Speaking Bespoke

When Eric Dickerson goes to work, he wears a white polycarbonate helmet, a royal-blue jersey and white knee-length nylon/Spandex pants above white socks and low-cut spatted shoes. As a fashion statement, the look has a certain glamor, Dickerson admits, though it's really designed to enable him to do what he does best--function as a fearsome running back for the Indianapolis Colts.

But off the field, Dickerson likes his wardrobe to defy expectations and counts himself among the growing ranks of American men who are discovering the joys of custom-tailored suits. Few of these men have Dickerson's unusual physique, which makes a custom-made suit almost essential, but all can appreciate the special feel and fit.

The fit factor is crucial, not only because every man's body has its singularities but especially because American men today are in better shape than ever before; typical standard-sized suits just can't accommodate their fuller chests and trimmer waists.

True, these suits can be expensive. Good ones generally can't be had for less than $800, and superb suits in luxury fabrics can run upwards of $4000. Most are in the $1000-to-$2500 range--making them an indulgence--but with off-the-rack prices also soaring, the custom option is looking more and more reasonable.

Owning a bespoke wardrobe is part of a 20th Century revolution in menswear that began with designer styles--the Armani and Ralph Lauren looks that awakened men to the niceties of detail, the feel of quality; the subtleties of cut and color.

As men became more sophisticated, off-the-rack clothes began to lose some of their appeal. An expert tailor, after all. will provide such items as sleeve buttonholes that actually work (along with properly distanced buttons), fade-resistant silk bar tacks to reinforce pocket sides and fly opening, and a magnificently cut lining. He. or more likely one of his assistants, will do most of the stitching by hand, thereby providing subtle control in joining the parts and slack in the thread to allow the fabric to expand.

Then there are those other subtle but crucial extras, such as an assured roll to the lapels, a carefully shaped linen undercollar, expertly sculpted shoulder pads and waistline canvas and a complex interlining made of wool and horsehair that gives the suit its foundation. (Most off-the-rack models are fused--meaning that the interlining is glued to the shell, causing stiffness and blistering.) A master tailor will also build perfect pitch in the shoulders and perfect balance at all points. And if he's really thoughtful, not only will he provide a silk flower loop on the back of the lapel but he'll map out a lining that fits your specific needs--with special inner packets for glasses or contact lenses, money, jewels or whatever else you like to carry around unobtrusively.

A relationship with a tailor is necessarily intimate. He has to know what you do, where you live (so he can help choose the weight of the fabric), how you hail a cab and how you cross your legs. He also has to know the flaws of your flesh--where you have flab, where you're thin, where you cave in. So before he builds this wonder suit, he will measure you. During this intricate, sometimes lengthy process, he will notice if you're flat- or barrel-chested, if your wrists are slim or fleshy, if your neck is long or short and if it pitches forward or backward, if your waist is high or low, if your hips are flat or curved and if your calves are straight or thrust backward. And if you're Eric Dickerson, who has a broad-shouldered 6'2" running machine of a body. he'd better take separate measurements of your pecs, biceps and glutes--all of which need extra fabric. This information goes into creating your own unique paper pattern, from which the cloth is struck. Of course, there will be fittings that follow the measurement session--possibly as many as four or more. That's when subtle adjustments are made and the suit gets sculpted around the body. (It's advisable, by the way, to wear your usual shoes to the fittings and to include your wallet, keys, cards, address book and everything else you stow in your pockets.)

The tailor's other task, in addition to fitting, is to design the suit. This is where things can get complicated. During the Thirties, the heyday of tailor-made suits, customers were expected to know exactly what sort of look they wanted. Usually, they found out by studying the dress of style arbiters such as the Duke of Windsor, Cary Grant or Fred Astaire. So they were able to dictate the terms--peaked or notched lapels, a fitted, boxy or draped jacket, a rectangular or trapezoidal button stance, forward or backward trouser pleats, and so forth. They also instinctively knew whether they should go double- or single-breasted. Today, most men aren't trained to know which style or details to request. They either try their luck and ask for a copy of this year's Cerruti model or seek out a tailor who has his own well-developed style.

When Playboy decided to custom-suit Eric Dickerson, we sent him to New York, where about 100 tailors offer a wide variety of styles--everything from Ivy League to boxy neonerd--though the looks of favor are the Eighties Italian style (cut a good deal more fully than the skintight Italian power suit of the Seventies) and the businesslike but ultracomfortable English-gentleman model. To depict the contrasts, both styles were ordered.

The Italian model comes from Piero Dimitri, a consummate maestro who apprenticed at 13 years of age in Palermo and at 19 opened his own shop in Milan. Today, Dimitri's a celebrity couturier with a Carrera-marble neo-deco and contemporary studio in the Soho district of Manhattan, complete with café and upstairs Jacuzzi'd apartment for out-of-town clients. He also has a flair for fashion, preferring a fullish wide-shouldered cut that's sleek and Continentalized with a hint of casual California styling. The suit he designed for Dickerson is cut in a silky, spring-weight black-and-white bird's-eye-patterned woolen that's perfect for the Los Angeles life Dickerson leads when the Colts are off season. It's a double-breasted business model, which Dimitri says also works as "an afternoon cocktail suit that goes on to dinner and afterward." It has a six-button closure built onto a low button stance, besom (flapless) pockets and no vents. Vents, by the way, are a touchy issue. Although most men prefer them, a jacket without them should have adequate fullness--otherwise, it will be too tight to sit in. Dimitri builds in fullness with fairly wide shoulders and consequent ease in the chest and the back. To continue the generous line, he makes the pants full, with three reverse pleats on each side.

This is the style Dimitri currently favors, but it's also, he says, "the perfect look for an athlete with a ten-inch drop between his chest and (text concluded on page 148) Speaking Bespoke (continued from page 78) his waist."

Dickerson's English-influenced suit was designed by Alan Flusser, an entrepreneur/innovator who has developed a new type of tailoring shop. Flusser trained as a designer rather than as a tailor, and for a few years he had his own line of manufactured menswear. But he developed a special love for the dashing, full-bodied English blade suit (one that's well draped in front and especially full in the back, above the shoulder blades), which wasn't available in America. He studied the style and several years ago opened a Savile Row type of custom-suit salon in a midtown-Manhattan office building. Like the suits, the ambience is decidedly British and clubby, with mahogany-and-glass cabinetry, striped Regency armchairs and a cozy bar. Also on hand is Rafael Raffaelli, Flusser's head tailor, who takes the measurements. The suit is cut and sewn, under Flusser's instructions, by expert craftsmen.

The charcoal chalk-stripe model Flusser created for Dickerson is, like Dimitri's, a double-breasted style. (Double-breasteds are very hot this year.) Similar to the suits Flusser designed for Michael Douglas in Wall Street, it's fuller and more formal than Dimitri's. But it's also easy to wear. Flusser deems it highly correct business attire that's appropriate "for a guy who definitely doesn't like to wear a constricting suit." Its details include a natty ticket pocket, side vents, a comfortably high egg-shaped armhole, a lapel that's rolled to the bottom button (giving a long, slender look and removing much of the boxiness a double-breasted jacket can have), double forward trouser pleats that spread out nicely and buckle side straps for cinching the waist. A unique feature is the sleeve cuffs, à la Wall Street, which Dickerson loves.

If you want to be fitted for a Dimitri or Flusser suit, you have to make appointments. Dimitri is at 110 Greene Street, New York 10012, 212-431-1090, and Flusser is at 16 East 52nd Street, New York 10022, 212-888-7100. Flusser plans to open a second shop in Washington, D.C., this fall. But be warned: A suit from either of them, or from any other superb custom tailor, is bound to be habit forming.