Hoi An, Vietnam: Tailored to Me
Vietnam—and particularly the ancient town of Hoi An— is known for high-end custom tailoring. Rumor has it that it’s cheaper to fly to Vietnam and get your wedding dress made for you than it is to simply purchase in the United States. Riff raff though we were, Louise and I decided to experience the feel-good fairytale of custom clothing design while we visited Hoi An.
Dozens of tailor shops dot the sunshine-yellow streets of Hoi An to respond to tourist demand for custom coats, evening wear, and suits. They vary in quality, and it’s frankly overwhelming to choose. The stores are peddled like fruit in a market. But unlike fruit in a market, I can’t pick out the bad apples. I don’t know the first thing about identifying quality material or experienced seamstresses or ethical production practices.
And let’s be honest—as we walked around in our Chacos, we didn’t look like we knew what we were doing. In full on backpacker mode, I hadn’t done my hair or make-up in months. I wore the same clothes everyday like a cartoon character. I hadn’t looked in a mirror other than to put in my contacts.
Louise’s photographs were my reflection. In them, I looked awake to the world and happy I was in it. That was more than enough. Did I really want to revisit my more materialistic self and get measured and poked and prodded? Did I want to open myself up to comments on my body? Did I want to chase perfection by returning day after day until the clothes looked just so?
Surprisingly, the answer was yes.
Practically, I knew buying new business clothes would be cheaper and fit better if I got them here. I figured I could withstand feeling like a bombarded Barbie for a couple days.
But I didn’t. Designing your own clothes and getting them fitted to your body by energetic Vietnamese women turns out to be one of the best things you can do for your self-confidence. The process made me feel like a model and a princess and a CEO, all in one.
Hoi An is romantically known as the City of Lanterns (more on that in a future blog!). It's also a City of Tailors.
Design Decisions
Louise and I spent time researching which shops did the best job without exploiting their employees (which is a common issue in Vietnam). Louise chose Kimmy Tailor to make her winter dress coat, and I selected Be Be to fashion my new power suit. That was the easy part.
Louise found a coat she loved immediately and asked to specify the colors. I started from scratch.
I explained I wanted a suit, and then I flipped through books and magazines and swiped on iPads to find styles I liked. The tailor started sketching as I talked. Assistants brought out bolts of materials and talked in rapid Vietnamese as colors flew past my face. I sipped tea and pointed and nodded. It was like we were all mice making Cinderella’s gown or the fairies deciding on Sleeping Beauty’s dress color.
By the end of my consultation, I agreed to making two suits (one sassy, one classy) and three dress shirts (white, blue, and white/blue stripes). Excessive, yes. I blame the flurry and fanfare.
Then they pulled out the tape measure. I don’t know what my measurements were, but the seamstress cooed and complimented in a flourish, as I’m sure she’s done many times. She then commented about how she couldn’t wait to design the suits just for my body.
That was novel. I hate shopping for clothes on a rack. I like my proportions, but they’re not “normal.” I have never owned a pair of traditional work pants that fit the way I like.
This was going to be fun.
Three Times the Charm
Louise’s and my trip to Hoi An was punctuated by appointments with our respective tailoring teams. The first day, I marveled at how quickly our seamstresses turned the bolts of fabric into actual clothes.
Louise’s fabulous royal blue wool and black leather jacket with asymmetrical zipper oozed style, but it took three times to shrink it enough to fit Louise’s body. It needed to be narrower in the shoulder, higher in the hemline, and taken in at the waist.
Across the street, I tried on the frameworks (buttons come last!) of my pants, jackets, and tops as my seamstress marked them up with chalk. Longer here, let out there, add a hidden snap, expand the zipper, and voilà! After three visits, my clothes fit each and every curve and abnormally long leg perfectly.
For the final fitting, I tied my hair back in a bun and swiped on lipstick. It was a special occasion.
It’s not every day you have a team of people cheering you on as you slip into clothes—clothes made magical because they’re uniquely, undoubtably yours.
