During our recent trip to Naples, there was a lovely moment when shooting outside Marinella, the famous tie shop. 

Maurizio Marinella (above) the proprietor, came out and greeted me. “Simon, come in, come in!” There was a pause, and then he added: “Let me show you the finest ties in the world, and then I’ll buy you the finest coffee in the world,” indicating the cafe next door. 

Maurizio said exactly the same thing to me fourteen years ago, the first time I came to Naples. He didn’t know me from Adam then, but the introduction was the same, the promise of small, strong, sweet Neapolitan coffee exactly the same too. 

And when I enthusiastically agreed to be ushered inside, the experience was identical: the same wood panelling and glass cabinets, contrasting with the very matter-of-fact display of ties in a cardboard tray. 

I told Maurizio this and he smiled – the kind of deep smile that shows a consummate salesman letting down his guard. He took my hand in two of his and shook it. 

I had a similar feeling of lovely, to be honest quite unexpected community when we saw other makers around town – dinner with trouser maker Marco Cerrato and tailor Roberto Ciardi,  lunch with shirtmaker Luca Avitabile and tailor Luigi Solito, and dinner with tailor Ettore de Cesare. 

With Marco (below), we talked about the first ever pair of trousers he made for me, in a heavy cotton twill. I told him I had photographed them in a little alley behind my office, sneaking away for a few minutes during my working day as a journalist. 

The thing Marco remembered was how tough that cotton was, and how many pairs in the same material he had to make in subsequent months, as readers ordered the same thing. “Everyone in the workshop cursed you,” he said, with a smile.

At lunch the following day, Luca and I were talking about old times and I realised I was wearing a denim-linen shirt he made for me in 2012, back when he was working for a company called Satriano Cinque (named after the address of the atelier). I’ve no idea why that one has survived so well, where others have succumbed to coffee stains (or worse, pit stains). 

No one asked for coverage during these meals or expected anything from them. It was all ‘how’s the family’, ‘how’s business’, then discussion of Naples, food and football. 

Napoli had just won the league, which was an odd coincidence because the last time they won back in 2023, I was having dinner with Luca in a pizza restaurant as the winning game ended. There was cheering inside the restaurant and then an eerie 15 minutes of silence, before a stream of cars came into town from the stadium, all honking their horns and driving round and round the block.

The biggest honour of the trip came towards the end of my conversation with Maurizio, when he asked myself, Giovanni and Patrick for advice about a local tailor that was retiring – who could be found to buy the business, how it could carry on going. 

Somehow I’ve become the kind of person that someone asks for advice about this kind of thing. I gave all the advice I could, including some readers I know that do like to invest in things like this. Though I’m not sure it was of any help. 

All of it makes me feel old, but also very grateful. Grateful to all the people in this odd little world of menswear that make it so enjoyable. 

Back at Marinella, Maurizio ordered the coffee from next door – cafe Riva. It looked different to how I expected, more macchiato than espresso, and a slightly different colour. 

“Don’t use a spoon, don’t stir,” he said seriously and slightly mysteriously. 

It was a tiny affogato! Coffee and ice cream are my two favourite substances in the world and this was absolute heaven – all the more since it came as a surprise. 

So I guess some things do change, and sometimes even be for the better.