THE SUIT Testico, 5 February 2014

The suit does not exist. It is still a dream, like the Bangkok suit I planned many years ago. Jean Genet, lice, sex in dark places, tanned skin, greasy hair, old leather sandals, a singlet and a dirty worn suit in faded orange silk. The thought was there. The design was there, and it was all about letting myself go. Destruction. Then the Paris suit. The market at Porte de Clignancourt. Perhaps I saw it there, a long time ago? The look of it has changed over the years. Now it is made in a heavy wool fabric in beige and pink tones, with a silhouette from the 1930s.

The motivation for becoming a tailor was the need to learn a craft. I wanted to make something with my hands. When I was accepted at the tailoring school, I didn’t know much about it. I remember saying the first day in class that I didn’t think it would involve so much stitching by hand. The hand stitching is an essential part of making a suit. Of course. But I didn’t know.

My interest in clothes and fashion was in a strange way separate from the tailoring for a long time. I didn’t experiment much with making other kinds of garments. I remember I thought of sewing a T-shirt as a technical obstacle – where to start? – while making a suit was something I did without hesitation.

The transferral of a woven fabric to a three-dimensional form never really became clear to me, and the teachers didn’t talk much about the body. I ended up becoming quite good at details, pockets and stitching, but the total fit of the garments was a challenge.

Sewing and daydreaming, as time passed in school. I was slow, compared to the standards of the guild. I knew it, but I tried over and over again to get it right, until I stopped sewing 20 years ago.