It took nine tailors (1948)

186 IT TOOK NINE TAILORS The most important man in a tailoring shop is the cutter. He is the one who is responsible for giving the customer a proper fit and for designing clothes that suit him. Although England is famous for its tailors, many of the best cutters are of other nationalities. I have known wonderful cutters who were Swedish, Italian, Spanish, even Greek. But no matter what their nationalities may be, cutters are much alike in many respects. They always seem to have the weight of the world resting on their shoulders, and a good many of them are heavy drinkers. I suppose they are disillusioned artists, embittered by the problem of trying to hide the strange and misplaced contours of the average male figure. The first time I met a cutter who liked the bottle too well was in London. This chap was giving me a fitting, and I suspected that he was a bit under the influence but had no idea just how much he had consumed. "This won't do at all," I said, inspecting myself in the mirror. "I don't like the way the coat hangs." "Seems a bit of orlright to me, sir." "It's too loose," I insisted. "Hi wouldn't sy so, sir." "I tell you it won't do; it fits like Mahatma Gandhi's bed sheet." The cutter heaved a big sigh and said, "Hit 'angs like a bloomin' 'orse blanket, it does." With that he folded up on the floor, out like a light. The fitting was delayed for a few days, but the fellow finally made me a wonderful coat, even if it did have an aura of Scotch whisky about it. Only a short time ago I discovered that for several years my wardrobe did double duty. I lived in Hollywood at the time and patronized a small cleaning shop near my home. When I was working in a picture, my dresser would sometimes take five or six suits to the cleaner in one day. The young fellow who ran this cleaning establishment wondered why many of these suits came only once. He learned that those that never came back simply