Reference Point: Massimo Alba
Every time I browse Mr. Porter, dreaming of clothes I can’t afford right now, I begin at the same place. On a website touting “540 Designers,” Massimo Alba is always the first name I click on. Surely there are others I like and appreciate, even admire, for their sensibilities, but Mr. Alba’s eponymous collections embody an artistic esprit and exuberance in a world figuring out its casual dress codes. Though the Italians don’t have a direct translation of the French phrase joie de vivre, my late grandmother, who lived in Italy for seven years, described the Italian lifestyle as la bella vita, as close an equivalent I can find and an apt term for describing the joy in Massimo Alba garments.
The sheer joy of trying on one of Mr. Alba’s pieces is the second best thing to adding his clothes to your wardrobe. Last summer, when I lived in New York, I stopped by the venerated boutique Blue in Green, which carries his line. Among the racks was a beautiful button-up, light to the touch and dyed in a smoky, deep gray watercolor. The collar was smaller than I prefer, the hem shorter, yet it fit just right and possessed a casual grace that I wouldn’t have changed anything about. My only regret is that I walked out of the store without it, but even marked down it cost a pretty penny at a time when my rent swallowed half of my income.
That moment, though, I was converted to Mr. Alba’s vision of a modern wardrobe and his way of seeing the world. I separated myself from my unnecessary, strict hard and fast rules — that even casual shirts should be tucked in, that an outfit is only as perfect as its collar roll — for the chance that a sartorial auteur, from afar, could guide my outfits toward artistry with his unerring eye and intriguing taste. An auteur whose daily uniform is a more luxurious version of my own, that same navy turtleneck, but with a cashmere blazer and velvet trousers, instead of my rustic and passable pairing with corduroy and Iron Rangers, sometimes Alden desert boots. Each piece its own note, together his everyday ensemble creates melody from the unassuming, a uniquely Milanese take on sophisticated Italian style.
As Alba notes, Milan is where fashion became industrialized. Unlike Florence or Naples, where bespoke tailoring reigns supreme, the city is known for its casual approach toward dressing. Milanese casual, however, is a far cry from casual wear in the United States or other countries, not the slovenly slim sweatpants worn by every SoHo hypebeast, or the relaxed jeans which men wear in an attempt at concealing physical imperfections. No, casual, in Milan, is still refined, dressed up but unstructured, drawing from such disparate influences as regal English velvet or earthy Austrian Loden coats, pieces appropriated from these cultures that have become Italian through Mr. Alba’s transmutation.
About those velvet pants, I want a pair in every color. As an acolyte of the king’s fabric, corde du roi, Massimo Alba’s velvet pants are a natural evolution from sophisticated ruggedness to artsy gentility. Velvet is not for everyone, and might reek of pretense to some, but in a comforting cream, a lordly navy, a beguiling black, or an outdoorsy olive, among other hues, they can be worn in the same manner as a favorite pair of chinos or cords. Mr. Alba wears his aforementioned uniform without a hint of snobbery, eschewed for the ideal of expression that comes through combining disparate pieces and tactile textiles originally created for furniture fabrics.
If velvet is too flamboyant for you, Mr. Alba makes a fine corduroy, too. He encourages its wear throughout the warmer months of the year, in the medium of vibrant, watercolored shorts. The shorts have a louche appearance, thanks to their unapologetic brightness, screaming hues of sky blue and magenta that hit well above the knee, settling in comfortably on the lower thigh. They shout so loudly that they need to be worn and subdued, perhaps by a vintage Lacoste polo or an oxford with rolled-up sleeves, buttressed by beefy loafers or dainty Belgian shoes.
The Massimo Alba showroom, hidden on a graffitied backstreet in Milan’s Navigli quartiere, is, as photos reveal, more an inviting living room than a headquarter. Verdant greens tie the space together, every shade imaginable in harmonious variegation without clashing or appearing tacky, the stripes on the wall and the antique plants creating a greenhouse atmosphere, hidden in plain sight along a narrow stone road touched by taggers but untouched by time. An emerald rug covers covers the entrance floor, a lime green latticed chair and its mid-century companion, covered in forest green upholstery, stand atop it. Mr. Alba’s office is idiosyncratic, large shelves lining the walls filled with art books and curios. Beaded African chairs and a chaise lounge greet visitors who sit across from his kindly wooden desk. A life-size transformer stands tall in a corner, guarding the space. Standing out without sticking out, somehow its presence feels natural in this dojo.
In an Instagram photo from last June, menswear writer David Coggins shared with the world Mr. Alba’s beloved Belgian Shoes, in a splendid, faded pale gray with bold tan trim. The photo was captioned “It is very difficult for me to buy new shoes,” a quote from Mr. Alba explaining the sentimentality behind a favorite item, a garment that looks better old, ratty, and faded than most do new. Further sleuthing uncovered Mr. Alba wearing the exact pair of shoes in a Mr. Porter photoshoot from 2013. There, in pristine condition, they were awaiting the day, five years later, where they would be revered for their service, as well as their cachet. Such are the understated, yet completely rich, garments by Massimo Alba — clothes that look luxurious when new, but achieve true luxury over time as they break in, accrue fades, and become part of the wearer’s style as influenced by Mr. Alba’s singular vision.