This story was featured in The Must Read, a newsletter in which our editors recommend one can’t-miss GQ story every weekday. Sign up here to get it in your inbox.
Let’s say you’ve got $1,000 for a new suit. Maybe it’s your first real suit, for a job interview you’ve got lined up after graduation; maybe it’s your 15th, for your buddy’s second wedding. Doesn’t really matter. Where are you going to spend that money? At the mall, probably, where you’ll get a perfectly fine, mass-produced suit. But what if I told you that for the same price—maybe less—you could own a striking and singular ensemble fashioned by one of the world’s finest tailoring houses? That’s the magic of vintage tailoring.
Shopping vintage is by no means an easier route to finding a suit—there are all the typical secondhand pitfalls to contend with, from spotty sizing to unmendable damage. (You’ll absolutely want to have your measurements on hand if you’re trawling eBay and the like.) But the value proposition is indisputable: If you’re willing to hunt a little, there are graceful ’90s Armani joints and avant-garde ’80s Comme des Garçons specimens for the taking, all at wallet-happy prices. And if you’re wanting something a little more traditional—a tweedy Brooks Brothers number, say, or a chalk-striped Savile Row affair—and happen to be in New York, then the spot to visit is Crowley Vintage in Brooklyn’s DUMBO neighborhood, helmed by former Ralph Lauren designer Sean Crowley.
“It’s luxury on a budget,” Crowley says. “Most of the suits I sell are handmade. A lot of them are Savile Row. That’s an $8,000 to $10,000 suit, and I’m selling it for $500 to $800. And then there’s the simple fact that it’s fucking cool. You’re getting something other people don’t have, and it has a story—whether it was made in 1920 or 1980, there’s something behind it.”
Crowley’s advice for digging up suiting gold? Never judge a garment by the label alone. The famous names are great, sure (your Ralphs, your Brionis), but there’s a whole universe of incredible tailoring worth exploring just beyond that. “In the 20th century, there were so many really good quality tailored clothing makers,” Crowley says. “You look at a cheap suit made in America from 1975—the kind you would buy at J.C. Penney—and it's better than stuff that's made in Italy today.”
Beyond that, try to be as judicious as possible about wear and tear—that’s a good rule when shopping for anything vintage, but it’s especially important with regard to tailoring. “The basic things to look out for are obviously holes, moth holes or rips,” Crowley says. “Look at those places where you're going to see, like the cuffs, the bottom of the pants, the crotch. Always check the crotch. And don’t forget the buttonholes, either, which are often just totally blown out. Those are all things you can fix, but they start racking up fast in terms of cost.”
On my own most recent visit to Crowley’s shop, I willfully ignored that last tip, scoring a great deal on a herringbone tweed J.Press beaut with a handful of tiny holes down the left pant leg. Crowley had intended to have them patched up by his regular reweaver, but I swooped in and purchased the suit before he could—and have, frankly, really enjoyed the Dead Poets Society dropout energy that the damage exudes, especially when paired with a well-worn oxford or a throwback ringer tee.
Is all the extra effort—the hunting through racks, the scrutinizing for damage—really worth the end result? When you’re the only guy wearing a razor-sharp, mega-lapeled, houndstooth concoction in a roomful of sloppy navy two-pieces, that question will answer itself.
