Opening the Sky: The Perfect Fit and Tailor Made For You...

The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old measurements and expect me to fit them. --George Bernard Shaw

My favorite tailor, from Karola, India, standing up, in Doha, Qatar. He owns a little shop with his brother called "The Union Ladies Tailor Shop."

First of all, I am not much of a seamstress (or as some are using the term "sewist"). I sewed when I was younger but usually wanted to create something more elaborate than my skill level. Perhaps I did not have the patience to always be plucking out stitches... My grandmother and mom would sometimes come to the rescue, and lovingly help put together the fabric pieces that sometimes were a complicated puzzle for me.

I have learned that sewers and tailors are always observing, measuring. They inherently realize the possibility that something could have changed from the last time they calculated the measurements. Some lessons from people behind the sewing machine: They do not automatically surmise we are what we were when they saw us the last time. They adapt, reshape, modify, adjust, convert, and customize with the easy snip of their scissors and a run of stitches. Yet, they also have an understanding of the paramount responsibility to discuss new changes to be taken with the receiver. They do not only create beautiful apparel, but they repair, patch, and mend. They try to bring back to life our old treasures we do not want to discard. A tailor always has both precision and possibilities in his/her hands.

In my mind, they are design wizards of creating beauty out of boundlessness (all the fabric we give them) but also have the ability to remake the old. When you think about it, they are much more than the silent sewer behind a sewing machine. Stitch by stitch, they create the big vision. They are the mastermind of always seeing the scope of possibilities in the unshaped, the unformed, the misfit, and the unrepaired.

Living in the Middle East and China has rekindled a fascination with fabric for me. I have enjoyed creating some new clothes and restoring the old ones. I have a new appreciation for the world where people painstakingly sit for hours behind a sewing machine for their wages--often for too little money. Their craft means keeping the whims of others like me happy and content. And when they get it right and they know we approve, it makes them satisfied. Their toil was worth it.

When my son was getting married a year ago, I wanted to buy a dress for the auspicious day. I was living in Doha, Qatar at the time and spent many hours mall-walking to find the perfect dress. I try not to be too selective, but nothing appealed to my liking. I came home empty-handed each time. And then some friends invited me into a new world I had tread very seldom in my life. For them, the simple solution was to design a dress in your head you wanted. Bring a sketch or photo, and then visit the vast Doha fabric market. The material came from India, Korea, Britain, Italy, France, Africa, and of course the Middle East. The last step and hardest part of all: to find the right tailor that understands your idea and with magical precision, turns it into a reality.

One night when my friend was driving to the fabric market, I felt like an excited child again--to walk down the fabric aisles and talk to the tailors. The tailors came from India, Pakistan, Egypt, Bangladesh, and Iraq. They spend long hours with a measuring tape around their necks, snipping with scissors that were about 18 inches long, and pumping their ancient metal sewing machines. As I began to show them pictures and ideas of dresses, we spoke in halted English together. My favorite term we both understood was "Same. Same"--meaning anything I found could be duplicated by them. With our abbreviated language, our hands flew out to talk, and the tape measure came out again and again. There was no pattern, just an eye for detail. Hopefully, with a picture, we both had our ideas on the "same-same" page. 😀

Driving home that night with my friend, we chatted happily about the fabrics, buttons, lace--the discovery of each find. Why was it so fun to design a dress instead of going to get a ready-made one in a store? To be sure, I went back several times to the tailor until they got it right. Sometimes their idea of "same" was not my idea of "same." But when the dress, suit, or shirt perfectly fit what I wanted, there was enough joy for both of us.

I then remembered a memory of my four-year-old self I had tucked into my memory long ago. My grandmother belonged to a ladies club where the winning raffle ticket was an appointment with a tailor. I have no recollection of why she generously gave me her opportunity to go choose some fabric and make a dress with a tailor. But she did. For a young child to walk down the aisles of striking, vibrant textures and colors was a new dream world. I still remember choosing a polka dot orange and white fabric with satin lining. The tailor not only made a dress but an elegant coat dress that matched. I was enchanted. Although I was only a child, I was intrigued by how a pile of material could transform into such exquisite beauty.

Forward many years when I entered this new world again: I was thrilled with the fabrics from all over the world. I could see how the tailors, (mostly men in the Middle East), meticulously labored to bring beauty into fruition. However, there are expert seamstresses are all over the world, in small corners and corridors, making the world better, more beautiful for someone else. Now I have more of a respect for the flow and cut of clothes, and the artists behind the scenes that try to get the perfect fit--that is "tailor-made" for their patron. I pay tribute to all those people behind the table, often sometimes way back in the shop behind the sewing machine. Thanks for teaching me how to alter and mend a little better--at least in my head.