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How to look like a million quid
Surrounded by signed photographs of Paul McCartney and his daughter Stella and framed letters of thanks and admiration from prominent cognoscenti of yesteryear and today, I somewhat tentatively stare ahead into a massive Victorian mirror that runs from the floor-to-ceiling and leans against the hot pink-coloured wall. To the left is a large period desk speckled with a dozen swatch books; it fronts a set of windows accessorized with heavy tweed curtains overlooking tony Beauchamp Place. On the right, mannequins dressed in tightly cropped multi-piece suits obscure a handful of mounted newspaper clippings on the wall.
The subject of the unsolicited written praise happens to be shadowing me in the oversized gilt-edged mirror, ducking in and out of range, making precise and deliberate markings on the swaths of large and disjointed fabric that, with their loosely-fitted stitching and exposed lining, remotely resemble a suit. “This isn’t for your benefit,” says the nasally voice of the second fitting he’s making. “It’s for mine.” That voice has been a fixture in Britain’s rarefied world of bespoke tailoring for nearly half-a-century; it has outfitted the likes of everyone from Mick Jagger to Eric Clapton. It belongs to one Edward Sexton, the man who, alongside Tommy Nutter, revolutionized Savile Row and gave it the reputation it enjoys around the world today.
See our slideshow of London's Bespoke Tailors.
Sexton, who is diminutive but with a full and healthy "shock of blond" looks younger than his 64 years, is adjusting the measurements which he made a few weeks earlier. “See that, you have a sagging right shoulder,” he elucidates, before making a handful of careful new markings to compensate for that physical oddity. More detailed and contemplative calculations follow—“You have a strong calf that sticks out and that creates a crease in the angle the fabric hits your leg that we need to offset”—before he asks me to disrobe and retires to the workrooms in the back of this, his second-story Knightsbridge atelier.
Weeks before, the master tailor together with his assistant-cum-business manager, a one-time customer-turned-apprentice, sized me up—quite literally. In addition to taking my measurements and asking me what sort of look I wanted (a classic side-vented double-breasted suit) they queried me about how I’d be wearing it (to special occasions with a shirt and tie or with jeans during everyday outings), what climate I’d be living in (Northern Europe with the occasional beeline to the Med) and how much travel I’d be doing (quite a lot)—all in an effort to determine not only practicality but alsor fabric type and weight. The latter considerations—“I think a rich, lofty finish would work best, something that’s not flat, certainly not milled but lightweight”—were determined based on my facial colorations. “Edward knows his way around the fabric and has been translating the customer into the fabric for 50 years,” assured his assistant Neil Spooner.
That sort of meticulous appraisal results in what Sexton calls “a well-designed, well-engineered” handmade suit that starts at upwards of $4,000 and goes even higher. In this realm, anything can be personalized: from the color of the lining (how about red, purple, azure or green?) and the shape and number of pockets (how about a hacking ticket pocket?) to the style of the jacket (peak lapelled perhaps?), number of vents (either one, two or none) or whether the button holes are working ones, it’s all possible, all of it adding a distinctive flair. “I won’t let anything go, until it is absolutely one-hundred percent perfect,” he says.
Sexton is, of course, not alone in creating these stylistic flourishes or doing them with such diligence. London has always been home to men with styling élan and the fastidious tailors who catered to them. But in an ever more crowded field, Sexton’s workmanship (he considers himself a sartorial sculptor) and provenance stand in an echelon of their own. His storied career began at 16 with an apprenticeship followed by a meteoric rise under Fred Stanbury, of Kilgour, French and Stanbury. A series of cutting jobs followed before he teamed up with Nutter and became what one social columnist called “Savile Row's Ambassador to Studio 54.” The rest is, of course, history.
See our slideshow of London's Bespoke Tailors.
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