SUITLESS IN SEATTLE

The same summer I debriefed with my sister about gender, I also happened to get a new job with a lovely pay bump, and I decided it was finally time for me to get a suit to wear to conferences and company meetings. 

However, I still wasn’t confident about going to a Men’s Warehouse or Indochino. People assured me, “They do women’s suits all the time!” but I wasn’t exactly looking for women's suits, and I didn’t want to look like a little man. I needed a tailor who could capture the fine line between masculine and feminine, and who would possess the emotional acuity to take care of my nervous, fluttering heart as I jumped out of the nest.

And here’s the other thing about me: I’m not just genderqueer. I’m also a snobby bitch. I’ve been snobby since I was a child. A schoolyard bully once called me Miss Priss. I’m critical and incisive, though not without reason. I needed partners in the creative process: true experts in tailoring and design, people who really knew the history and language of suiting and who saw it as an intellectual and artistic pursuit.

I saw Sew Generously Bespoke was the obvious choice.

I knew of Sew Generously Bespoke long before I ever reached out to them. I stalked their website and their social media pages for years. For my consultation, I wanted to impress. I wanted them to understand the caliber of client with whom they were dealing. I wore high-waisted, reverse-pleated black pants, a white button-down shirt from Ralph Lauren, and my favorite French, chunky-soled black leather loafers with gold hardware. Hung on my shoulder was my staple black Prada Saffiano leather bag, and clutched closely to my chest was my copy of Akamine Yukio No Kurashikku, a photobook capturing Yukio Akamine’s style and life philosophy. 

I booked with Aidan, an artist and gallery curator by trade who — I hope he doesn’t mind my saying — looks pretty queer from his bio on the website. Serendipitously, his assistant that day was Jamie, a trans designer and recent graduate from the Parsons School of Design. (“I knew I liked you as soon as I saw that bag,” they later told me.)

I was instantly at ease in their care. For hours, we pored over the photos from my book and parsed through piles of fabric swatches and button samples. Ultimately, I had two suits made that combined masculine and feminine suiting elements to evoke my particular brand of genderqueerness:

• Initially, I thought I wanted an oversized jacket, but trying on larger samples made me feel like I was trying to hide my body: The insecurity and body dysmorphia were visible. To create a masculine effect without looking like I was being swallowed in a man’s suit, we made the jacket a little wider through the chest than a woman’s jacket, but there is still a slight curvature to the waist to keep it elegant and flatter my silhouette.

• The length of the jacket is longer than is usual, because I love the swooshing effect when I push the tail back to put my hands in my pockets. The suit was designed for my favorite movements and postures.

• The shoulders are larger and more angular than you would typically see on a woman’s suit to give it a broader feel.

• The notched lapels are also unusually wide just to add a touch of drama. (gay)

• I chose high-waisted, reverse-pleated, wide-legged pants that fall straight to the floor, thus highlighting my waist without accentuating my hips.

• The cuffs of my sleeves can be buttoned normally, but also have the flexibility to be secured as French cuffs. I do not yet own cufflinks, but I am hopeful that I’ll be gifted them one day, perhaps for a job promotion, a classic dad gift. (Dropping hints here to my husband.)

Then, there are the tiny details you’d only see if you were physically close to me — what Aidan calls “the reward for proximity”:

• My two suits look like solid colors from afar: one green and one black. It is not until you’re up close and see the fabrics dance in the light that you might notice the green suit is actually striped, and the black suit is covered in flowers.

• The black suit is lined with little bouquets, and the green suit is lined with tropical plants. (gay)

• The buttons on my shirt are made from jade, a nod to my Chinese heritage.

• The buttons on my black suit are actually red horn, which you can see in the right lighting.

• My initials “awg” are stitched over the inside breast pocket.

What happens when I put the suit on? I’m communicating:

• I’m a feminist (yay, pants!) and find beauty in the genderqueer.

• I value the work of artisans and artists, and I believe everyone involved in the making of my garments — from the field to the textile mills to the suit shop — deserves a living wage and a livable future.

• Like the people of color and queer people who came before me and fought for our civil rights while impeccably dressed, I reject the rules and norms imposed on me by others.