Savile Row Tailor

Eventually, one has to grow up and buy a proper suit. And thats when its time to go to Savile Row in London Eventually, one has to grow up and buy a proper suit. And thats when its time to go to Savile Row in London, where you can get a slim, silhouetted, nipped waist suit that has taken up to 80 man-hours to create and costs no more than the price of an off-the-rack number at Paul Smith.
Established in 1882 and catering to the likes of Fred Astaire, Cary Grant, Jude Law, and a litany of doddering Dukes over the years, Kilgours has been going out of its way as of late to attract a younger clientele. As the rest of Savile Row lurches between the new and improbably trendy (Richard James, Duffer of St. George, Ozwald Boatang) and the marvelously old world stuffy (Anderson and Sheppard, Chester Barrie and Henry Poole to name too few), Kilgours has seamlessly managed to retain its dignity while being innovative. In 1997 the firm hired young designer Carlo Brandelli and in the intervening years it introduced a ready-to-wear collection (including a Teflon coated suit), smart casual clothes (including a futuristic ventile rain coat, and lightweight leather jackets) and a line of made to order suits for women.
But the suit continues to be the main event. The bespoke suit starts at $3,300 and climbs from there, taking over 80 hours of labor, three or more fittings, and 12 weeks to make. Or there is the Shanghai Suit or Special Make, a fully handmade suit constructed in tailoring workshops in Shanghai that costs $1300 and takes six weeks to make.
I’ve have had the distinct pleasure of having a several suits made at
Kilgours. One begins with a massive book of swatches and after your first decision the measuring begins with a laborious checking and rechecking of every inch of your person, which can be more revealing than a chiropractic session. Every detail is discussed -- zipper fly, double vent, pleats, single breasted, ticket pocket and so forth. The suit is then cut in Savile Row, sent to Shanghai for construction, fitted and finished at Savile Row or either shipped directly to New York. Given the thoroughness of the measuring and the quality of the construction, the final fitting is more of a formality and an opportunity for the tailor to admire his handiwork while you try not to gloat.
The Special Make takes half the time and half the cost of a bespoke suit, but uses the same quality of material, attention to measurements, the properly sewn floating canvas lining (designer suits glue it in) and, of course, that enviable fit.
My first Kilgour suit, a Prince of Wales check, was made for me five years ago and I’ve gone back many times since then. My brother walked down the aisle in a Kilgour morning suit, my stepfather celebrated his 75th birthday in a midnight blue Shanghai. I’ve managed to keep my personal habit down to about one a year. After the initial measuring, the tailor holds your details into perpetuity, making a new suit as easy to acquire as ordering from a catalog. I’ve picked up two charcoal gray suits, a midnight blue, and an Our Man in Havana white, among others, in this fashion.
At the time of that first suit, though, I remember looking in the mirror at the final fitting and wondering aloud about a certain detail to Hugh Holland. He gave the matter some thought, before telling me rather sternly, One does not preen in our suits.