ted Nugent being reviewed by the etiquette instructors at a charm school.
I was greeted with grace, though, and before Ajemian got to work, he, Peerless’ US president Ron Wurtzburger and Hart Schaffner Marx veep Natalie Condon gave me a rundown on what exactly a made-to-measure suit is.
For those as clueless as I was, essentially, made-to-measure splits the difference between a bespoke suit — tailored from whole cloth — and buying off the rack. With made-to-measure, you start with a stock garment, which is then customized according to both your measurements and preferences. You can select the color, the lining, the buttons, and any number of other details.
“A man can create a suit in his own image,” says Condon. “He can design what he wants to wear, and it will fit his body for what it is.”
Made-to-measure has boomed in recent years, a trend prompted in part by the recent popularity of slim-fit suits, which are less forgiving than baggier options.
“When you’re in the trade you’re always looking at what people are wearing, and you see how ill-fitting everything is,” says Ajemian. “All the shoulders are too big, or the pants are too long. Then you see a gentleman who’s so put together, and who knows fashion. In New York City there are some very well-dressed men.”
That I’m not one of them hardly needs to be pointed out, but Wurtzburger isn’t daunted. “Today we’re going to get you there,” he says, though he allows that it’ll require a forward leap. “He looks like a homeless guy,” he quips to Ajemian.
The measuring is quick and painless, though it shines a spotlight on a quirk of my anatomy — one that Wurtzburger zeroes in on. “He has no behind,” he says.
It’s true. It’s not news to me, but this does mark the first time my posterior has ever been the center of public scrutiny — at least to my knowledge. “A bit of a challenge,” Ajemian calls it, as I cringe and contemplate implants.
Hart Schaffner Marx offers three stock models to choose from: Chicago, a classic fit; New York, which hugs the body a little closer; and Los Angeles, the slimmest fit. New York is deemed the best match. For color, Wurtzburger steers me toward navy, but I opt for a shade lighter.
From there I’m called on to make a lot of quick decisions, which is mildly rattling for a hard-core Libra capable of equivocating about what socks to wear. It doesn’t help that I’m in foreign territory, and have no clue whether there’s a right answer to whether, say, I want the pockets straight or angled. “Uhhh, straight?” Ajemian nods approvingly. “That’s more classic.” Cuffs or no cuffs? (Cuffs.) Peak lapel or notched? (Notched.) Light pick stitching around the lapels? (Sure.)
How about a working button sleeve, i.e., one where the buttons can be unbuttoned? I’m agnostic there, but Wurtzburger guides me toward one, cluing me in that working buttons signal a tailored suit, something you can underline by leaving the last one undone. “It’s how a guy brags without saying a word,” he says.
Some of these things add cost, as can the choice of fabric. Hart Schaffner Marx’s madeto- measure suits start at $895; by the time I’m done I’ve tacked on a few hundred. The last choice is silk for the lining. Wurtzburger points toward a light blue, but sees me eyeing a paisley. “Want something a little crazier?” he says. “We’ll go a little wild.”
Delivery typically takes a few weeks. It’s exciting when the suit arrives, and I return to try on my first-ever custom-tailored garment. It doesn’t disappoint: The fit is terrific, and the suit looks fabulous. It’s also the most comfortable I’ve ever been in clothes suitable for a cabinet position, perhaps owing in part to the, uh, flat posterior of the pants.
I look sharp and am something of a convert. Having spent my life avoiding suits, I’m now looking for excuses to wear mine. Maybe it’s time to renew my vows? Until then, I’m soliciting invitations to weddings, bar mitzvahs and four-star restaurants. Especially if they offer padded seats.