Measure of a Man (22 page)
That was Paul. We became very close. When he came to me, he was a casual guy who wore old-fashioned sweat suits. But then I dressed him up and he loved his clothes. Once he called me frustrated about the movie industry. He vented and said he was finished with the film business. “I’m tossing my suits in a bonfire, Martin. I’m done and never looking back,” he said.
“You are going to still need those suits, Paul. Trust me. I know you’re frustrated right now. But life has a way of changing. You will return to the movies. Wait and see.”
Sure enough, even after the smashing success of his charitable Newman’s Own food company, Paul continued acting and was nominated for an Academy Award for his 2002 role in
Road to Perdition
. Each time I spoke with him, he thanked me for talking
him out of setting his clothes on fire. “That would have been one hell of an expensive bonfire,” he quipped.
It’s unlikely I would ever have met or dressed Mario or Paul had Alex not made the introductions. Great friendships are like great tailoring: the stronger the stitch, the longer it lasts.
One of the great joys of my career has been helping and mentoring young designers. It’s one of my passions. Some people have warned me not to do it for fear that an unscrupulous designer might steal my trade secrets. Life is too short to horde your gifts. Knowledge shared extends and illuminates the arc of design history. So when young upstart designers like Calvin Klein, the late Perry Ellis, and Isaac Mizrahi came on the scene, I lent a supportive hand.
I knew Calvin before he was “Calvin.” I always believed he would be great. But Calvin faced that early cash crunch that stymies many a young designer. He cared about technique and tailoring. He’d bring me designs and we’d make him samples. Calvin wouldn’t just look at the outside of a sample. He’d ask questions, make me explain why and how a seam or vent had been made. In short, he was curious, creative, and teachable—three of the most important qualities for any aspiring fashion designer.
After Calvin solidified his financing, he called me up and proposed a partnership. It was right around the time I’d begun working with Donna Karan, and I told him I’d already pledged my time to Donna’s Couture line and was worried that taking on both her and his lines at the same time might stretch us too thin and threaten the quality of our work. The perfect gentleman, Calvin appreciated my
honesty and understood completely. His massive success never surprised me.
One person I wish had lived to see his own success was Perry Ellis. We worked with Perry in 1982 to help him create his Perry Ellis Signature collection. He always listened, never insisted, and was comfortable in his own skin. Perry Ellis Signature did well until the designer’s deteriorating health prevented him from participating in its promotion. A kind, intuitive man with a good heart, Perry left us too soon.
Another young designer I had fun helping in the ’80s was Isaac Mizrahi, a good Jewish boy from Brooklyn whom I naturally wanted to help. With his energy and zany sense of humor, Isaac was fun to be around. His background was more in womenswear, though, so we worked closely with him on producing his Mizrahi New York men’s collection. He’s gone on to do commercial deals with large retailers like Target.
The fashion press often asks me whether I’m optimistic about the direction today’s top young designers are steering menswear. I answer with a resounding “Yes!” The brightest design lights have begun a fearless march back to quality, sumptuous fabrics, and hand-tailored designs. It’s classic scarcity. The less frequently customers experience something superior, the more they crave it. Humans spend more hours hooked to machines each day than they do sleeping. This reality has created a ravenous demand for garments made the way only human hands can. Smart young menswear design houses know this and are blending new-school designs with old-school hand-tailored quality.
Two new brands that have cracked the code on quality are Scott Sternberg’s Band of Outsiders and Marcus Wainwright and
David Neville’s rag & bone. Scott won the 2009 CFDA Menswear Designer of the Year Award. Marcus and David took the prize in 2010.
Scott launched his Los Angeles–based Band of Outsiders in 2004. The next year he visited me in Brooklyn and met Tod, Jay, and my patternmaker, Mario. Scott understood something many emerging designers miss, the power of timeless American classics. He brought a new-school zest to classics like schoolboy blazers and slim suits with narrow lapels, natural shoulders, high armholes, and handcrafted detailing. His background in photography and cinema trained his eye to appreciate subtle beauty. Smart.
The other thing that struck me about Scott was his humble yet certain sense about where a design should go and what it should achieve. He never apologized for his lack of formal design training. Better still, he never tried to fake it—something I can sniff out as fast you can say gorge, button stance, or besom.
In one of his early emails to Jay, Scott included some basic suit sketches of a smart-looking sample we were working on with him. Here’s part of what he had to say:
i hope this finds you well. it was a pleasure to meet you, your brother, dad, mario, etc. and i’m excited to work together moving forward. . . . attached are some flat sketches with notes. . . . after this fitting, i would want the final suit made in the correct fabric (on the way from italy), and two blazers made from the vintage woolens i mentioned. . . . i’m not a technical designer, so if you see something on the flat [sketches] that seems odd, don’t think i’m
trying to convey anything more than a small detail. more about the general idea for now. slim! slim! slim!
No pretense, a sure vision, and a commitment to details that matter and quality that endures. I know designers who couldn’t write a missive that clear and confident if they had a lifetime to do it. In my book the kid was a winner. The industry and Band of Outsiders’ growing customer base agree.
In a business that demands credit for the most minor of innovations, Scott did the opposite. He insisted we include a hangtag on each suit stating it was hand tailored at the hundred-year-old factory of Martin Greenfield Clothiers—a classy move and stroke of branding genius.
The same can be said for my rag & bone boys, Marcus and David—two brilliant Brits I love working with. They got in touch in late 2006. In September of the next year, they invited us to attend their 2008 spring collection show. The rest is history.
Few things excite me more than young designers who are serious and passionate about craftsmanship. That’s Marcus and David. They love what they do, and it shows in the way they do their homework, remain true to their English design impulses, and always mind the details and do the work.
In addition to handling rag & bone’s made-to-measure clientele like Jimmy Fallon, the boys have us take care of fitting their own suits. It’s the ultimate compliment from designer to tailor. It’s also a hell of a lot of fun. A few years back, we were fitting Marcus’s and David’s tuxedos for the 2009 Costume Institute Gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, more commonly known as the Met Ball. They loved their hand-tailored tuxes so much that they
asked us to make the actress Lake Bell a matching tux to wear to the event as well.
Marcus and David’s commitment to keep jobs and production here in America speaks volumes about the brand they’re building and the men they are. Even though they’re English, they both married American girls and live here in the States. They strive to look after the home team and take corporate stewardship seriously.
When they took top honors in 2010 for CFDA Menswear Designer of the Year, we couldn’t have been happier for them. I expect major continued success from my rag & bone boys.
The tango between designers and makers is an intricate partnership combining whimsy and hard work. Through the decades I’ve been blessed to dance with many of the best. Together, we choreographed styles and trends that clothed the world’s most glamorous and powerful men.
Fashion. It’s the dance that never ends.
DRESSING PRESIDENTS AND POLITICIANS
“P
olitics is show business for ugly people,” or so the old saying goes.
Since my early days at GGG, I’ve worked hard to make sure America’s political power brokers look anything but ugly. That’s important. In politics, perceptions become reality. Especially today, when a president’s every move reverberates around the globe.
Even in the old days, though, most of the politicians I dressed understood that a leader’s appearance represents something much larger than his political views. It symbolizes America herself.
Few of my political clients have understood the power of a fine suit better than those from military backgrounds. I learned about that power myself during my brief service in the Czechoslovakian
army. Soldiers wore suits every day, and the importance of maintaining a crisp appearance was pounded into them. They knew an officer’s rank and authority by his uniform. Indeed, the relationship between men’s fashion and the military is longstanding. Civilian staples like pea coats, khakis, t-shirts—they all started with the military.
One of my first political clients was my liberator and hero, General Dwight D. Eisenhower. After the war, when he needed a civilian wardrobe, he turned to his friends the Goldmans. One day in 1949, Mr. Goldman pulled me aside. “I’ve got a special assignment for you,” he said. “I need you to oversee the production of suits for President Eisenhower.”
“Eisenhower?”
“Yes.”
“He liberated me! He’s not the president, he’s a general!”
“No, not the president of the United States. He’s now the president of Columbia University. He needs suits. They have to be perfect, and I know you’re the man for the job.”
“That man saved my life. I will make sure we make him the best suits GGG has ever made!”
I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d been given the chance to use my skills in the service of a man who had my complete respect. In my mind, General Eisenhower was a giant. But, according to the measurement card, he was 5 feet, 10 inches and 172 pounds, had a 40-inch chest, wore a size 41 jacket, and had a 36-inch waist. I supervised the making of the suits—watching the buttonhole makers, the pocket makers, the under-collar makers, everyone involved with the process—to ensure that every stitch was flawless. I’d never been so obsessed with a suit order. Nothing could be wrong. Everything, as Mr. Goldman said, must be perfect.
Mannie Goldman, who was close with Eisenhower, would have an idea of what the general thought of the suits. The next time I saw Mannie, I jumped him.
“Well, what did he think?” I asked.
