Yeezy Who? Traditional Tailoring Makes a Stand at Pitti Uomo

I’m sweating profusely under my double-breasted jacket and feeling dizzy. My sockless feet have already begun to blister as perspiration pools in the bottoms of my stiff leather loafers. I need a cool breeze. I need a bucket of ice water. I need to be splayed on my hotel floor in my underwear, air conditioning turned to blast. I’d come to Florence with a massive suitcase of clothes carefully pre-selected into multiple outfits and occasions. I’d brought five pairs of shoes, six shirts, jackets, trousers and a mechanic’s jumpsuit. I’d hoped someone might take my picture. It takes me exactly five minutes at Pitti Uomo to realize I will die of heatstroke long before this happens. I have greatly underestimated both this place and the dedication of the suiting-obsessed dandies who populate it.

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Pitti Uomo (or just “Pitti” if you want to sound like an insider) is not just a menswear trade show, it’s the place where the world’s top brands, with an emphasis on traditional tailoring, gather to show off their new collections. Pitti attracts makers of all kinds, from the biggest names in Italian suiting to Japanese indie workwear labels. Joining the fray this season is an unexpected newcomer. With an eye to attracting the fashion crowd, the German automaker Mini has assembled a group of contemporary designers around a capsule collection created for the show. For these designers, whose work leans towards drapey streetwear — or anyone else for that matter — a trip to Pitti Uomo is a keen reminder that in some circles the suit is alive and well. “People talk about the death of tailoring,” says Diego Vanasibarra, a Brazilian-British designer who’s dressed for the heat in flowing blue silk trousers and matching slippers, “but I see so many jackets!” 

Pitti Uomo, suits

Indeed, the men gathered around Pitti’s main square are dressed like they’re headed to a wedding whose theme is “1930s gangster musical.” They wear suits in every colour of the rainbow, from aubergine to daffodil, sporting ascots, waistcoats, wide-brimmed straw hats, and two-toned shoes. They strike poses against the low-lying stone walls, smoking and gazing into the distance with practiced nonchalance. Photographers descend en masse, swarming about these posturing dandies like wasps around a pool of spilled gelato. 

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It’s at least 35 degrees, but if the peacocks of Pitti are suffering under their layers you’d never know it. There is perhaps no better illustration than this as to why jackets, ties, and leather-soled shoes are giving way to sneakers, sweats, and boxy tees among fashionable men: there’s only so much discomfort we’re willing to put up with for the sake of looking good. I watch the dandies from the shade, in awe of their fortitude, humbled by their determination. Then I go inside to find some air conditioning.