on coming to love a suit

“I have every useless thing in the world in my house there. The only thing wanting is the necessary thing, a great patch of open sky like this.”  – Marcel Proust, ‘In Search of Lost Time’

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I’ve always been a little suspicious of this suit – the slight unstructured jacket, the insouciant way it spreads out like a cape when you walk with it unbuttoned, the sheer blueness of it. The first few wears did nothing to quell my fears – I tried it, wrongly, with bolder bengal stripe shirts underneath – red and a sky blue but they just made it look like it was brought as a loud novelty suit.

It wasn’t until I learned to wear it properly that I discovered it’s charms and joys.  Being of the Italian style (it’s a Dom Bagnato who is one of Australia’s very finest designers), one needs to wear it like you live in it. If one lives in it, then it comes to live in you.  Some suits, amongst them ostensibly very fine suits, feel like rented rooms – others feel like railway stations and cheap ones feel like a Post Office in a country town on a rainy August day.  This suit feels like Proust’s Madeleines.

 

 

 

 

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