By Max Papier.

I used to think the satisfaction of bespoke tailoring came from the finished garment. Over time, I’ve learned it comes from something quieter: memory, repetition, and the way pieces begin to mark periods of your life. 

The first bespoke suit I ever owned taught me that. It wasn’t perfect when I received it, but it was honest. I wore it constantly. Over time, the cloth relaxed, the shape settled, and the suit stopped feeling precious. That, I think, is when bespoke begins to work.

This is the third part of a series of articles on Permanent Style – the first compared Italian cuts and why I ended up preferring Florentine style; the second looked at the culture around Florence’s tailoring and why it appealed to me so much; and the third, today, is a review of the Florentine pieces I’ve had, with five different tailors. 

This part is inevitably more personal, and a little indulgent. I don’t share it to catalogue what I own, but to explain why these clothes matter to me – why they carry weight beyond cloth and cut. 

My early interest in menswear was shaped by constraint, but those limitations sharpened my eye. Working in the industry later gave me access, but it also taught me patience. There were moments where patience gave way to enthusiasm, but I remain deeply content with where I ended up, and with what I chose to live with.

My first fitting with Liverano took place in New York in 2018. Qemal Selimi had just left to establish his own atelier, and Antonio Liverano decided to travel with the team for the first time in years. It felt like the right moment to begin. 

I had a fairly good idea of what I wanted before the team arrived. Having observed the trunk shows in the months prior, I had already leafed through the leather‑bound books containing swatches from Antonio’s archive of deadstock and vintage fabrics. 

I was set on a full suit – Alan See’s recommendation. Alan had spent nearly a decade commissioning from Liverano without ordering a sport coat, instead focusing exclusively on suits to build a foundation.

I wanted something that could age alongside me, resilient enough to be worn often and hard. We ultimately landed on a fabric milled specifically for Liverano, based on cloth from their archive: a deep navy Dormeuil Sportex. 

I had already seen it made up as a sport coat on both Bruce Boyer and Dick Carroll. Taka suggested adding a waistcoat, making it a three‑piece in traditional Liverano style. And then it was done.

When Antonio Liverano asked my age – translated through Taka – I told him I was 23. He paused, smiled, and asked how it felt to order my first Liverano suit at that age. I told him it felt like a dream.

That moment was captured in a photograph, one I still return to occasionally – not necessarily out of nostalgia, but more as a reminder of how meaningful that first step felt.

Ahead of the February trunk show, the box arrived containing my fitting. I remember returning from a shoot, immediately trying it on over a T-shirt alongside my colleague Jim, who was having a tuxedo made. I even placed the suit on a mannequin, just to see what it was becoming.

The first fitting required quite a few changes. I was asking for a broader, more V‑shaped silhouette – fuller through the chest and shoulders. The difference between the first and second fittings is clear in the photographs I think. 

Antonio used every moment to teach, guiding Vittorio through the fitting and offering me thoughts on colour and pattern when pairing ties.

Another three months passed, and the suit finally arrived. At the fit check, Taka smiled and said, “The next one will be even better.” He was right. What followed were not just more garments, but deeper relationships – fewer questions, more understanding. 

I placed an order for a grey suit in a lightweight high-twist fabric by Wain Sheill from Liverano’s archive. I had one fitting in February 2019, and then the pandemic arrived. Because a pattern had already been established, I only needed that one fitting and I received the second suit in November 2020.

Next came Liverano’s Ulster, a coat I had long admired on Alan See, Ethan Newton, Mark Cho, Simon Crompton and Jeff Hilliard, who once described it as the best piece of clothing he owned. 

The first fitting took place over Zoom. I received the coat in April 2021 and couldn’t wear it for another six months. It was worth the wait. I’ve travelled with it across the UK and Italy, and I still look forward to taking it out the moment the temperature drops.

By late 2021, I ordered two sport coats – one blue, one golden brown – and began to think I was nearing the end. Two suits, two sport coats, one overcoat. Enough.

Alan’s advice to build a foundation of suits made complete sense at the beginning – but it also reflected his lifestyle. As a shop owner and manager, he was constantly client-facing, and his wardrobe naturally revolved around tailoring worn formally and often. 

My own life looked different. I wasn’t wearing a suit five days a week, and I found myself dressing more casually: denim, a shirt or knit, and a jacket. Where Alan’s foundation might have been 10 or 12 suits, mine turned out to be closer to three or four. Beyond that point, another suit added less to my day-to-day life than a sport coat I could wear constantly.

I also underestimated how long it would take to understand my own style. Early on, I was still learning what I actually wore, rather than what I admired. As that picture clarified, my uniform shifted toward casual tailoring, and my interest followed. 

There was also a practical reality: at the time, I still had access to Liverano through The Armoury, and I was conscious that this window – of proximity, familiarity and affordability – wouldn’t last forever. I wasn’t ordering indiscriminately, but with a sense that I was building something meant to serve me long after those circumstances changed.

When the blue jacket arrived, I also realised the herringbone fabric would actually work better as a suit. It wasn’t quite that orphaned-suit-jacket look, but the level of sheen and lack of heavy texture made adding trousers a better choice. 

Thankfully, because it was a VBC stock fabric, this was not an issue. I still break the suit up from time to time, but having the flexibility of ordering a stock supported cloth was helpful.

That December, I joined my friend Jeff at a fitting with Kotaro Miyahira of Corcos in New York. Kotaro was known for long waiting lists, and when he kindly agreed to let me order, I didn’t hesitate. I knew I couldn’t rely solely on Liverano forever, and even Corcos at full price was less than Liverano at a discount. 

I ordered a taupe lightweight flannel jacket and grey flannel trousers, wanting to have a full suit pattern on file for the future. Although ultimately that didn’t make much difference with Kotaro like it had with Liverano, as he still prefers to have at least two fittings for every new order.

Working with multiple Florentine tailors wasn’t about searching for a single ‘best’ cut, but understanding different expressions of the same tradition. Liverano sat at the top – in price, scale and emotional significance – but also came with constraints: longer timelines and less flexibility with cloth. 

Qemal appealed to me because he had cut many of the Liverano garments I admired most from the 2010s, including pieces for Alan, Ethan and Simon. With Vittorio, it was about timing and belief – supporting him as he struck out on his own, and watching his work form at the intersection of Liverano and Seminara. 

Corcos, meanwhile, felt the most distinct: tighter, cleaner, more exacting, with a precision I associate strongly with his Japanese background. Each offered something different, and I learned from all of them.

My first visit to Florence came in May 2022. Visiting Antonio’s atelier felt almost religious – a place I had known only through photographs. I had additional fittings for the sport coats and alterations to the grey suit. My body had changed since before the pandemic.

It was then that I met with Qemal Selimi, who was considering visiting New York on his own. Perhaps it was the vacation mentality – or simply the romanticism of being in Florence – but I ordered a heavy-tweed houndstooth jacket from him.

Looking back, one thing I would change is how much attention I paid to fabric variety. I ended up with a few jackets that serve very similar roles, simply because I was drawn to unusual or beautiful cloth – particularly vintage pieces that felt truly one-of-one. 

At the time, I was conscious that my access – both in terms of travel and affordability – was temporary, and I wanted to build a wardrobe that could last a lifetime. That calculus won’t apply to most people. If I were starting again, I’d order more slowly, focus harder on weight and use-case, and give each piece more time to earn its place.

Two months later, I returned to Florence for Pitti. Wanting to mark the occasion, I dug deep into Liverano’s cabinets and uncovered a cashmere‑silk bolt I had never seen in the swatch books. Antonio hinted that Taka might have been saving it for himself, and mentioned that he was also making the same fabric – albeit in another color – for his own wardrobe. I couldn’t walk away. 

Even as I worked with other Florentine tailors, Liverano remained the anchor. It was where my pattern began, where my confidence was built, and where my taste was shaped most deeply. The archive, the colour sense, and the completeness of the operation made it feel like a home base – not the only place I went, but the place everything else referenced.

That same trip, I had a fitting with Kotaro for the taupe jacket and began thinking about a summer jacket, which I mentioned in part two of this series.

Back in New York in September 2022, I received my first Corcos jacket. It was nearly perfect. In the months that followed there were fittings with Qemal, deliveries from Liverano, and first fittings for the checked jacket.

The jacket from Kotaro was the finest I’d seen to date. The finishing was more exacting than Liverano’s, and the details even more considered. Kotaro actually got his start working at the Ring Jacket factory, which clearly left him with a very critical eye for details, something many Japanese factories are known for.

By ‘exacting’, I mean specific, tangible things: a higher stitch density that remains neat even after wear; slimmer, cleaner welted pockets; exceptionally precise pattern matching across seams; and an overall sharpness that comes from measuring rigorously rather than cutting freehand. Corcos’s jackets feel engineered in a way that contrasts with Antonio’s more intuitive approach – neither better in the abstract, but distinctly different in execution.

In January of 2023, I received my first jacket from Qemal. It took seven months – much faster than either Liverano or Corcos. Beyond the faster timeline, Qemal’s style was distinct from Liverano. Qemal himself prefers Liverano’s pieces from 20 years ago, which featured a slightly wider and longer lapel, and an even broader shoulder.

Later in January, I packed my bags to travel to Milan for Milano Unica, the fabric trade show, and brought along many of these new winter jackets.

That visit led to an introduction to a collector who had spent years acquiring vintage bolts from retired Milanese tailors. I purchased several, even though I hadn’t yet decided who would make them – however I’d be in Florence only days later, fabric in hand.

After arriving in Florence early that morning, I visited Corcos first – leaving a taupe sharkskin to be made as a suit. Just around the corner, I walked to Liverano, dropping off a brown tweed for a sport coat and a Prince-of-Wales flannel for a double-breasted suit. From there, Elliot and I stopped at Seminara’s atelier, where Vittorio Salino – now training under Gianni – agreed to make the green tweed fabric as a sport coat.

Four bolts. Three tailors. One day.

It felt effortless in the moment – a privilege I didn’t fully recognise until much later. In hindsight, it marked the natural end of that phase.

I wouldn’t repeat that experience – mostly because of cost, but also because it marked the peak of a certain momentum. At the time, it felt effortless because the relationships, patterns, and confidence were already in place. In hindsight, it also signalled the end of that phase. Once everything feels easy, it’s usually time to slow down.

For readers curious about exploring Florentine tailoring themselves, I think each atelier offers something distinct. Liverano is ideal for those who value a full-service operation – particularly if you’re able to visit Florence – along with deep archival fabrics and an exceptional eye for colour.

Corcos is a modern, precise interpretation of Florentine tailoring, paired with a slow, meticulous process. 

Qemal Selimi provides a faster turnaround and a highly collaborative approach, making him well suited to clients who value dialogue and iteration I think. 

Seminara represents tradition in its purest form: small-scale production, fuller cuts, longer jackets, and a way of working that feels unchanged for decades – intimate, personal, and unconcerned with trend or efficiency.

Vittorio Salino brings a fresh perspective, combining the finish and discipline of Liverano with the fuller, older proportions he absorbed at Seminara.

In practice, starting with a single piece from any of these tailors is enough to understand their approach. Pay attention to how each atelier’s philosophy reveals itself once the garment begins to live with you. And, of course, price and convenience matter too. 

In the months that followed, fittings turned into deliveries. Jackets arrived. Suits were finished. And almost without noticing, the pace slowed.

In 2024, I got married, wearing a tuxedo I had spent years refining in my mind. That year, I ordered only one new suit – a deep blue, high-twist two-ply from Qemal Selimi. Since then, I’ve added less and worn more, feeling how the clothes live.

There are small things I would change in my earliest pieces. The buttoning point on my second suit is a touch high; the trousers also sit higher than I’d choose today. At the time, I was consciously avoiding the low-rise, slim trousers I’d heard characterised earlier Liverano work – something that has since been corrected. 

Over time, I also nudged the team toward slightly wider lapels and lower buttons, closer to the jackets I admired from a decade earlier. None of these are regrets so much as markers of learning. I’m happy to live with them.

In the years since, I’ve gotten to wear all of my tailoring fairly regularly. I consider myself to be immensely lucky for not having any major bespoke regrets, and to have worked with some of the best tailors I could find.

I still reach for my first bespoke suit often. It feels familiar now, softened by time and use. I don’t feel the urge to replace it or improve upon it. Instead, I feel content – like I’ve reached a point where the wardrobe serves my life, rather than the other way around.

If I were to commission one more, it would likely be a navy sport coat with Kotaro, a mid-weight navy hopsack, dry in handle, with no sheen, cut as a true sport coat and finished with the slim silver buttons he favours. 

The flannel DB from Liverano has also become one of my most worn pieces, and commissioning something lighter would be a way to extend that idea. If I did, I’d likely do it with Vittorio – not to chase novelty, but to explore our shared admiration for older Florentine cutting, interpreted through his still-evolving eye.

That I can still feel undecided after so many commissions doesn’t trouble me. If anything, it feels appropriate. It suggests that the process hasn’t closed in on itself – that there’s still room for curiosity, restraint, and the occasional pause before ordering anything at all.

Prices and travel of the various tailors: 

Liverano: Trunk shows are twice a year in New York, Singapore, Bangkok, London and Hong Kong. If commissioned during a trunk show, a finished suit will likely take between 18 and 24 months. Price on request. 

Qemal Selimi: Jackets begin at €3,300, suits at €4,200, and an Ulster at €5,100. He works primarily from Lucca, but travels three times a year to New York and Hong Kong. A finished suit should take roughly 12 months.

Vittorio Salino: Jackets (within Europe) begin at €3,000, suits at €4,000, and an Ulster at €6,000. He currently visits New York, London and Schwarzenberg, two to three times a year. A finished suit should take roughly 12 months.

Kotaro Miyahira of Corcos: Prices vary by location, see price list here. Not currently accepting new clients however, and with a wait list that can last years. Twice annual trunk shows in New York, London, Hong Kong or Japan. If commissioned during a trunk show, a finished suit will likely take between 18 and 24 months. 

Note that all these timelines will be slightly shorter when working directly with the tailors in Italy.

Max Papier (@maxmpapier) is based in New York and has spent the past decade commissioning bespoke clothing from Italian tailors, particularly in Florence. His two previous articles on the subject can be found here.