Suit up!

This is a post about suiting, but first I want to talk about Mongolian barbeque.

Have you ever been to an American-style Mongolian barbeque restaurant? If you haven’t, the premise is that you go through a buffet line, heaping raw ingredients into a bowl, and then you watch your food being grilled in front of you. Full customization, everything you like, nothing you don’t. It’s a winning idea … unless you’re like me.

I am a toddler at these places. I consider each food choice individually, with no consideration for how it will pair with my previous selections or what overall blend I’m creating. At home, I understand how to cook and exercise restraint. At Mongolian barbeque, I mix flavor profiles with abandon. I have created bowls with six ladles of soy sauce, thinking more sauce equals more flavor, when in fact most of that sauce burns off and more sauce just equals, um, s a l t. I have to follow a recipe card. I cannot go off script or I am liable to set things on fire.

Now think about me trying to buy my first—custom—suit.

My closet has seen plenty of combos from The Limited and New York & Company, but I’ve only worn a full men’s suit once: a rental tux for a friend’s wedding. Tailoring for rentals is understandably minimal, so I was swimming in boxiness. But the layers! I was outdoors in October in Ohio, not freezing to death! And the pockets! You know how rental car keys are like four giant fobs all bundled onto a sheathed keyring the thickness of brake lines? I shoved the car keys into my pocket and you couldn’t tell! I still had room for my phone! Life-changing. I knew at that moment I eventually wanted a suit of my very own, tailored just for me.

Only one problem. I spent so long studying women’s styles, trying (and failing) to make the squad, as it were, that I missed much of how to dress for a different team. If I hadn’t spent ten years married to a cis man, I would probably know nothing at all. As it is, I can tie a tie in exactly one style, and I know what a full break is and never to button the bottom button. End of list.

So I had no idea how many decisions go into buying a custom suit. I already knew the fabric I wanted. They would get my measurements at the store. How hard could it be?

Full spread. Half spread. French cuffs. Flaps or no flaps. Double breasted, U or V, pen pocket or no pen pocket, taper, loops or tabs. Plackets.

What the everloving fuck.

---

I do want to mention here that a custom suit is not a bespoke suit. This Wikipedia article on made-to-measure fashion explains the differences nicely. I will probably never be able to afford a bespoke suit. Which is handy, because I would fold like a foil roasting pan under that sort of pressure. But a custom suit, while still expensive, is much more affordable than I would have believed for what you get. I spent a not-inconsequential amount of money that still felt reasonable, considering.

Also, I acknowledge that these are nice problems to have, and having been Very Broke in my past, I marvel that I can afford anything close to this right now. Not taking this for granted at all.

---

A few observations:

1. Ask around for recommendations. As an AFAB person who is invariably seen as a woman by cis folks, I wanted to avoid going somewhere I would be pressured into feminine styles or treated oddly for wanting more masculine tailoring. Fortunately for me, a nonbinary friend had recently gotten suited for some high-profile events and pointed me in the right direction.
   
   The salesperson treated me with such kindness and respect. She never mentioned my gender once; I don’t think she even assumed my pronouns. She didn’t make me feel terrible either for wanting a suit or for knowing so little. In fact, she patiently walked me through each of my choices, showing me examples, allowing me to feel the difference between a half-canvassed jacket and an unstructured one, giving me as much information as I needed.
   


2. Binding made a difference for me. Probably not a huge difference, as my chest is fairly small to begin with, but it’s a shape thing. If you think you might bind when you wear the suit, bind when you get fitted.
   


3. USE THE BUDDY SYSTEM. It’s the same concept as putting a donkey in a stall with a racehorse, except your friends are obviously much more attractive and polished than donkeys, and I would never make such a comparison.
   
   While I was quietly freeeeeeeeaking ouuuuut the whole time from excitement, terror, and the surety I was building a Frankensuit, my friend A was a reassuring presence. They nodded at most of my choices. They held my things while I tried on pants. They intervened gently when I was considering a stripe with a houndstooth.
   
   You. Need. A. Buddy.
   


4. Wear a dress shirt when you shop. I made the mistake of wearing a shirt with short sleeves, which made the jacket harder to measure. Better to get that fit up front. Knowing what I know now, I would have worn long sleeves.
   


5. It will take longer than you think. My session was about an hour and a half, which included learning about the various customizations, selecting accessories, and getting fitted. Now, however, my measurements are in their system and I can order suits online if I like. I did know which fabric I wanted going in, so if you’re picking out fabric, give yourself even more time.
   


6. No amount of tailoring will erase my hips or make me 5’8″.
   
   It’s funny. But it’s also discouraging. I was surprised at how keenly I felt the distance between the way I see my body in my head and the way it actually looks. I said before I don’t get a ton of dysphoria, and that’s still true, but … man, it’s gutting to get so close to what I want and not quite reach it because I have curves.
   
   I got emotional on the drive home. I tried to acknowledge and honor my disappointment without giving it too much power. Fashion disappoints all the time, in so many ways, and it would have been understandable if I had been frustrated at my experience (which I wasn’t) or the industry. But to realize you’re disappointed in your actual body? Complex. Complex and heartbreaking.
   


7. If you can, arrange things so you accidentally stumble upon a wine tasting a block from the shop while you’re parking and spend the twenty minutes before your appointment trying to pronounce pouilly-fuissé.

Oh, the suit? It’s this one.