The Wall Street Journal: June 9, 2022

In search of a Unsweaty Summer Suit

After fidgeting through a job interview in a wool two-piece soaked with perspiration, a menswear editor hunts for less-sweltering tailoring.

When I interviewed for a job two months ago, I was a hot mess. But nerves weren’t to blame for my sweaty brow—my suit was. You see, it was 88 degrees in New York, and the natty navy number that had seemed just the thing when I packed it back in London had turned into a wetsuit as I raced from Brooklyn to Midtown via the inferno‑like subway. Instead of breezing into the meeting with the nonchalance of Serge Gainsbourg, I galumphed in like a hot, steamy lump of worsted wool. My now‑boss turned a blind eye to my alarmingly crimson complexion, but I’ve since wondered what two‑piece would have best kept its cool in such sizzling conditions. So began my hunt for the sweat‑free summer suit.

It’s widely accepted that open‑weave fresco wool breathes better than a deep‑sleeping baby.

Such a search is no longer confined to classic materials like linen, puckered seersucker or fresco, a well‑ventilated wool with an open weave. Mills are creating “sexy” mohair‑wool blends that let the air in yet retain a rakish luster, said New York tailor Paolo Martorano. And there are carefully engineered warm‑weather hybrids merging cotton (light but not always breathable), linen (breathable but easily creased) and silk (wrinkle‑resistant), as well as newer eco‑friendly fibers like hemp and bamboo, said Mr Porter’s style director Olie Arnold. You can also take your pick of sporty synthetic styles—Veilance makes a popular machine‑washable nylon‑elastane set—but if you’re after a suit that doubles as an air conditioner, “I would always trust natural fabrics,” said Mr. Arnold.

Some of the coolest tailoring—in both senses of the word—comes from French brand Officine Générale, which this summer is proposing flâneur‑worthy suits in an olive fresco; a navy cotton so fine it recalls a windcheater (pictured); and a lead‑gray mash‑up of cotton, linen and tencel, a wood‑pulp fiber.

The cut is equally key as the material in minimizing body heat, insists the brand’s founder Pierre Mahéo, a slickly quiffed Parisian who’s much too chic to sweat. “For summer, you have to go to the bone,” he said. Meaning: His suits are almost totally unstructured (save for sleeve linings that let you seamlessly slip them over a shirt, and carefully pressed lapels that don’t flap about). Everything is geared toward having as little fabric as possible kissing the skin.

Generous rather than overtly oversize, the jackets eschew a nipped‑in waist for a straight‑up‑and‑down silhouette, the armholes are slightly bigger than their wintry counterparts, and the pants often have one or two pleats, which creates sweat‑thwarting space around the thigh. “You can really beat the heat with volume,” said Mr. Mahéo. “I think [men] should not be afraid to go for slightly looser fits.”

Teamed with T‑shirts or band‑collar shirts, and loafers or canvas deck shoes (with bare ankles), Mr. Mahéo’s suits are supposedly ideal for summering in Saint‑Tropez. So I took three of them for spins on the comparably muggy London Tube. “If they can make it here, they can make it anywhere,” I told myself while doing laps of the Central line into Oxford Circus, whose scorching carriages would make Hell seem nippy.

That not one of the suits’ fabrics clung to my waist or thighs was a blessing. But light as the cotton design was, it tended to trap the heat. The porous fresco suit, meanwhile, which Mr. Mahéo tweaked with Italian mills to loosen the weaving tension and make it even “more airy,” was more merciful.

It is widely accepted that fresco breathes better than a deep‑sleeping baby. Yen‑Chieh Tseng, 39, an actuary in steamy Boynton Beach, Fla., owns nearly 20 bespoke summery suits from tailors including Paolo Martorano and Chris Despos. His fresco two‑pieces excel at keeping wrinkles and tropical sweats at bay, he said, calling them “very breathable armor.”

Mr. Tseng finds hybrids—in his case, of cotton, linen and silk—unpredictable because you never know which of each fiber’s properties will triumph. Not everyone agrees. When the sun’s out, Johnny Lee Li, 33, a design student in Los Angeles who “likes to dress up,” prefers his wool‑silk‑nylon Boglioli suit to pure wool or linen alternatives. “You still have that look [and breathability] of wool,” he said, but the addition of silk and nylon means the fabric is slightly stretchy, doesn’t crinkle and feels “less stiff.” He believes that in his suit, each of the materials puts its best thread forward.

I felt the same about Officine Générale’s tencel‑cotton‑linen creation. The tencel (59%) means it’s silky to the touch, drapes fluidly and refuses to wrinkle with a stubbornness rivaling a freshly Botoxed face, while the linen (23%) keeps the air circulating. The suit, which is also 18% chilled‑out cotton, has an agreeable worn‑in patina that makes perfect sense with an aperol spritz and midsummer tan.

When I emerged from the stifling train, the only thing dripping off me was a satisfyingly fluid suit.

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