The average client is in his late 20s and early 30s and is most likely a junior banker or junior lawyer. “Our bread and butter client tends to be under 35,” said Mantegna. “The goal is to hang on to those guys as they mature.” Being an ex-lawyer himself helps him in every aspect of the business, including setting the work hours. “Some tailor who’s done nothing but be a tailor his whole life is sort of stuck in a 9 to 5 mindset,” he said. “The best way to cater to [the clients] is to see them nights and weekends, which is why we stay open late. It’s purely a reflection of an understanding of what our clients want and need.”
That sort of youthful aesthetic can be felt in his space as well as in the clothing. “This is kind of a boy’s club,” said Mantegna, referring not only to the atmosphere of his showroom, but to men’s tailoring in general. Exclusivity is part of the traditional tailoring model. Clients may be made to feel as though they need a special key to enter, or the name of a friend, or even a particular last name. But Mantegna wants to break out of this sort of elitist feeling that many tailoring establishments create, sometimes accidentally.
“So many people perceive custom tailoring as being elitist. It’s expensive! And people don’t know what goes into making a good suit—there’s so much mystery to what makes a good fabric, why one suit is a thousand dollars and another three thousand dollars,” he said. “Any time people don’t understand something there’s always a level of fear and intimidation. We try to remove that by educating our customer. Our goal is not to sell somebody a suit, our goal is to make them a customer for life—and the only way to do that is to be honest and build a trusting relationship.”
A Visit to the Shop
The entrance to the establishment is at 20 Clinton Street, on the Lower East Side, a neighborhood historically known for tailoring, but where, in recent years, hip boutiques and small chic restaurants have begun to displace Chinese dollar stores and Puerto Rican hair salons. The iron gate was discreet, the sign even more so. I pressed a button and was buzzed in.
As though entering some secret nightclub, I walked down a flight of painted cement stairs and into a small backyard area with a little patch of grass. Shaw, the head designer, came out to lead me down more stairs. He made a left, a right, a left and right and finally we arrived in the showroom and offices of Michael Andrews Bespoke, a complete den of bachelordom.
I sat down on a custom sofa, which looked like it was upholstered in grey pinstriped suit material. Shaw later confirmed this for me. My eyes drifted upward to the flat screen television, above which sat a cable box and a Nintendo Wii game console system. The TV was set to the Bravo channel. My ears picked up the sound of a familiar show as my eyes caught the extravagant mini-bar to my right stocked to the brim with soda, beer, wine and liquor. Occasionally the hum of its refrigerator would intrude on my tape recorder like a foggy storm. Plushy shag carpeting dotted the floor around the main seating areas—the waiting area, and the two marble-topped tables where a couple of fabric books were spread open.
