An Interference of Portraits

The Art of Dressing Well

That evening I Floo-called Luna and ended up arranging to meet her in central London. I decided Luna was the best option because she would listen and would understand as opposed to Hermione who might just railroad me with her opinions about everything. Besides, Luna understood without me having to say anything.

The following morning, and with a deep breath connected to mounting anxiety, I took myself off to see Mr Cargador, somewhat intrigued but also feeling completely out of my depth.

Mr Cargador greeted us with upmost politeness, though I caught him appraising my jeans with slightly narrowed eyes. He was a short man, with half-moon glasses and slicked-back black hair and an impressive moustache. He was impeccably dressed in a formal morning suit which he accessorised with highly-polished patent shoes and a tape measure about his neck.

I nervously explained our presence in his very precise and neat tailor's shop.

'Mrs Black is very right, Harry,' said Luna. 'You deserve to have nice dress robes that make you feel special but also make you feel more "Harry Potter-ish". Nice or expensive doesn't mean you have to look like Professor Lockhart. It can be quite understated.'

'Precisely,' said Mr Cargador in an even and polite tone. 'Do have a seat, Miss Lovegood.' He indicated to the large sofa positioned in the middle of the shop. 'Besides, Mr Potter, you would not find robes like Gilderoy Lockhart's in an establishment such as mine.'

Mr Cargador managed to show an incredible amount disdain in that small sentence despite his soft voice. He also put me at ease in uttering those words alone.

'Thank god,' I muttered.

Mr Cargador continued as if he'd not heard me, 'there is nothing more pathetic than a failed flamboyant. Besides, you are being fitted for evening wear and events such as the Ministry Gala Dinners are formal black tie so that a certain tone prevails. Black, and only black, for such an occasion. A man without impeccable taste who attempts to individualise this uniform—for evening wear is a uniform and its attractiveness lies precisely in its uniformity—risks looking like a snickering juvenile. As for you, Mr Potter, you are a man now and I shall take great pleasure in dressing you as such whilst imparting upon you what it is to have impeccable and unquestionable taste.'

I think my eyes must have widened considerably.

'It is permissible to have a hint of colour, and maybe in the lining too,' continued Mr Cargador, 'Slim-cut to make you look taller, to accentuate the slim waist and your broad shoulders. Because we are of the Magical fraternity, a single-breasted Prince Edward coat that is mid-thigh, though, personally, I prefer the Muggle shorter style because of its incomparable styling. Knee length or longer is wrong for you and risks swamping your frame. Single button because you need to show the dramatic contrast of the black coat against your white shirt. The lapels must not be notched, despite the current trend that is taking frock coats that way. It really doesn't make sense as a trend and is most inappropriate for traditional evening functions.'

'Not a tailcoat then?' I asked, briefly fancying myself as a reincarnation of one of those 1950s film stars.

'Not unless you want to look like a waiter, Mr Potter,' said Mr Cargador.

Luna giggled and I went off the idea very quickly.

Mr Cargador whipped his tape measure from around his neck and it began to measure me in all sorts of awkward places. When the end nudged my chin and prodded it up to make me stand straight, Luna giggled again. All the while, Mr Cargador drew out samples of black cloth and lining materials, putting them together and shaking his head, and rearranging them and pushing them around his long expensive shop counter.