I have two hand made suits. To get into them again I will have to shed some weight – they were made over two decades ago as a coming of age present to myself when I read somewhere that by the age of thirty a man should have a bespoke suit in his wardrobe. Back then I only knew one man who was impeccably dressed. His name was Tim. He had gone to school at the Eton of the North, had a Manor House in the rural Home Counties and a nice little place in Fulham. He was 25. His summers were spent at Ascot and his winters in St. Moritz. At his wedding, he and his bride flew into the reception by helicopter and drove away on Honeymoon in his British racing green Morgan. (The divorce wasn’t quite so photogenic.) He had a certain style. The comforts and inside knowledge of inherited wealth.
Tim had a tailor. Of course he did. I got in touch. The tailor came to my office to take measurements and consult me on what type of suits I wanted. I had already decided what I wanted. I was wrong. The tailor was the best salesman I have encountered, a real artist. It was a pleasure spending every penny of what I spent with him that afternoon. Not only did I enjoy being measured up whilst my colleagues looked on but I was treated to a masterclass in sartorial considerations as well as sales craft. Here’s how the conversation went. See if you can spot who is really in charge.
“What did you have in mind, Mr. Kean?”
“I’d like two suits – a classic, heavy cloth two piece with fish-tail trousers which taper to a narrow ankle. And a modern, blue, lightweight suit with thin lapels. Both with cream lining and inside pockets. Please.”
Cuff buttons that really do unfasten 
Side adjusters 
Fish tail trousers for braces & a more flattering fit
“Understood, sir. Right. Let’s start. First thing is to choose the cloth. ” With this, in a deft move he manoeuvred three very large swatch books onto the table in front of us. He touched the one on the left.
“We call this our Junior Executive Collection, sir. A nice wool and manmade fabric mix, modestly priced – between about £450 and £750. Popular.”
Junior Executive? Popular? Surely he couldn’t be talking about me? Popular with others, I’m sure, but not for my level of seniority? No, no. Better focus on the other two books. The book was never even opened. Just as he planned.
“Here,” he continued, placing his hand on the swatch tome at the right hand side of the table, “we have what we like to call the ‘Elton John’ collection: mohair and cashmere mix, exotic colours, very fine fabrics, sir, as you can feel.” I stretched out a hand. I could feel the money being pulled out of my pockets like iron filings to a magnet. No. Just looking at the swatches made my bank account sweat. Obviously I played along but we both knew I was pretending. He had successfully positioned me exactly where he wanted me – in the middle.
“The Board Director?”, he quizzed and opened the volume directly before me. “Worsted wool and cashmere mix – a good range of options, sir, and hard-wearing for work. How often do you wear your suits, sir?”
We continued talking about how I would be using my newly acquired made to measures as he started to size me up and took out his tape measure. Dimensions were recorded on a yellow pad with carbon copies made in triplicate, for the avoidance of mistakes and the completeness of records. These dimensions would be kept on record for any future purchases or, more likely, as a reference for when the trousers or jacket “might need letting out a tad, you know, as the figure develops, so to speak” the tailor reasoned. But I secretly enjoyed the notion that now my dimensions were recorded for posterity and that I would be able to drop into casual conversation what my tailor said. The operative part of the sentence being to send the signal that I had a tailor. I know. Silly, isn’t it? Or so they say at my Club…
“Three button or two, Mr. Kean?” I was stymied. I had never considered the option. Two seemed modern, Italian. Three the more traditional, more British. My tailor eased my discomfort. “If I may hazard an opinion, sir?”
“Oh, yes, please.”
He explained that one never does up the lower button. This leaves the only option for the two button to do up the higher button. With a three button, well, you have the option to do up the top and middle, thereby achieving a slightly more ‘buttoned-up’ look. More formal. But also, on certain body types, the three button can make you look a bit boxy, rather square. The two button usually has a slightly longer drop to the first button which elongates the body thus thinning down your frame. I opted for two buttons for both suits. I remembered a piece of advice I once read: ask yourself ‘would James Bond wear this?’ (Connery, not Moore) before you commit to purchase. Connery wore two button suits.
Would 007 wear this? 
Mad Man style 
The impeccably tailored Cary Grant 
Tools of the tailoring trade
He wasn’t finished with the decisions. I say decisions, they weren’t. They were guided conversations. Advice dressed up as polite enquiry. He was using manners and language to create an elegant direction for my taste. He was steering me and I was so happy to be steered. It was like a sartorial version of the TV satire, Yes, Minister. He was Sir Humphrey to my well intentioned but bumbling Jim Hacker.
“Single vent or double on the jackets, sir?”
“Single?” I was hardly courageous in my conviction. The tailor affected an expression of slight pain. Combined with a barely audible but unmistakably disappointed ‘hmm’. I knew I had made a catastrophic choice. “May I demonstrate, sir?” “Please”, I demurred. At my invitation he turned his back on me and explained. “You see, Mr. Kean” he began, “gentlemen being gentlemen they often like to place a hand or two in their trouser pocket when talking or relaxing in company. When a gentleman puts a hand in each pocket and he is wearing his jacket – the one with a single vent – it has the effect of spreading the jacket either side of his buttocks. It leaves a large expanse of bottom on show. Whereas, with a double vent, the jacket cloth simply falls either side and continues to cover the bottom, keeping a smooth line rather than exposing a rumpled posterior. “
Simple. I could have kissed him. I was awestruck with gratitude that he had saved me from the fate of all those off-the-peg types showing their bottoms to the assembled crowds in cocktail parties and conferences up and down the land. I would be protected from impropriety and also in the know from this moment on. It was like being inducted into the Illuminati – like being a chosen one.
“I presume you’ll be wanting two sets of trousers for each suit, sir?”
“Two?”, I enquired.
“Well, it’s just that most gentlemen who use a suit regularly can end up wearing through the seat of the trousers more rapidly than they predict. The jacket gets considerably less friction over the years and will last a lifetime. Having a second pair of trousers is advisable – it means you can alternate them and so save wear and tear. Simply a matter of practicality and economy, sir.” Economy. An interesting definition – two supplementary trousers added hundreds to the bill, but what he said made sense and also saved the bother of having to wait for a new pair if the worst happened. A beautiful up-sell.
I made my cheque out. It was the most money I had ever spent in an hour. A few weeks later I had an interim fitting and finally my suits turned up at work in their suit bags, complete with my initials stitched on to the inside right hand side wallet pocket and a set of instructions on how to look after the suits properly (don’t dry clean them too often and if you do, always dry clean both the jacket and trousers at the same time so they always go through the experience together and change over time in harmony). Everything fit perfectly. Perfectly. Every time I wore them, I remembered the Masterclass. The unhurried, consultative process that guided me to making the right decisions every step of the way. The tailor’s scissors are not just an emblem of craft in a meticulous and noble trade, they are also a constant reminder to sales people all over the world to cut away the superfluous, the trivial, the wrong until all that is left is an unimpeachably perfect solution to this particular client’s needs.
My tailor price positioned me brilliantly by showing me three options – one I couldn’t afford monetarily, another my ego wouldn’t let me stoop to and a third option that, like Goldilocks’ porridge, was just right. He guided me through the minefield that was two or three buttons and helped me swerve the ignominy of a single vent embarrassment. And as I signed the cheque, I was grateful. I didn’t begrudge a penny – why should I? When I put on my suits I felt like a million dollars. And that’s the sort of return on your invetêments (pun, sorry) you only get with a pro.