Tie Your Tie Kiton
It has been quite some time since I stopped wearing suits on a regular basis. Recently, however, a subtle change in my mindset has led me back to a pair of shoes I had long set aside — the John Lobb Barros.
Perhaps that small shift rekindled something. I found myself wanting to wear the black derby shoes that I used to pair with my suits, and before long I began to think about wearing suits again. Not in the way I did when I was younger, as part of everyday work attire, but rather as something to enjoy in daily life.
When I took a suit out of the closet — one that had been resting there for years — and tried it on again, it felt quite different from how I remembered it. Of course, my sensibilities have changed over time. Yet revisiting it also revealed details and impressions that I had never noticed before.
Today, I would like to introduce a Kiton suit that I purchased about twenty years ago at Tie Your Tie.
This time, I’d like to introduce a Kiton suit I bought at Tie Your Tie 20 years ago.
Tie Your Tie
For anyone with an interest in classic Italian tailoring, Tie Your Tie in Florence needs little introduction. The shop was owned by Franco Minucci, widely regarded as one of Italy’s most elegant men and celebrated as a true well-dresser.
Minucci curated an extraordinary selection of clothing and accessories, guided by his refined aesthetic and unmistakable point of view. The shop carried some of the finest names in Italian tailoring, including Kiton and Cesare Attolini, as well as shirts from Luigi Borrelli and Rigatti, trousers from Rota, and shoes from Marini and Il Micio. Ties and small accessories were also carefully selected and often subtly adapted to reflect Minucci’s personal vision of style.
Among the most notable offerings were bespoke garments from the Florentine tailor Seminara, as well as bespoke shoes from Marini of Rome. Tie Your Tie also introduced bespoke work by Hideaki Fukaya of Il Micio, long before he became internationally renowned. Even ready-to-wear pieces from houses such as Kiton and Attolini were often specially commissioned to reflect the distinctive aesthetic of the shop.
Perhaps most famous were the house ties, particularly the iconic sette pieghe — the seven-fold tie made without interlining. Yet the influence of Tie Your Tie extended far beyond ties. The shop did not merely represent classic Italian style; it helped shape the direction of modern menswear. Independent of passing trends, it proposed a timeless vision of masculine elegance, making it a place where true connoisseurs of style naturally gathered.
The world of products it presented was extraordinary. Guided by the uncompromising aesthetic of Franco Minucci, the offerings were unapologetically luxurious, with little regard for price. Yet the shop attracted admirers from all over the world. Among its well-known devotees was the Japanese footballer Kazuyoshi Miura.
In Japan, Tie Your Tie once operated boutiques in both Tokyo and Osaka. For a time it was frequently featured in influential fashion media and high-end men’s lifestyle magazines, so many readers may recognize the name.
Although the boutiques themselves disappeared following the passing of Franco Minucci, the ties that bear the Tie Your Tie name continue to be produced today.
The Tie Your Tie suit that I wear most often is a piece specially commissioned by the shop from Kiton in Naples. It is made from a slightly muted dark navy wool, a heavy fabric intended for autumn and winter, with a subtle Glen check running through it.
The details follow the familiar Neapolitan language of tailoring: a high gorge line, manica camicia sleeves, front darts, and side vents. The trousers sit high on the waist and feature double pleats with a gently tapered, slightly fuller leg. Yet the suit is not purely Neapolitan. The proportions — a comfortable body width and relaxed shoulders — together with the choice of fabric reflect a distinctly Florentine sensibility. In this way, the suit brings together the tailoring tradition of Naples with the quieter elegance of Florence.
For reference, Italian suit styles vary noticeably by region. To summarize in simple terms: Rome is represented by the urban refinement of Brioni; Milan tends toward a more fashion-driven aesthetic, exemplified by Armani or Tom Ford; Naples is known for its classic tailoring tradition, represented by houses such as Kiton and Cesare Attolini; and Florence is often associated with a slightly more relaxed elegance, typified by Liverano & Liverano.
Brands such as Armani and Tom Ford are widely known and easy to picture. However, it is helpful to understand the structure of the Italian tailoring world. Houses like Brioni, Kiton, and Attolini originally grew from traditional tailoring ateliers before expanding into larger manufacturers with their own production facilities. By contrast, figures such as Antonio Panico in Naples or Liverano & Liverano in Florence remain traditional sartorie — independent tailoring houses focused primarily on custom work.
When one becomes deeply drawn to the Neapolitan or Florentine tradition, the path often leads to the sartoria. Tailors such as Antonio Panico, Pirozzi, Ciardi, and Solito in Naples, as well as Liverano & Liverano in Florence, represent this world. These houses typically work on a bespoke basis, creating garments entirely by hand to the client’s measurements.
Each sartoria has its own distinctive style. When that style resonates with the wearer, it becomes possible to achieve a form of dress that ready-to-wear clothing simply cannot reproduce. At the same time, bespoke tailoring requires a certain level of experience — from understanding fabrics to navigating cost and delivery times. Without a clear image of how one wishes to dress, and without considering the entire composition of an outfit, the results can easily fall short of expectation.
Italian tailoring is often collectively referred to as “Classico Italiano.” The word classic is well chosen. The suit and the tailored jacket originated as forms of uniform, and they still carry with them a number of implicit rules and enduring details. Within these fixed conventions lies the space for personal expression. In that sense, classic menswear has something in common with classical music: a composer’s score preserves the original intent, yet each performer interprets and expresses it differently through their own understanding and sensibility.
The special order made for Tie Your Tie makes the most of these characteristics, resulting in a relaxed Florentine style with a comfortable, elegant balance.
Although the label reads “Ciro Paone” instead of Kiton, it is the name of Kiton’s founder. Suits and jackets specially produced by Kiton for Tie Your Tie were labeled under the Ciro Paone name. The history and personal connections behind arrangements like this are part of what makes Italian classic style so intriguing.
The slight wrinkles visible when the jacket is hung reflect the “manica camicia” sleeve construction, a signature of Neapolitan tailoring. The fabric itself carries a faint Glen check pattern.
I paired the suit with an original Tie Your Tie shirt, of which I own several. Made from Oxford cloth, the fabric is surprisingly soft and comfortable. I usually remove the plastic collar stays when I buy the shirt. A well-made shirt should produce a natural collar roll without the collar tips lifting, and Tie Your Tie shirts are known for their particularly elegant roll.
The tie features a brown irregular dot pattern and is made in the traditional sette pieghe construction, folded seven times without interlining. While Neapolitan house Marinella also produces sette pieghe ties, Tie Your Tie’s version uses a lighter fabric with a slightly more open weave, resulting in a softer, more relaxed look. I tend to choose Marinella for formal settings and Tie Your Tie when I want to introduce a more playful element.
Introduction.
A Sense of Time Travel
The Tie Your Tie–commissioned Kiton suit introduced here is one that I actually wore during the 2000s. Putting it on again after more than twenty years brings with it a feeling of nostalgia, and in some ways, it feels almost like stepping back in time.
I first took the suit out of the closet while preparing photographs for an article about my John Lobb derby shoes. The suit had been resting there for many years. Since I was going to photograph the shoes anyway, I thought it would be interesting to recreate the style I wore at the time. I therefore paired the suit with the same John Lobb derbies and wore the Omega Seamaster that I used to wear daily in those days, documenting the look through photographs and a short article.
I have long believed that truly well-made things retain their value over time. Even if the circumstances in which we wear them change, and even if years pass without wearing them, their essential qualities remain unchanged. Through this small photo session, I was reminded once again that when something is chosen with care — including the philosophy and craftsmanship of its maker — the beauty it holds does not fade with time.
Fit, Proportion, and the Context of Its Time
When I put this suit on again after many years, the first thing I noticed was the sense of scale. By today’s standards, it feels slightly larger and more relaxed. The reason is simple: when I bought the suit, the size was chosen primarily to accommodate my shoulders and chest. Although I normally wear a size 46, I selected a 48, which results in a somewhat roomier body and fuller trousers.
At the time, suit silhouettes were not as slim as they often are today. Classic houses such as Kiton tend to maintain a conservative approach to proportion, so choosing a size 48 — with a little extra ease — felt perfectly natural both to me and to the staff at Tie Your Tie.
Seen from today’s perspective, bringing a style from twenty years ago into the present gives the suit a distinctly classic character, which I find quite interesting.
My physique has not changed much since then. In terms of modern fitting standards, however, a size 46 would probably be the most balanced choice. That said, unless the garment is constructed with a strong three-dimensional cut, a smaller size can easily feel restrictive around the shoulders and chest.
If I were to determine my ideal measurements more precisely, the shoulders and chest would correspond to a size 48, while the body width and trousers would fall closer to a 44 or 46. (Well-made suits can sometimes achieve a perfect shoulder and chest fit even in a size 46.)
A suit that fits the body precisely can certainly look impressive. However, if the construction is not sufficiently refined, comfort may suffer. Moreover, a suit that appears perfect when standing still may develop awkward creases when the wearer begins to move. One of the defining characteristics of excellent Italian tailoring — whether from manufacturers like Kiton or from traditional sartorie — is the highly three-dimensional structure of the garment.
Viewed not only from the front but also from the side or from behind, the silhouette is entirely different from the suits I had worn previously. The line from the shoulders through the back and down to the seat forms a natural curve. Simply wearing the suit creates a sense of masculine strength in the silhouette, and this was one of the decisive reasons I chose it.
Kiton is also a fabric merchant, and the house maintains an exceptional archive of cloth. The suit I own is made from a beautifully muted navy wool with a softly toned Glen check. Although the cloth is a heavier wool suitable for autumn and winter, it remains remarkably soft to wear.
At the time, Tie Your Tie often proposed wearing a cashmere cardigan with front buttons in place of a traditional waistcoat, rather than a formal three-piece suit. To accommodate this style, the body of the jacket was cut slightly fuller. I purchased the cardigan together with the suit, and on colder winter days I still wear it as a layer underneath.
In my thirties at the time, the suit often felt somewhat beyond what I deserved. Yet after purchasing it, I quickly realized how different it was from the suits I had worn before. The particular sensibility of Tie Your Tie was also evident: compared with original Kiton or Brioni suits, the shop’s special commissions had a subtle ease — a certain relaxation in their expression. Because I have never been drawn to clothing that projects luxury too obviously, this understated balance suited my own taste perfectly, and I found myself wearing the suit often and growing increasingly attached to it.
My first visit to Tie Your Tie came through an introduction from a senior colleague at work. Truly exceptional objects — the kind that inspire genuine enthusiasts — often become a topic of conversation and even a means of communication between people. Buying this suit taught me that a purchase can offer value beyond the object itself. It was, in many ways, a rare and meaningful experience.
John Lobb Derby
At the time, I had a particular preference for derby shoes with open lacing and double soles. Every pair of John Lobb shoes I owned followed that pattern — all were double-soled derbies.
From a strict dress-code perspective, a closed-lacing Oxford would probably be considered the more traditional choice to wear with a suit. In practice, however, I never paid too much attention to that rule and often paired my suits with derby shoes.
One characteristic common to many John Lobb shoes is the way the vamp appears low and clean when worn. The impression of the shoe on the foot can be quite different from how it looks when simply viewed in a shop or in photographs.
A similar quality can also be found in the shoes of Edward Green, another classic English maker, where the elegance of the last becomes even more immediately apparent. Although I ultimately chose John Lobb as my English shoemaker of preference, Edward Green produces equally outstanding shoes. Given the opportunity, I would certainly like to experience wearing a pair someday.
Creases have developed across the vamp, but even after more than 25 years the shoes still retain the remarkable durability that defines John Lobb. The double sole gives them a slightly more casual impression, yet their design reflects the functional beauty of traditional British shoemaking, with a strong, grounded stance.
John Lobb’s calf leather is very firm at first, but with wear it gradually molds to the foot. As body heat spreads through the leather it softens to a comfortable balance, and the leather soles have shaped themselves to my feet so that the open lacing closes cleanly without spreading too much.
Looking at the photograph again, the overall balance of the shoe becomes very clear. When viewed on their own, the instep may not appear particularly sleek, but once worn it sits lower and looks far more refined. In my view, this is the result of the quality of the last and the craftsmanship behind the shoe.
Omega Seamaster Ref. 2532.80
Since the introduction of the Apple Watch, I too have come to rely on its convenience and now wear one regularly. Before the arrival of the smartwatch, however, my everyday watch was the Omega Seamaster.
It has been nearly thirty years since I first purchased this watch, yet it remains remarkably robust. Its water resistance and mechanical accuracy have held up extremely well over time. It was also the first mechanical watch I purchased together with my wife, which gives it a special sentimental value. If I were ever forced to keep only one watch for the rest of my life, I would choose this Seamaster without hesitation.
Naturally, a watch of this age has required servicing over the years. I have had it overhauled several times at Omega in the Nicolas G. Hayek Center in Ginza. Thanks to this careful maintenance, the watch continues to perform much as it did when it was new, both in terms of water resistance and accuracy (although some degree of natural aging is inevitable).
Another noteworthy point is the bracelet. Even after decades of use, it shows virtually no stretch, which makes the watch extremely comfortable to wear. The finely segmented links also allow for precise adjustment, giving the bracelet an almost perfect fit on my wrist.
When I chose the Seamaster in the 1990s, several things appealed to me. It was a highly capable diver’s watch with strong water resistance, yet it maintained an understated appearance suitable for everyday wear. The 41mm case felt quite large at the time, but the bezel was free of bold color accents, and the matte blue dial — almost navy in tone — gave the watch a restrained elegance.
Because the bezel was not brightly colored and the dial remained a subdued navy blue, the watch worked equally well with casual clothing and with a suit. That versatility was one of the reasons I chose the Seamaster.
On a personal note, from the late 1990s through the early 2000s — before the events of September 11, 2001 — I occasionally visited Hawaii, where the wife of a friend I was indebted to lived. She was an experienced diver with advanced certification, and on several occasions she took me diving. With her guidance I even descended to fairly deep waters, and the Seamaster performed flawlessly. Its legibility underwater confirmed that it was indeed a true diver’s watch.
In terms of durability and functionality, the watch has also accompanied me in everyday activities. Since around 2010 I have maintained a routine of light running and walking, and at the time I often ran distances of up to twelve kilometers while wearing the Seamaster.
Running in the summer heat means sweating heavily. Although that might raise concerns for many watches, the Seamaster’s diver-level water resistance makes it completely worry-free. After returning home I would simply rinse it under running water. Even the repeated vibrations from vigorous arm movement during running never caused any issues.
At one point, when sending the watch for overhaul at the Nicolas G. Hayek Center, I asked Omega whether the vibrations from running might affect the movement or damage internal components, since such use might fall outside the manufacturer’s intended conditions. In practice, however, there were no problems at all.
Today, watches like the Apple Watch or Garmin have taken over many of the practical roles once filled by traditional watches. Yet before the era of smartwatches, the Seamaster served me faithfully in countless situations and proved itself to be an outstanding everyday watch.
During runs or walks, I would sometimes rotate the bezel to track elapsed time — much like measuring dive time underwater. Using it in this simple, tool-like way added another layer of practicality, and that sense of functional design is part of what makes the watch so endearing to me.
At the time, the 41mm case felt quite large to me. Today, however, with dress watches generally becoming larger, the size no longer feels unusual.
Because the bezel has no color and the dial is blue, the watch avoids looking overly sporty. As a result, it pairs naturally with a suit while still retaining a subtle sense of sportiness.
The style I put together this time is:
- Kiton suit: Tie Your Tie special order
- Sax blue Oxford shirt: Tie Your Tie original
- Brown irregular polka dot tie: Tie Your Tie original
- Shoes: John Lobb Darby
- Watch: Omega Seamaster
- Brown hat: Hermes Balthazar
This is the combination I put together. Except for the hat, this is a combination I actually wore in the mid-2000s.
Combination
The outfit itself is quite orthodox: a dark navy suit paired with a sax blue shirt, a brown tie, and black full-brogue derby shoes.
One thing I was told at Tie Your Tie at the time was that pocket squares were generally not used. Franco Minucci himself rarely wore one, and the shop considered it unnecessary. Perhaps because of that influence, I also seldom wear a pocket square. Instead, I sometimes place a fountain pen in the breast pocket, or in winter I slip a pair of leather gloves there after taking them off. This natural use of the functional elements of clothing is another sensibility I learned from Tie Your Tie.
One of the essential aspects of Franco Minucci’s style was the idea of slightly relaxing what might otherwise be considered too formal. The balance is subtle — and that subtlety is important. Personally, I feel that behind this approach lies a certain spirit of consideration for others.
A simple way to understand it might be this: when escorting a woman, a gentleman should remain the supporting presence. In other words, one should avoid dressing more flamboyantly than those accompanying him. It is a form of elegance rooted in restraint, and it is something I naturally keep in mind as well.
To me, the essence of Tie Your Tie lies precisely in this philosophy. The shop gathered exceptional items — chosen with the finest sensibility — that allowed a man to enjoy dressing well while maintaining a quiet elegance that never overwhelmed those around him.
In many ways, this reflects the deeper essence of men’s dress. Buying a suit at Tie Your Tie made me far more aware of that idea, and the influence has remained with me ever since. One could say that it taught me how to enjoy clothing without allowing it to become ostentatious.
Since the passing of Franco Minucci, the extraordinary items once offered at Tie Your Tie — each imbued with his philosophy — have disappeared. Looking back, I regret that, given my circumstances at the time, I was only able to purchase a single suit from the shop. Writing this article has helped me put into words why Tie Your Tie was such a remarkable place, and in doing so I feel that I may finally have come to understand its true value.
Wearing example.
Wearing the Suit
In these photographs I am wearing the Tie Your Tie suit with a matching shirt and tie from the same shop, paired with John Lobb derby shoes and an Omega Seamaster.
As a rule, I have always preferred navy suits, and most of the suits I own are plain navy. At the time, however, Tie Your Tie did not offer ready-to-wear suits in plain navy, so the image that guided my choice was somewhat different. What I had in mind, rather vaguely, was the kind of dark suits worn by jazz musicians in the 1960s — figures such as Miles Davis and John Coltrane.
When I think of Miles Davis in a suit, the image that comes to mind is the album cover of My Funny Valentine (recorded at the same concert as Four & More). Miles appears in a dark navy suit, paired with a white shirt with a regular collar and a dark navy tie with large polka dots. In my own photographs I happen to be wearing sunglasses — perhaps that influence comes from Sonny Rollins. (That is partly a joke, though the image of Rollins wearing sunglasses on the cover of A Night at the Village Vanguard has always stayed with me.)
When I was a student listening passionately to jazz, the internet did not yet exist, and there were few opportunities to see musicians in motion. Most of the time, the only visual reference we had was the album cover itself. Yet many modern jazz musicians of that era appeared on stage wearing suits, and their presence — combined with their strong physical bearing — left a powerful impression of elegance and confidence.
Information about musicians was also far more limited than it is today. We often relied on liner notes and album reviews to learn about the music. Some of the liner notes that impressed me when I was young remain in my memory even now, intertwined with the sound and atmosphere of the albums themselves.
Because information was scarce, discovering new records often depended on chance encounters. One of my gateways into jazz was a book titled Karaguchi Jazz Notes by Yasukun Terashima, the owner of the well-known jazz café Meg in Kichijoji. Terashima’s perspective was fascinating. Although he was a devoted modern jazz enthusiast, he also wrote about guitarists such as Johnny Smith and Al Haig — tastes that differed somewhat from the mainstream modern jazz canon. I found his viewpoint so compelling that I returned to the book many times.
Influence from Music
As an aside, Miles Davis has always been one of my favorite musicians. The albums I listened to most intensely were those from My Funny Valentine through In a Silent Way. Records such as E.S.P. are widely regarded as masterpieces in the history of jazz. In that album, Miles’s approach to jazz becomes particularly clear through the extraordinary interplay of what is often called his “second great quartet.” It was also through this music that I began to recognize something like Miles’s unique sense of blues.
I recall reading a jazz theory book that analyzed E.S.P., explaining the contrast between Wayne Shorter’s flowing, accessible phrasing and Miles’s more twisted interpretation of the blues. The explanation was striking and helped deepen my understanding of their musical language.
In one of Yasukun Terashima’s books, I also remember reading a column claiming that Miles used the same stock phrase — something like a habitual lick in rock guitar — only once throughout his entire career. Whether literally true or not, the idea captures something essential about Miles: he was a pure improviser who continued to evolve the core spirit of jazz throughout his life, carrying forward a lineage that can be traced back to Parker (though Gillespie’s influence may have been just as significant).
According to the liner notes, the recordings of My Funny Valentine and Four & More were taken from a concert in which Miles performed as part of a charity event. Before the performance he informed the band that the show would be unpaid, which reportedly created a tense atmosphere among the members. The resulting performance is filled with an unusual intensity and energy; throughout the album the musicians play with a level of tension that is almost palpable. (It is said that Miles later paid the band members after all.)
I apologize for drifting into a discussion of music in what is essentially an article about suits. Yet even the suits or denim I wear casually are influenced, in my own way, by cultural experiences such as music and film.
At first glance, the suit may appear slightly large, but it actually creates a very classic silhouette.As you will see in the photos below, the intention behind the suit becomes clearer when viewed from different angles: from the side it presents a clean and streamlined profile, while from the back it gives a stronger, more powerful impression.
From the side, the silhouette appears far more refined than it does from the front. The line from the shoulders to the chest, the waist suppression, and the gentle fullness toward the back are all carefully balanced to create a distinctly masculine silhouette.
It was the silhouette from the back that truly convinced me to buy this suit. The broad shoulders, the taper at the waist, the gentle fullness toward the hips, and the balanced width of the trousers create a three-dimensional shape with depth, producing a distinctly masculine and classic look.
Even with the front button undone, the classic character of the suit remains intact. The length and texture of the tie create an excellent balance, so the overall look still works even if the narrow blade extends a little longer.
The cut of the trousers is well balanced, allowing the outfit to retain a strong and masculine silhouette even without the jacket.
The trousers are a high-rise, double-pleated design. The clean silhouette around the waist creates a flattering shape that makes the physique appear stronger and more balanced.
The tie has curled slightly in the wind. Unlike the thicker sette pieghe ties made by Marinella, Tie Your Tie’s ties use a lighter fabric with a more open weave, which means they are more prone to losing their shape. Yet this characteristic also gives the tie a certain liveliness, allowing it to respond naturally to the wearer’s movements.
It may be a subtle detail, but moments like this reflect the philosophy of Franco Minucci, who proposed a style of dress that considered not only the garments themselves but also the gestures and movement of the person wearing them.
From the back, the trousers also create a strong and masculine silhouette. The shaping around the seat gives a solid structure that makes the physique appear more substantial and well balanced.
The silhouette appears even more refined when viewed from an angle rather than straight from the front. This is the result of the high level of craftsmanship required to construct a suit three-dimensionally.
I only noticed after taking the photograph that the tie had flipped in the wind. Having not worn the suit for many years, I had forgotten how light the tie is, which caused it to move so easily.
Combination
- Suit: Ciro Paone (Tie Your Tie Kiton Special Order)
- Shirt: Tie Your Tie
- Tie: Tie Your Tie
- Shoes: John Lobb Darby
- Watch: Omega Seamaster Ref. 2532.80
- Hat: Hermes Balthazar Brown
In conclusion
This article began simply as an attempt to photograph my John Lobb derby shoes with a suit. When I took a suit out of the closet — one that had been resting there for many years — and tried it on again, I found myself making new discoveries, which ultimately led me to write this piece.
Although more than twenty years have passed since the time when I wore this suit regularly, it remains a remarkably fine garment, full of classic charm even by today’s standards. As I began to consider why the suit — together with the shirt and tie I paired with it — still appeared so naturally elegant, I found myself reflecting on the philosophy of Tie Your Tie and its owner, Franco Minucci, as well as on the deeper intentions behind the clothing offered there.
When I first purchased the suit, I wore it without thinking too deeply about such things. Yet in writing this article, I felt as though I had finally begun to understand why I chose this suit in the first place and why it remained so dear to me. It was almost as if a question that had lingered quietly for twenty years had at last found its answer.
In the process, the article drifted beyond the suit itself. The watch I wore at the time, the shoes that accompanied it, and even the image of Miles Davis that originally shaped my idea of a dark suit gradually led the narrative toward music and jazz. As a result, the piece may have become somewhat difficult to read. Nevertheless, writing it has allowed me to organize my own thoughts about what dressing in a suit has meant to me over the years.
Shop
As Tie Your Tie has now closed, there is no shop information to share here. Although this article looks back on the past, the store offered many remarkable pieces whose ideas remain relevant even in contemporary dress. It was also a place that helped shape my own understanding of men’s style.
Among the suggestions once made to me at Tie Your Tie were two small “assignments” that I was unable to fulfill at the time. In later years, I managed to complete one of them. If the opportunity arises, I would like to write another article about that experience — the answer to a question that took many years to resolve.
With gratitude and remembrance for Franco Minucci.
Shinichiro Takeda