Four Hours Before My Flight
The Tale of a Seersucker Suit
At the end of June, I found myself in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was my first visit, and I had little idea what to expect.
The first thing that struck me, after the heat, was how walkable the city centre is. Being one of America’s oldest great cities, New Orleans still carries something of the Old World in the way it is built. Historic streetcars still rumble through the heat, and the city is full of institutions that have survived for generations and still preserve their unique identity.
One such place was Antoine’s, founded in 1840. I had a wonderful meal there with a friend before our waiter showed us around the restaurant’s many historic dining rooms. I lost count of the oysters I ate during my stay, but the ones at Antoine’s I remember vividly. Then came the Baked Alaska. The moment it arrived at the table, I couldn’t stop laughing. It was so wonderfully over the top, and it suited the place perfectly.
I was also pleasantly surprised to see that Antoine’s still maintains a dress code. Something I’m sure that you know I very much appreciate.
But the highlight of my visit came at my final stop before the airport: Rubinstein’s on Canal Street, one of America’s oldest continuously operating menswear stores (opened in 1924).
My flight was in four hours.
I hadn’t planned to buy anything. I simply wanted to step inside one of New Orleans’ great old menswear shops and have a look around before leaving for the airport.
The moment I walked through the door, I was greeted with a warm smile by Arthur, impeccably dressed in a seersucker suit.
I had admired seersucker for years—Gregory Peck’s suit in To Kill a Mockingbird had long been an ideal—I knew it was a southern staple, but I hadn’t known that its origin begins in New Orleans specifically.
“I’d like to see the seersuckers,” I said.
“Of course, sir.”
Arthur led me to the display, showing me several colours before introducing me to Haspel—the original New Orleans seersucker.
Arthur selected my size almost immediately. The suit fit well. The trousers needed hemming, as I expected, and the jacket was a little too generous. Nothing dramatic—something my tailor back home could take care of.
“It would be wonderful if you could hem the trousers,” I told Arthur. “I’m sure the jacket isn’t possible. That’s quite all right. I’ll have my tailor take care of that when I get home.”
Arthur looked entirely untroubled.
“That won’t be necessary, sir.”
He nodded to the house tailor, who had been standing nearby. Within moments, the tailor made a few careful marks with an old-fashioned piece of chalk across the sleeves and back, then placed several pins.
The tailor said a few words to Arthur.
Arthur reached into his pocket, took out a small notebook, wrote everything down with his pen, slipped it back into his pocket, looked at me, and said:
“Come back in an hour, sir.”
I think I looked astonished.
An hour. That would leave me just enough time to collect the suit and head for the airport.
When I walked back into Rubinstein’s, the Haspel seersucker was waiting for me, ready to go. I tried it on, and it fit perfectly.
As we talked, Arthur told me about the shop, the people he had met over nearly a decade there, and the place seersucker still holds in New Orleans.
He also told me that Rubinstein’s was the first shop to reopen on Canal Street after the catastrophic Hurricane Katrina.
Before I left, Arthur couldn’t resist showing me a few more Italian suits, remarkably lightweight.
I finally laughed.
“Arthur, that’s enough. I’m very happy with my seersucker.”
I left with the garment bag and headed straight to the airport.
As I write this, wearing those same seersucker trousers in the Tel Aviv summer, I still find myself smiling. Every time I put them on, I think of Arthur, Antoine’s, and a city that welcomed me with extraordinary warmth.
I can’t wait to come back.
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