His name was Gaetano. When I was a teenager he'd sneak me into the casino — martinis at ten in the morning, olives for breakfast, cards for hours while the staff shot us looks he never acknowledged. He dressed for those mornings the way he dressed for everything: like it mattered.
Maison Mes Anges is built from what he left behind. Full canvas suits, made by hand in New York. Collections pulled from the rooms he loved. A standard I'm still trying to live up to.