For as long as I can remember, Wilfredo Rosario was one of New York City's open sartorial secrets. When I first started at Complex in 2011, I was introduced to his wardrobe wizardry by the guy who hired me, Noah Johnson, who penned a bittersweet obituary for the tailor, who recently and unexpectedly passed from a stroke at just 53. Wilfred wasn't the guy you went to for alterations. He was the one you went to for miracles.
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The first thing I ever got tailored by him was an Engineered Garments navy moleskin Derrick blazer. The tailoring cost about a quarter of what I paid for the jacket itself, but it was most definitely worth every penny. The arms were way too short, and he nipped the length from the shoulder instead of the bottom, in order to preserve the kissing buttons on the sleeve. These are the details he understood, the kind that make dudes fall in love with clothes the way they fall in love with other inanimate objects—the new car you can't help but wash every weekend, the gadget you can't stop fiddling with until you've mastered all the features, or the grill you keep in top form to make sure your steaks and burgers get just the right amount of char.
Even when I switched jobs, I kept the same tailor. During my time at GQ, I discovered numerous other editors went to him, too. Wilfred was sort of the man who low-key kept the so-called "menswear illuminati" looking their best. Just a few days ago, unaware of Wilfred's passing, one of my writers asked for a recommendation for where he should get his suit tailored. I wholeheartedly recommended Wilfred, of course. He came back a short time later saying the shop was in a state of disarray and currently wasn't taking new customers. Wilfred was the one you left your grail pieces with because you knew they were in good hands, and to build that level of trust takes time.
Wilfred wasn't the guy you went to for alterations. He was the one you went to for miracles.
Of the hundreds of dollars I've spent at Wilfred's, the job I'll remember most is the one where he showed me that, as Jay Z said, impossible really does take a week. I brought in a pair of Engineered Garments tweed work pants that fit like a pair of JNCOs. The legs were practically as wide as manhole covers, and I wanted them turned into a pair of slim-fitting cuffed trousers so I could wear them with a matching jacket (which he also had tailored, too). After a week, Wilfred produced my favorite pair of winter trousers. The double knees and hammer loop details remained intact, and the cuff and length were absolutely perfect—not that I expected anything less.
Men are creatures of habit, and when we find something that just works, often, we remain fiercely loyal to it. As the world around us grows increasingly detached and more and more services are relegated to a tap on a smartphone or smartwatch, Wilfred's passing is a sobering reminder of how there are some things that just can't be disrupted. After a few sessions, he and his team knew what you wanted from the jump, a few minutes in front of the mirror and some chalk lines later, and you'd be on your way knowing that you were totally taken care of. There will never be an app that replaces the comforting feeling of walking into a shop you trust, nor one that can mimic Wilfred's confident style empathy. He will be missed dearly.
[via The Cut]
