Measure of a Man (21 page)

The Neiman Marcus people weren’t very happy with me for that. But I wanted clients to know they could entrust their wardrobe and style to me. Just because someone is rich doesn’t mean he’s content to pay more or get a bad deal. In my experience it’s just the reverse: the richer a man is, the more cautious he is about overpaying or being taken advantage of.

Neiman Marcus rounded out my three-city tour with a stop in Florida. From then on, Mr. Marcus had me on the trunk-show circuit handling Neiman Marcus’s private-label handmade suits. The relationship with Neiman’s was made all the more special by the friendship I developed with the legendary Derrill “The Doctor” Osborn, Neiman’s vice president of men’s tailored clothing. Derrill’s vivacious personal style and penchant for handcrafted quality made him an industry standout others followed. So, naturally, the suits we made for Neiman’s caught the eye of Derrill’s former employer, Saks Fifth Avenue, who called us to do their private label. Then Barneys New York called, followed by Brooks Brothers, who wanted us to make its Golden Fleece collection. I didn’t mind not having my brand name on the inside of the jacket. My signature was the quality that was hand sewn into the suit itself. That’s why all the biggest American suit stores came knocking and still do. They know that in the nearly seventy years I’ve been in the business, we’ve never once cut corners on quality. We never will.

Despite our rapid expansion and success, I knew I’d need help I could trust to make sure Martin Greenfield Clothiers grew to scale successfully. So I brought both my sons on board. My eldest son, Jay, played tennis at Tufts and graduated magna cum laude. After entering dental school, he took a leave of absence and never
returned to graduate, preferring to join his well-dressed father at the factory in 1981. Jay brought business leadership skills along with a strong will and determination to succeed. He quickly became the most knowledgeable piece goods expert in our industry and was instrumental in implementing computerization of our pattern making and design. His vision has helped guide us through the many changes necessary to succeed in our ever-evolving industry.

My other son, Tod, is a creative genius. It took a few years more, but Jay and I eventually wooed him away from his career as a stagehand to join us in 1985. Blessed with superb analytic powers, Tod unscrambled the art of tailoring and made it the science of tailoring. He is the only person I’ve encountered who can not only copy the tailoring techniques but understand and explain them.

When other companies closed up during hard economic times, I had two energetic, educated secret weapons no one else had. I’m proud to work as a trio with Jay and Tod to create a label that means success. Bringing my sons into the company was one of the smartest business decisions I’ve ever made. One of the most meaningful, too.

Sometimes, early in the mornings or just before we turn off the factory lights at day’s end, I look across the old creaky wooden factory floors, over all the bolts of fabric, around the spools of thread. I spot my sons without their seeing me. I live for those moments. They remind me of all the glances I cast across the Nazi separating room all those years ago in my futile quest to find my father. To know that my boys will never experience that frantic feeling, to have them always near me, to experience the joy of
watching them grow in their roles as fathers, husbands, and businessmen, to savor every day in spite of the busyness of modern life—it’s my everything.

Producing stock for major retailers was one thing. But when top designers started asking me to help bring their sketches to life, I knew we had reached a new level of success.

Designers are dreamers. Tailors are makers. I never wanted to be a designer, only a maker. Design is a skill I deeply respect, but I have always found greater excitement in the challenge of building and constructing the suit, in turning the designer’s sketches into reality.

The design possibilities for men’s suits are far more limited than in women’s
haute couture
. To be sure, men’s suit styles evolve, but the changes are not nearly as radical as in womenswear. Even so, a quarter inch can completely alter how a man’s suit fits and feels.

Between “leisure suits” and Nehru jackets, working with designers has sometimes been a nightmare. Inelegant designs that defy the laws of physics are a waste of time and fabric. I’m all for innovation and experimentation, but only in ways that enhance, not debase, the wearer’s silhouette and style. As the late, great Coco Chanel put it, “Fashion passes, style remains.” I stand with style.

Fortunately for me, I’ve had the privilege of working with some of America’s greatest designers. When the chemistry is right between a designer and a suit maker, the results can be pure magic.

That was certainly the case in my decade-long collaboration with the legendary Donna Karan. In the 1980s and ’90s, Donna helped shatter the menswear glass ceiling for female designers. She
won multiple Coty American Fashion Critics’ Awards, as well as numerous Council of Fashion Designers of America (CFDA) prizes in womenswear, including their Lifetime Achievement Award. But it was Donna’s 1992 CFDA Menswear Designer of the Year Award and the smashing sales success of her men’s Couture line, featuring her signature crepe suits, that made it clear menswear was no longer solely the realm of male designers.

My first encounter with Donna was in 1989. We received a call at the factory telling us to expect a delivery from Donna Karan. A young man walked in carrying an Armani suit. He said Mrs. Karan’s husband, Stephan Weiss (now deceased), liked the suit. She wondered if I might make him one like it.

“I am not going to copy an Armani suit for Donna Karan,” I told him. “I need to speak with Mrs. Karan. Get her on the phone.” Startled, he did as I asked. “Mrs. Karan? Martin Greenfield. How are you?”

“Good. And you?”

“I’m great. Listen, why do you want your husband to have an Armani-style suit? If he likes Armani, let him buy Armani. Why not give him a Donna Karan men’s suit with a Donna Karan look? Let’s create something different together. It should be your style, your look.”

She liked that. I brought my in-house designer to the meeting. “Give me your best model and your best fabrics,” I said. Donna has an exacting eye for texture and fabrics. She knows what she likes and what works. I appreciated and respected her tenacity and confidence.

“Martin, I’m really liking wool crepe,” Donna said. “Blue or black, but definitely crepe.”

“Great, let’s go with the crepe.”

A lot of drawing, a lot of tweaking, and before you knew it, we had hammered out a design. We made up a design sample and returned to Donna’s office to go over it. After a few changes—Donna gives incredible attention to even the smallest detail—we had a strong sample. “I’m telling you, this suit is going to sell,” I said.

“Let’s hope so,” she said with a smile.

Donna gave Freddy Pressman at Barneys New York a first-year exclusive on the Donna Karan Couture men’s suits. We couldn’t make them fast enough to keep up with demand. For years, we made ten thousand suits a year for Donna’s line. We also hit the trunk-show circuit together. She was a powerhouse. I saw her score a million-dollar day in a single trunk show at Bergdorf Goodman.

In 1992, Donna was nominated for CFDA Menswear Designer of the Year, the “Oscars” for designers. Before the awards ceremony, Donna, Giorgio Armani, and I chatted. Giorgio, who prefers to speak in Italian but spoke in English for our benefit, motioned for Donna to lean in to hear what he had to say. “The man next to you makes the best crepe suits in the world,” he said, loud enough to make sure I heard him and with his characteristic graciousness. “I wish I could make them the way Martin makes them.”

That evening, Giorgio presented the Menswear Designer of the Year Award to Donna. I was so proud of her. Our industry can be brutal, but she never waivered. Hard work and heart seldom lose. When Donna took to the stage to deliver her acceptance speech, her eyes found mine. “My father in heaven sent me Martin Greenfield. Thank you, Martin.”

Donna’s words touched my heart and soul in a way only a child who has lost a father can appreciate. You see, her father, Gabby Faske—also a New York tailor—died tragically in a car crash when Donna was just three years old. There’s an unspoken connection only the fatherless can feel. To hear her recognize that tender tether from the dais that night was a blessing I treasure still.

Another award-winning American design talent I had the privilege of helping was the youngest-ever inductee into the Fashion Hall of Fame, Alexander Julian.

Alex came to us in the early 1980s wanting to bring his passion for bigger suits, fabric design, and bold colors to life. In 1981, he launched his preppy “Colours by Alexander Julian” line and was the first American designer to design his own cloth. His textile designs, inspired by Monet, are so exquisite you could frame and hang them in a museum. And that’s exactly what the Smithsonian National Design Museum did as part of its permanent collection.

In addition to his bold approach to color and textiles, when I think of Alex I think of one word: “shoulders.” He helped shift the style of men’s suits in the 1980s into exaggerated shoulders. The aggressive move caught me off guard the first time he asked me to do it. “Here’s what I want: I need you to put a size 46 shoulder on a size 40 suit,” Alex told me.

“Say that again,” I said.

“46 shoulder on a 40 jacket.” My expression must have conveyed my bewilderment. “I know it’s different,” he said. “That’s why I want to do it.”

“I understand. I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

I delivered the 40 suit with the 46 shoulders as promised. Alex was exaggerating his shoulder widths to make a statement. Once he made his point, he could step back a bit with a more moderate, yet still larger, shoulder design.

“Now that you got what you asked for, how about we do something more commercial?” I said, seeing a future in the trend. And we did. Alex’s provocative move paid off. He pushed the needle in the direction of bigger shoulders, an evolution that became one of the decade’s design hallmarks.

Alex’s sudden rise took many by surprise. Before turning thirty, he won his first Coty Award—then considered one of fashion’s most prestigious honors. He went on to win four more. In his 1983 Coty Award acceptance speech, Alex paid homage to our partnership. “I’d like to you to meet my maker,” he said. “Martin, please stand.”

I was touched that he called me his “maker” instead of his “tailor.” That’s what I consider myself, someone who makes beauty out of cloth.

Alex took advantage of his momentum to nudge the fashion industry in America’s direction, and by the middle of the decade he moved his production from Italy to the United States. He was also the first fashion designer to work on professional athletic uniforms, creating a unique teal and purple argyle pattern for the Charlotte Hornets. Before the team’s recent rebranding, Alex’s design produced a staggering $200 million in Hornets merchandising. How much of that did Alex get? Zero. A true blue Carolinian, Alex had famously volunteered his services to then-owner George Shinn for free, with one proviso: Shinn had to ship five pounds of
Carolina barbecue—or as Alex calls it, “Carolina caviar”—to his place in Connecticut.

I experienced Alex’s generosity several times. When he designed the racing uniforms for the legendary Mario Andretti, Alex invited Tod and me to the Meadowlands as guests of Newman-Hass Racing. We were there to measure Mario for suits before the race. Joining Mario, Tod, and me to watch the race was fellow gearhead and Hollywood icon Paul Newman. A short time later, Paul came to Brooklyn to tour our factory and be measured. Paul was the consummate gentleman. He walked the wooden floors and took time to speak personally to my craftspeople. Through the decades we’ve had countless stars in the factory, but it always stood out to me when a celebrity took time to speak to a stitcher or take interest in a presser. Dressing powerful people has taught me that the greatest men take interest in the smallest people.