A new sign hangs above a narrow storefront, wedged between a baker and a nail salon. The paint is still fresh, the window is clean.

"Fine Cloth & Silk - Tailored to Your Measure"

Inside, bolts of fabric lean against the walls: wool, linen, silk. Colours that shift in the afternoon light. There is a fitting mirror in the corner. And a small brass bell on the counter.

The tailor doesn't work alone. Behind a curtain in the back, there are hands. Quiet and patient ones. They've been taught by craftsmen whose names are long forgotten, and they haven't missed a stitch yet.
You won't see them. You'll only see what they make. A suit that sits right on your shoulders. A dress that moves when you move. Clothes that fit like someone took a lifetime to learn your shape.

No price list, no haggling. Pay what you think it's worth when you pick it up.

Previous work: CATALOG

The bell's on the counter.
 

Dear Mr. Nakamura,

It is with great delight that I write to you and tell you how very pleased I am with the dresses you had made for me and on such short notice. I shall tell all my colleagues as well and if they are in need of superb quality tailoring of fine garments I will send them to your fine establishment. Your parents named you appropriately for you surely are a HERO in my book. ;)

Margot