The Groom Wore Bespoke

My wedding was never going to be a particularly traditional affair. Not because Ruby or I have anything against tradition, but because neither of us has ever been very interested in perfection. We like things that feel lived in. We wanted everyone to have fun, to dance, to feel like they belonged there. With both of us working in fashion, the aesthetic stuff, thankfully, could take care of itself.

We gave each other complete freedom over what we wore. And naturally, I’d already made up my mind. The same day we picked our wedding date, I texted Robert Spangle to chat.

He’d recently finished a tuxedo for himself under his Observer collection, and it had lodged itself firmly in the back of my brain. Not because it was flashy, quite the opposite. It had its own DNA but looked settled in the world he and I live in. Comfortable with itself but pushing towards something new with an innovative pocketed vent and hidden buttons. Something a man could keep wearing for forty years if given the opportunity.

Luckily, Robert is an old friend.

A few weeks later I found myself in his studio, coffee in hand, looking at swatches. His first tuxedo had been cut from a thicker cloth with an almost charcoal cast—beautiful, but heavy. Mine needed to survive whatever New York decided to do in late May. It could be humid enough to make you regret cloaking yourself in black flannel, or cold enough to wish you’d brought an overcoat. Traditional evening cloths are surprisingly adaptable, but Robert pointed me toward a summer wool mohair from Dugdale, which felt like the right balance. Airy without feeling flimsy and still formal without looking too rigid.

He took body measurements and photos, and did some initial assessments by eye. As we wrapped up, he casually suggested the rest of the outfit. A Turnbull & Asser shirt with a hidden placket, a velvet bow tie from La Bowtique, suede Arthur Sleep opera pumps—essentially his own uniform.

I sat with it for a couple of days before realizing I wasn’t actually trying to recreate Robert’s outfit. Weddings are communal things, and it seemed more meaningful to invite as many menswear compatriots as I could into mine.

Chris Callis and I both got our start blogging in the late aughts, and these days he’s designing tailored clothing at Proper Cloth. I’ve had measurements on file with them since 2013, updated often enough that they’ve probably watched my body age more consistently than I have. They make an excellent tuxedo shirt, but I wanted to have a little fun with it.

I started with DJA Sea Island cotton, the finest shirting they offer, and decided on two shirts instead of one. White for the ceremony. Pale blue for later in the evening, after the first dance, once everyone had loosened up a bit. It also let me dodge a decision.

Rather than choosing between a spread collar and a wing collar, I chose both. The white shirt received the spread collar, while the blue shirt became the more theatrical of the two. Both had hidden plackets instead of traditional bib fronts, following Robert’s advice. Purists may object, but I slept just fine.

Luxuriating in Sea Island cotton has a way of making these sorts of decisions feel less consequential anyway. It’s remarkably soft but has enough body to hold itself together through a long evening. Sometimes the best investments simply allow you not to think about what you’re wearing.

Morjas drifted into the outfit almost by accident. Henrik and I were chatting one afternoon when I realized they made opera pumps, along with the appropriate silk evening socks.

Morjas has become my loafer of choice because they consistently fit my feet better than just about anything else. Anatomical without looking orthopedic, elegant without trying too hard. The pumps were perfect too.

Opera pumps expose more sock than almost any other formal shoe. The silk socks were sheer enough that my tattoos ghosted through them. An entirely useless detail that naturally became one of my favorite parts of the outfit.

Patent leather is something I’d almost never wear under normal circumstances, but weddings seem to exist precisely for those few things that don’t belong anywhere else.

The bow tie was easy. I’d been wearing La Bowtique for years and already owned one of Mickael’s wonderfully louche Laurent bows, all droop and seventies glamour. I assumed I’d wear that one, but Mickael disagreed.

After a few messages on WhatsApp and some photos of the tuxedo, he gently steered me toward his Medium Classic in silk grosgrain to match the lapels.

He was right (Often the best thing an advisor can do is save you from your own instincts).

The remaining pieces almost assembled themselves. Somewhere in a box I’d forgotten about was a decade-old Drake’s cummerbund in silk grosgrain. Apparently I’ve had a preference for grosgrain over satin for longer than I’ve been consciously aware of. The longstanding existence of which was oddly comforting.

The cufflinks took a little longer. I wanted them to complement the plain gold wedding band I’d eventually settled on, but still carry a little bit of meaning. Before deciding on the gold band, I’d briefly entertained the idea of having one carved from jade. Though I’m not particularly religious, I’ve always had a sense of spiritual connection to nature that was fostered by my Mexican relatives. Throughout much of ancient Mesoamerica, jade symbolized water, life, and resurrection. It felt appropriate for the occasion, and while the ring never materialized, the idea lingered.

Since the cufflinks were mostly for me anyway, I found a simple pair of half-cylinder jade cufflinks on Etsy. Nobody else noticed them, but that was the point.

On the big day, my mom surprised me with a pin that had my grandparents’ portraits on either side. I kept it pinned on my inside left breast pocket as a subtle reminder that they were there in spirit.

Almost two months later, as I look back through the photographs, beyond the memories made that night, I see the tuxedo first. Then I remember Robert showing me swatches of cloth, our friend Junn assisting with my later fittings. Neroli at Proper Cloth helping me sort out the shirt options. Henrik kindly emailing me to check in and wish us his best. Mickael politely talking me out of the bow tie I’d convinced myself I wanted. Chris Fenimore tirelessly photographing the entire evening. And all the memories that came before that.

Weddings compress entire lives into a single afternoon. Families, friends old and new, histories that rarely occupy the same room all suddenly finding themselves around the same table. It feels fitting that the clothes worked the same way.

By the time I walked down the aisle, I wasn’t really wearing one bespoke tuxedo. I was wearing little pieces of the people I’d been lucky enough to know.