Perhaps the opening of Shanghai came earlier, so the suit was also premature. As a child, I loved wearing suits because they were generous in style and easy to move in. At that time, my parents had a brown suit made for me. I always carried a handkerchief in the upper left pocket, stood upright and elegant, and took a group photo with my brother at Park Photo Studio. That yellowed photo is still in my album today.
Back then, due to economic constraints, most of our clothes were handmade by my mother. Especially sweaters—she knitted one for an old boy and a girl. So I jokingly called her the "Sweater Factory Director." Even though she has been gone for years, I still wear her knitted sweaters. Of course, she couldn't make a suit. According to what I've heard, the Shanghai suit and Raymond are considered top-tier.
Recently, I read about the story of Shanghai's famous restaurants like Raymond relocating to Beijing. Fifty years ago, Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru ordered a suit in Beijing but wasn’t satisfied, changing it several times and feeling uncomfortable. Eventually, officials from the Foreign Ministry took him to Shanghai to find a tailor to revise it. I was born in Shanghai, with ancestral roots in Yuyao and my mother from Zhenhai. I’ve heard that “Fengbian tailoring†was the master of suits.
Nehru finally felt comfortable and was very satisfied with the suit. In response, Premier Zhou Enlai ordered the relocation of industries such as clothing, barbershops, photography, dyeing, printing, and catering—shops like Raymond, Weibo, Hongxiang, and others—to Beijing. Later, several well-known clothing stores merged into one, specializing in making clothes for key leaders and overseas staff.
During the difficult years, because it was located near East Interchange, some people wanted to rename it "Anti-Imperial Clothing Store," but since there were foreign clients who needed custom-made clothes, the name wasn’t appropriate. So it was renamed "Red Clothing Store."
In the early days of reform and opening up, people mainly wore blue or gray tunics. The dual-use shirt became more common, and bell-bottoms and miniskirts became popular. Suits started to appear. Some "leftists" were very dissatisfied and launched the "Spirit Removal Campaign," banning bell-bottoms, miniskirts, and shawls, but they couldn’t stop people from wearing suits. At that time, our unit gave each employee a custom-made suit. This reignited my interest in suits, and I planned to have one made.
Coincidentally, I went to the China Association for Science and Technology for an interview. They had a service department in the Friendship Hotel’s Science Hall, selling daily necessities. A friend took us there. I saw a blue-gray wool suit that caught my eye. It wasn’t too expensive, so I bought it. Who would be the one to make it?
A colleague who had given an international presentation introduced me to a tailor in Sanlitun. I found a small private shop in an old building with wooden floors. The owner was a thin elderly man, about 1.7 meters tall, wearing glasses, speaking in a Ningbo dialect. Through conversation, I learned he was a retired tailor from the "Red Clothing Store." He was kind and agreed to make it for me. His craftsmanship was truly refined, and I was satisfied with just a sample. Unfortunately, in 1985, I went to Japan with a delegation of scientific personnel, and the suit wasn’t finished yet. I had to wear regular clothes, which wasn’t bad. But the suit was never completed.
I only wore it on serious occasions. Two years later, my uncle living in Taiwan visited Beijing to see my sister and brother-in-law. We hadn’t seen each other for thirty years, so I gave him a grand reception. I wore my new suit, invited him to dinner, and took him to Tiananmen Square. He said, "You look good in this suit—fit, stiff, and beautiful. Did you get it from Lennon?" I replied, "It was tailored by a local tailor." He was delighted and kept saying, "Good! Good! The stitching is authentic!"
Over twenty years ago, I remember going to Tung Wah Street. There were famous shops like Peilomé and "Weft." The stores were stylish, decorated with white marble and ceramic tiles, carved columns, bright and spacious, but suits were expensive, so I wasn’t interested. Nowadays, brand-name clothing is everywhere, and prices are commonplace. Fortunately, my own suit is still preserved. Last year, I tried it on—the pants looked thin, and there were some damages, so I can’t wear them anymore. But if I wear the jacket in early autumn, it's still crisp. I treat it like an antique.
Though the dress is worn, my heart is still the Chinese heart... Zhang Mingmin sang "My Chinese Heart," and the melody always echoes in my ears.
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