The art of tailoring is dying wiith the same speed as the masters disappear and also a lot of customers who valued his work.
I've recently discovered that the last remaining city tailor died about a year ago. I was sad because the art of making suits will be extinguished as the masters die and disappears with them the accumulated wisdom of several generations of professionals. There is a vast difference between a suit tailor-made and one purchased in a fashion store. And one does not need to be male to know the difference. A sight even for the most distracted, the secret is in the fall as they say. The parts are molded onto the body perfectly without a flaw. I know this because I had an uncle who only wore suits made at the tailor. And when we went to town, as he liked to say, he often use the opportunity and visit this tailor master Antonio. After entering we square ourselves with a very sober environment, where everything had its place. There was no tissue remains in the floor. The fabrics with neat stripes were on a shelf, next to the squared and the flat could be distinguished by shades ranging from the lightest to darkest. It was very chic, I thought. My uncle greeted his tailor and after a short talk, they went in to action. Faced at a huge mirror, there it was rogue master Antonio slid the measure strip along the body of my uncle and everything was decided and annotated, while the devil rubbed an eye. The choice of colors was the easy part, my uncle only knew two types of cloth, the black with chalk stripes and dark gray. The man was unable to take risks. I, at a given point in my young life influenced by the "Great Gatsby" suggested once, unfortunately I might add, a more dandy suit,with a lighter colour, more fashionable, it took a horrified look of my uncle, and master Antonio complacent smile, to silence me forever. Serious self-respecting gentleman said my uncle sternly, wear classics suits appropriate to his status. Never again, get it? Never again I gave my opininon.
Taylors were for men, which hairdresser are for women, believe me. Because while Mr. Antonio did his strange dance around my uncle, they have time to discuss life, soccer and cursed national politics. Taboo subject? religion, of course. And on days when they forgot my presence? Whining about their wives and how their lives were a living ninghtmare. Ah, the hell of domestic happy life! But the most fascinating of all was that table, large, spacious, portentous, made of solid wood and that occupied almost the entire space. A shrine where he would turn a simple cloth in a winter ¾ coat. "Weapons" of his craft ready to attack the fabric without hesitation and with skill, huge scissors slid almost noiselessly through the tissue, following closely the lines indicated by white chalk. The mystery to me at the time was to understand, why some were continuous and the other intermittent. And master Anthonio did all this while swapping a chat. And then less than nothing, there he launched the first test over the back of my uncle, gently fixed by almost invisible pins. A process so deceptively simple that culminated a week after whem delivery.
I can say without hesitation that my uncle was die for in those suits. And they were in accordance with his status as a serious gentleman, as he liked to stress. I still however, think that could have varied the color palette. But as his tailor, the handmade taylors died also with my uncle. Too bad. He looked so smart in then!
http://blog-dos-alfaiates.blogspot.com/2010/02/alfaiates-arquitectos-da-elegancia-iii.html
