I am peeved.
I have returned
from a session with my tailor – or I should say my now ex tailor – where I was
being measured up for some new work shirts. Mr. Ting is not my original tailor.
I have only been with him for the last couple of years after the retirement of
Mr. Chen – who tailored for me for many years. Mr. Chen made several beautiful
suits for me, and a number of very nice shirts.
Mr. Chen was
eighty years old when he retired in 2011 - after more than sixty years in the
tailoring business. He was dear old fellow and I thoroughly enjoyed his
companionship and his great professionalism.
I sought out Mr. Ting
two years ago when I needed some more shirts made. They seem to wear at the
collar and cuffs after eighteen months or so and even though I am pretty much a
slob – I do like nicely tailored shirts. Before moving to Asia I was quite
content with off the rack shirts and suits but there is nothing like custom
made outfits. They contour the body and not only feel more comfortable but they
look quite nice as well.
I only wear white
or light blue shirts made from pure cotton. Don’t ask me why on the colour
front – it is just my personal taste. The pure cotton thing is essential though
here in the tropics. They allow the body to breathe but are also quite
effective in cooler climates that I occasionally encounter when doing stints in
Tokyo, Shanghai or London.
Places that have
winter.
I miss winter
sometimes.
Being hot all the
time is better than being cold all the time but variety is the spice of life
and I strongly suspect that the constant heat and humidity I live in is a major
contributing factor to my ever-increasing madness.
I think I am
perhaps losing my mind.
So I am in need
of some more business shirts. Not only are some of them a bit worn but also
they – like many of my clothes - seem to have mysteriously shrunk. Or is it
shrank? Shrunken? Shranked?
Such words
confuse the fuck out of me at times and getting the correct tense makes me –
well tense.
I need to chill
out.
It is the madness.
Anyway off to Mr.
Ting I went after work and despite having all my measurements on file he
insisted on doing the whole tape measure thing. From armpit to wrist, from the
throat to the waist, around the neck – and so on.
It takes forever.
There are also
many choices to be made on the design of the shirt. For example I like a pocket
and I also like pleats on the rear of the shirt. I want my cuffs to have
buttons but also the option to wear cufflinks. I don’t wear cufflinks very
often as they are a bit like my sock situation – one of the pair seems to
mysteriously disappear and I have a little box full of single cufflinks.
It pisses me off.
When I was
telling Mr. Ting about my shirt design requirements he made a peculiar tutting
noise when measuring my girth.
“Why do you tut Mr. Ting”
I enjoyed the
poetry of saying that.
“You are fatter than the last time you were measured Mr.
Peter Sir” he replied.
“I most definitely am Mr. Ting – but please do not allow too
much for that for I am taking some quite determined measures to reduce my
fatness”
He tutted again.
“Tut me not Mr. Ting” I retorted.
“I am making headway”
“Alright Mr. Peter – I will allow just a little bit extra at
the waist then”
I let that pass.
I think I need a
couple of months to rid myself of my waistline. I blame my surge in weight on ten
days in the US a month ago eating cronuts and drinking incredibly nice red wine
with my best mate Berty.
The discovery of
the cronut was particularly devastating.
It is a cross
between a donut and a croissant and is absolutely delectable. My appetite was
enhanced in the US was by doing things I cannot speak of here – lest the
Singaporean government read about it and then come to arrest me.
They will then
cane me, hang me, shoot me and set me on fire before sentencing me to life
imprisonment.
I wouldn’t want
that.
Neither would my
mum.
Whilst he was
scrawling down my measurements and showing me his finest white and light blue
cotton material I asked Mr. Ting why it was that on men’s shirts the buttons
are on the right side of the shirt but on women’s shirts the buttons are on the
left.
In a most
Singaporean manner he simply stared at me and said nothing.
I am quite used
to this and take it as an ”I don’t know”
It irks me.
Both the staring
and the button thing.
So I started
messaging some people to see what they thought. It was a little foolish of me
to message some of the English – for they are generally a foolish and a not
particularly bright race of people – but I had a gut feeling it was an English
thing and they may have invented the shirt.
I received some
immediate and of course ridiculous replies. A couple of people suggested that it
harked back to the Victorian era when women were ‘dressed’ by their domestic
help and having the buttons on the left was easier for them. I dismissed this
immediately as I know that men were also ‘dressed’ by their butler type dudes –
so that didn’t really make sense. One of the English advised me that it had
something to do with drawing a sword from a scabbard, which was equally
nonsensical.
I quite like the
Victorian era fashion and way of living though and would have enjoyed being a
part of the gentry. I would have enjoyed saying things like ‘thee’ and ‘thou’
and ‘come hither’ and may in fact attempt to bring it back in my conversations
in the office. The not-particularly-bright English with whom I work could pick
it up.
Fuck.
I think my
madness is creeping in again.
It is difficult
to keep it at bay and I shall turn down my air conditioning a notch.
When Mr. Ting had
finished his staring I said, “Mr. Ting I
would like you to make these shirts with the buttons on the left hand side. I
want them made in a girl-buttoned fashion”
No one can
actually tell the difference when the shirts are worn.
“Cannot,”
he replied
“Cannot?”
I asked.
“Cannot,”
he repeated.
“Why not?”
I enquired.
“It is man shirt”
“It will still be man shirt – just with girl sided buttons” I retorted.
“Cannot”
“Alright let’s do this then. I want alternative buttons. One
on the left side and one on the right side all the way down the shirts”
“Cannot”
“It will be a new fashion craze that could make you very
famous Mr. Ting”
“Cannot Mr. Peter”
“What the fuck Mr. Ting? It is not such a difficult thing to
do”
“Cannot,”
he very annoyingly repeated.
As a general rule
the Singaporean is a very inflexible creature. I encounter it all the time and
it is terribly frustrating. For example when eating out one may order a Caesar
salad and ask to hold the anchovies. Or perhaps request that a meal that comes
with vegetables be served instead with a salad.
One will
generally receive either a very long Singaporean stare or a resounding “cannot”.
It can be
countered with an imploring “can” but
it will have no effect
They are an
inflexible lot.
In a rather
compulsive and possibly rash moment I sacked Mr. Ting on the spot. I cancelled
my order of shirts and advised him that I would seek out a tailor who would
make my shirts with either girl-sided buttons or even better, alternating boy
and girl sided buttons.
I will probably
have to find an Indian tailor who will do this for me.
Yes I know.
It is my madness
thing.
It is the
incessant heat and humidity I think - and a withdrawal from cronuts.
Don't count out the rain as the rain washes all the heat away. Less the sun comes up again with a vengeance. That's as much as variety in weather you can get in sunny Singapore.
ReplyDeleteDon't be so hasty in firing Mr. Ting, we all know he needs another 20 years to warm his heart to some Aussie charm and warmth. Singaporeans are not well known for their courtesy & flexibility. A simple, "How's it going?" will only be met with surprise or blank stare. I learnt my lesson and just get what I need (minus the curtsies).
I can't agree with you more on the US diet. Every portion is made for two for you. Just 14 days and I manage to bring all the bad habits back to Singapore. So remember, cronuts are bad for you!
Such an enjoyable read Mr. Peter! Might come back again to read sometimes.