We sell shirts, but not the kind you would find in a high-end fashion store on Corso Vittorio Emanuele.
We sell clothes, but not the kind hanging on a rack with a sign that says “discount”.
We sell shoes, but not the kind with brand new soles and signed, “Made in Italy:”
alright, well, of course we do, why not?

We sell accessories, but not like those you would find on display in a museum shop.
We sell, no … rather :
we select, sew, attach, refine, change, design, invent, manufacture, brand, influence, collaborate, argue, understand, explore, and like everyone, sometimes make mistakes.
We certainly do not sleep.




There are four shop windows that light up the corner that determines that Corso Como goes one way and Piazza XXV the other.
These store windows have been lit up here since 1976, back when the city was different. And there weren’t skyscrapers rising up in the distance or Italian food vendors hawking their wares nearby.
These shop windows have witnessed the Milanese people change, they’ve seen the tourists migrate with the seasons towards the promise of greener pastures to the outskirts of town, all in the name of progress.

Days become years. It happens so fast … but these windows have always strived to never look like others. To not be just the same design that repeats itself each fashion season. To not be viewed without passion, love, or hate. It doesn’t matter.
What matters is that whoever caught his reflection in the windows realized it was the reflection of a man unlike any other.
And those who realized it, went inside.
E poi è ritornato. Ritornato. Ritornato.And then, came back. And back. And back.


    Every man knows that what makes an excellent tailor is how he takes measurements and the things he tells you about while he’s taking them. If he talks about fashion, then you’re best to go away. If he talks about life, give him a tip and check yourself out in the mirror.


    If you’re lucky, maybe he writes with his left hand and drives a TR6 with his right? Or maybe he’s a Telemark skier and collects Gretsch guitars? Or maybe, it’s all about you. Period. Maybe you want to talk to him about a buttonhole? Maybe it’s the best part of our job?


    We’ve never been interested in “selling a little vintage.” We’ve always been more concerned with writing stories you can wear. We’ve been turning heads and accessories into their own stories since vintage was “so vintage” it was called “new”.

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Movie theatre… Saturday afternoon… November ’77. The kind of day when the fog seeps in through the windows. “Orchestra or balcony?” asks the ticket lady with the blue eyeshadow. Stench of cigarettes… sawdust on the floor. It cost less above, and one could even smooch there. It makes a certain impression to use the word “Cinema” today to describe the parade of images that gives a brief look at what we do. To be able to better illustrate what we do, we would need a great hall two stories high, velvet seats, and a Technicolor screen with the words “Titanus”, splashed across it, and of course, a beautiful girl in the balcony to kiss. But until you get your “tush” off the couch and come see what we do, this is the best we can offer.


Because you don’t choose to spend the rest of your life with the first woman you meet, now do you? Or drive the first car that passes by. Or drink the first beer that is set in front of you. Because the one thing you do is choose. And if you don’t choose, someone will do it for you. Unless you allow yourself the greatest luxury of all time: trusting another. We chose what we like, and that doesn’t mean you’ll like it too, but it is highly likely that you will, since you placed your trust in us.