PN\P is not easy to find the first time. @Synthese and I gave the address to a cab driver we found idling outside of the Pitti Fortezza, but he was only able to take us far enough to gesture down a pedestrian street and explain that we didn't have far to walk. We passed by a woman selling soup out of a window and a small shop selling religious trinkets before deciding that we must have gone the wrong way, since the rest of the alley looked deserted. We were wrong; PN\P is in fact at the end of this quiet side street. It only took a little bit more wandering for us to figure this out. The shop is there once you believe it exists. The first thing I noticed when I walked into PN\P was the smell. Eyes closed, I felt right back in the middle of a baseball diamond, my face buried in my mitt. It's an inviting smell that tells you the store owners know the essence of what they're selling, and don't intend to hide it for someone who would rather their clothing stores smell like fabric softener or Biarritz. Just like you shouldn't trust a farmer's market stand that sells unblemished tomatoes, you shouldn't trust a leather goods store that doesn't smell like a horse's ass. The smell, however, was the only thing about the clothes that was familiar to me. In every other respect they were alien. Seams executed in ways I hadn't seen before, silhouettes I didn't recognize, textures that confounded me. But I felt more intrigued than shunned by these strange objects. Marco, the store owner, led me through the leather jackets. He handled each one as if it were his own child, cooing and praising its every shiver. Most of the jackets are not delicate pieces such as you might find at Hermes or Seraphin. These things are made of heavy, thick leather. Not a blanket, but a suit of armor. I wanted to try them on. My favorite was a M.A+ jacket of midnight blue horse leather, its terrain a map of rivulets, with long zippered sleeves and a high neck. I assumed the scene I set in motion when I asked Marco if he had my size would be a farce. It began that way. Here I was, dutifully wearing my navy suit and silk tie as Styleforum's Classic Menswear correspondent. I took off my suit jacket as Marco went to fetch the M.A+ biker jacket, revealing suspenders, high-waisted pleated pants, and a vain, desperate hope that the largest stocked size would fit me. The laugh track playing in my head crescendoed as Marco tried to squeeze the jacket's zipper together. "It will be easier when you're not wearing a tie and dress shirt," he tells me. As I contemplate the thickness of a tie and dress shirt, and whether I should be encouraged or terrified at the suggestion that this was the difference between the jacket fitting or not, the zipper latches, and Marco draws it up my torso. I briefly experience the apprehension of the initial ascent on a theme park drop tower ride. Marco seems satisfied. I expect Jasper to start laughing any moment now. Instead, he takes a step back and his eyebrows lift. "Actually that looks really good...," he tells me. Whatever, Jasper. I go to the mirror to see exactly how ridiculous I look, on a scale of Milli Vanilli to Steampunk. I get to the mirror and...actually...that looks really good. It's not a way I've ever looked before. I'm a spaceship pilot from the future. I have an exoskeleton. I'm a knight. I am Batman. Maybe I'll lose the neckwear next time, though. Marco keeps giving me a hard time for wearing a suit and tie. "I feel so constricted in a suit and tie," he says. "I like comfortable, easy clothes," I use all the range of motion available to me while encased in the jacket to nod in understanding. Maybe Marco, like me, just needs the excuse of practicality to forgive himself the indulgence of wearing the clothes he finds beautiful. I came to PN/P having only heard of "goth ninja" as a punchline. I left with an appreciation for the thought Marco and the designers he carries put into their pieces, some satisfaction in having seen some of the character behind a caricature, and most importantly, a new leather jacket.