Menjou's tailoring stories from "It Took 9 Tailors"

Adolphe Menjou was an actor from the Golden Age of Hollywood. His book, It Took Nine Tailors (1948) has some great stories and insights about tailoring.

One surprise is how many fittings it took to perfect the flawless suits we associate with photos from the 30s:

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He lived something of a fantasy life in terms of all of the leading tailors he used.

Quote: Whenever I met a well-dressed man, I'd start talking clothes with him. On one trip to England the Earl of Portarlington told me about the firm of P. and J. Hag- gart in Scotland, who would manufacture tweeds to order. After that I couldn't be happy until I had made a trip to Scotland and had ordered special material for tweed suits.

His main tailor was Eddie Schmidt and his cutter Johnny Galupo, who made suits for many stars of the era:

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The feeling of wearing new clothes:

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A drunken fitting:

Quote: The first time I met a cutter who liked the bottle too well was in London. This chap was giving me a fitting, and I suspected that he was a bit under the influence but had no idea just how much he had consumed. "This won't do at all," I said, inspecting myself in the mirror. "I don't like the way the coat hangs." "Seems a bit of orlright to me, sir." "It's too loose," I insisted. "Hi wouldn't sy so, sir." "I tell you it won't do; it fits like Mahatma Gandhi's bed sheet." The cutter heaved a big sigh and said, "Hit 'angs like a bloomin' 'orse blanket, it does." With that he folded up on the floor, out like a light. The fitting was delayed for a few days, but the fellow finally made me a wonderful coat, even if it did have an aura of Scotch whisky about it.

Menjou's shoe closet:

Great post - thanks

Great post, CS.

I assume you've read all the fun stories about drunken tailors in Nothing but the Best.

dieworkwear said:

Great post, CS.

I assume you've read all the fun stories about drunken tailors in Nothing but the Best.

Click to expand...

I actually hadn't read Thomas Girtin's book before -- thanks for the tip. I'll have to find a copy the next I'm at the library.

There are some fun stories in there. The practice seems to continue to this day, where Savile Row tailors are said to spend much of their day in pubs after work.

If anyone's interested, you can read the entire book online here:

https://archive.org/stream/ittookninetailor00adol

Menjou at Anderson and Sheppard:

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With the Duke of Windsor's equerry, Fruity Metcalfe (who was the best man at the Duke's wedding):

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An unusual fitting with Hawes & Curtis:

Quote: Two weeks later I received a telegram in Paris to the effect that Mr. Benson, with an assistant, would arrive at a certain hour on a certain day to complete the fitting of my clothes. So on that day I waited in my rooms at the Ritz for Mr. Benson to appear. Time went by and no Mr. Benson. Finally the phone rang. It was Benson. "Mr. Menjou, I am down at the Gare St. Lazarre with your clothes in a trunk, but they will not let me in. They won't give me a temporary entry visa."

We went to the office of the chef de gate. We had another voluble exchange of French, but to no avail. Mr. Benson and the clothes could not be allowed to leave the customs office. "You seem to believe, monsieur," I said, "that I am trying to smuggle four suits of clothes into France. But I will prove to you that I am not!" With that I took off my coat and my waistcoat and started to remove my trousers. "What are you doing, Adolphe?" demanded Verree. "I'm going to have my clothes fitted right here," I answered. "Camera! Action! Mr. Benson, open the trunk and go to work." The office of the stationmaster was a glass enclosure open to the waiting rooms of the station. In five minutes we had a tremendous audience. We should have charged admission. Mr. Benson was a bit nonplused. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before— or to me, for that matter. As for Verree, she collapsed in a chair; she thought it was the funniest thing she had ever seen. But we fitted the four suits, then put them back in the trunk, which was sealed and sent back to England.

There is a scene in the Shirley Temple adaptation of Damon Runyon's Little Miss Marker where Menjou arrives at a nightclub in a new doublebreasted suit after having endured criticism from just about everyone in the film (even little Shirley Temple) concerning his worn out clothing. After reading the excerpts above, I can only wonder who made that suit - I imagine such a sartorialist would have worn something from his own wardrobe. You can see it in the link below at about the 48:50 mark: