Guide to Milanese Tailoring

Double the Caracenis and you double the pleasure – but let's take them in alphabetic order, beginning with A. Caraceni in Via Fatebenefratelli, 16. Originally from Ortona a Mare in the province of Chieti (on the same latitude as Rome, on the opposite coastline, for those of you unversed in Italian geography), there are now a number of branches in Milan and Rome. In this Mecca of Milanese bespoke tailoring, I meet Carlo Andreacchio, son-in-law of Mario, whose father Augusto founded the workshop. Carlo and his family run the atelier, which employs thirty tailors with an annual output of about 400 suits per year. He wears a blue worsted flannel blazer with six gold funnel-shaped buttons on the front. "This blazer is thirty-eight years-old, it was created in 1982," he tells me, as he shows me the delivery date sewn onto a label inside the pocket.

Carlo and his son Massimiliano are the only ones who cut for new clients, because there is a family secret to cutting, jealously guarded and handed down from generation to generation. For return customers, though, there is the so-called stroncatore, who only has to follow the model previously designed by Massimiliano or Carlo, unless - ça va sans dire - the customer's weight has changed drastically. An A. Caraceni creation is not "manufactured": "We don't work in an assembly line," explains Massimiliano. "Each and every one of our qualified tailors brings the jacket to completion, from start to finish." This allows them to oversee every single detail of their work.

The A. Caraceni style has a shoulder that is slightly wider than the client's natural measurements, with a discreetly structured chest and a jacket front that rests on the body in three crucial points: the lapel, which adheres to the chest, the armhole, which must be a perfect fit with the sleeve, and the point at the height of the pocket, which must sit on the pelvis. This complex anatomical operation of sculpting the fabric is helped by a remarkable series of tricks of the trade. Among the many, the jacket front has two vertical seams running down as far as the pocket, so as to leave the bottom unadulterated. Usually, the first one is straight and the second is curved. Here, though, both are curved, in different lengths and with different functions. The first gives shape to the chest and helps to rotate the front section, a function usually performed by a horizontal dart cut at the height of the pocket; here this technique is only adopted for clients with a more bulging belly. The second is far more curved, and serves to emphasise the waistline and sculpt the jacket. The rotation of the front quarter, however, is not only achieved with the seams, but also by a distinctive way of mounting the canvas lining in the front section: it is, in fact, slightly bias-stitched so that, thanks to some skilful ironing, the canvas pulls back the bottom of the front section, avoiding any unsightly excess fabric. On the subject of seams, there is always one under the lapel – its size depends on the client's chest measurements – which helps shape the front section usually covered by the lapel. The tip of the lapel is like an autograph: when you see that perfect olive leaf shape, you know you are looking at an authentic A. Caraceni.

The lining is reminiscent of classic Milanese tailoring tradition, with canvas, horsehair, flannel and canvas reinforcement for the shoulder, but the vertical seams on the front here are straight, rather than curved. "When a very slender client comes in, I finish the second seam one finger before the armholes; this facilitates the movement," says Gianfrancesco, brandishing a grey double-breasted twill in its first fitting stage as an example. The Musella jacket calls to mind those 1930s illustrations of dashing gents with impeccably masculine proportions. The torso is flattered by a remarkable attention to the cut; the buttoning, the lapels, the shape of the collar, are all features that lend the garment "a timeless charm", as Gianfrancesco himself defines it. And seeing Francesco bent over a double-breasted Solaro ready for the second fitting to stich on the lapel facing, the thought crosses my mind that, although its innards are the same, their jackets are not typically Milanese. They're slightly looser, the collar is higher, the shoulders have less width, even if always padded and with a sleeve head roll. One detail provides the proof of the pudding: they sew the pocket linings on staggered so as to create less volume.

Volumes and proportions are also a sine qua non in Ferdinando Caraceni's jackets; I'm personally very fond of his jackets, for nostalgic reasons. Nicoletta, Ferdinando's daughter, was the first person I interviewed eight years ago when I started my personal Grand Tour of the tailors of Italy, and then of the world. My knowledge then of tailoring was limited, to say the least, and yet I was immediately beguiled by the ocean of fabrics and the hypnotic silence of the needle repeatedly weaving the thread in and out of the fabric. And perhaps Nicoletta was the conduit to my falling head over heels in love with tailoring; the passion that was deep in my heart floated to the surface. Seeing her today, I realise that she hasn't changed much in these eight years: her passion for tailoring is as immutably vibrant as it was, the warmth of her smile is just as enduring.

In 2004 she took over the reins from her father in running the atelier he founded in 1976 after gaining experience with Augusto: "Not without the challenges of being a woman in a sector traditionally populated by men," she adds with a shrug. Very close to her father who, when she was a child, used to take her to the workshop to play with the reams of fabrics, she tells me that she often goes back to visit Ortona a Mare, her home town, and that she invests a lot in young people: "Out of our nine employees, five came to work for us when they were in their early twenties," she specifies, as I sip my coffee. Let's clarify one point: the tailoring house F. Caraceni is a layman's concern, so to speak, because Nicoletta is not a couturier. Nevertheless, their jackets are 100% handmade, and the cut is balanced, of perpetual grace.

It will probably sound tautological to say that Ferdinando Caraceni's jackets are... well, "Caracenian" in style. And yet even the distinction of assigning them their own adjective doesn't quite transmit the sensation their jackets provoke in me. It doesn't transmit it, because they have that certain "je ne sais quoi" allure, probably due to the detailed inclination of the collars, the meticulous width of the lapels and the venerable proportions that make it unique, effortless, soft, light. A smile lights up Nicoletta's face as she drifts off into reminiscences: "My father, looking at whatever jacket he had just created, used to say, 'Nicolé, this lapel speaks!'" The front is a classic Milanese construction, but with two short vertical seams, the first straight and the second curved, making for a clean-cut bottom which won't spoil any pattern the fabric may have.

A navy blue light wool double-breasted jacket catches my eye. The olive-leaf lapel peaks, the position of the collar, the distance between the buttons on the front: all details that suggest an eye for proportions that, in my opinion, represent the real added-value of this tailoring dynasty. Let me add another observation: perhaps the fact that the atelier has only nine tailors makes the experience even more private, artisanal, and exclusive. More genuinely Italian, let's say. The same privilege experienced by figures no less than a certain Monsieur Yves Saint Laurent, who would get his personal wardrobe outfitted here.

Craftsmanship is the underlying principle of Prata & Mastrale, an atelier founded by Aldo Invitti, a Milanese entrepreneur of Neapolitan origin. This, too is a so-called layman's tailors – Invitti is not the actual creator of his jackets. At the headquarters in via Fatebenefratelli, 17, five tailors are hard at work, including one cutter. "Cristiano has been sewing my clothes since I was eighteen," says Aldo fondly, nodding at one of his craftsmen. His jacket, although handmade in Milan by tailors born and bred in Milan, has an all-Neapolitan aftertaste, in honour of Aldo's origins.

The front is cut to have first a straight vertical seam, a horizontal seam in the pocket and a second long one, "which I don't like", Aldo is keen to underline. I must admit that I'm in agreement with him on this front, as it veers dangerously close to off-the-peg lines. To paint a more complete picture, though, I should point out that the cutter also makes jackets with a clean bottom, but he prefers the first cut, because - he says - it allows him to deliver a sprucer front which could otherwise be sullied by the excess fabric created by the horizontal seam. The Prata & Mastrale shoulder is generally not overgenerous and has no shoulder pad, and this is where the Neapolitan roots seep in. It's not always easy to reconcile the owner's taste with that of the actual tailor, but when asked about his relationship with his employees, Aldo turns to irony: "It's a bit like in a marriage – people get along better when they don't know each other too intimately."

To conclude, the four tailors put under the microscope in this guide have a few features in common: the materials they use to create the front part of the jackets, the shoulder pads, which are almost omnipresent, and the seams, which might vary somewhat depending on the style. So, back to the original question: is there such a thing as the Milanese jacket? There is no doubt that a Caraceni style exists in various shapes and forms, but the truth is that sizes and proportions – in other words, the taste of every tailor – end up influencing each creation to render it unique and inimitable.