Outside, immaculately groomed birds chirp in four-part harmony.
People with confounding bone structure stand around on cobblestones, talking about spinlates. (Part spin class, part Pilates.) A passing Bentley makes smooth, smooth Bentley noises.
Yes, you’re on Melrose Place. And in an area like this, if you can find a little scotch, it comes with a badass chaser: it’s called a new suit...
Follow the sunlight into Mattison, a sterling new shop here to tailor you like you’ve never been tailored before, now open.
Broadly speaking, there are two kinds of suits. The kind you’d wear to some crusty board meeting, and the kind you’d wear to an offensively rich producer’s party in the hills—the kind of party where you pass a girl a drink, then realize she’s Rihanna. Needless to say, you’re in the market for that second kind of suit.
So come here. Behold the gleaming brass-plated walls, the hanging succulents, the jeans (they also have jeans here), the sleek, extra-slim suits from a new designer—first name Derek, last name Mattison.
They’ll pour you a little scotch. You’ll take a suit to the back, through some mirrored doors, and see what looks like a dressing room—but there’s, like, bookshelves and a fireplace. You’ll get some measurements taken (to repeat: they’re thinking slim here), and your suit will be yours in a couple days. After the holidays, full-on made-to-measure will commence.
In case your suit needs a wingman.
People with confounding bone structure stand around on cobblestones, talking about spinlates. (Part spin class, part Pilates.) A passing Bentley makes smooth, smooth Bentley noises.
Yes, you’re on Melrose Place. And in an area like this, if you can find a little scotch, it comes with a badass chaser: it’s called a new suit...
Follow the sunlight into Mattison, a sterling new shop here to tailor you like you’ve never been tailored before, now open.
Broadly speaking, there are two kinds of suits. The kind you’d wear to some crusty board meeting, and the kind you’d wear to an offensively rich producer’s party in the hills—the kind of party where you pass a girl a drink, then realize she’s Rihanna. Needless to say, you’re in the market for that second kind of suit.
So come here. Behold the gleaming brass-plated walls, the hanging succulents, the jeans (they also have jeans here), the sleek, extra-slim suits from a new designer—first name Derek, last name Mattison.
They’ll pour you a little scotch. You’ll take a suit to the back, through some mirrored doors, and see what looks like a dressing room—but there’s, like, bookshelves and a fireplace. You’ll get some measurements taken (to repeat: they’re thinking slim here), and your suit will be yours in a couple days. After the holidays, full-on made-to-measure will commence.
In case your suit needs a wingman.
