He then toured us around the equipment in the factory. Here’s one example. This machine makes trouser pockets. In about half a second. It’s a minor miracle to watch it go – place AND set AND press AND – KAZPLUFWIPIT! (that’s the sound, KAZPLUFWIPIT!) you’ve got a pocket. I should have captured a quick video on my mobile.
It’s almost painful – to know how much I paid for a Hugo Boss suit and then see how little it costs to stitch the thing together. (Hugo Boss, Armani, Zegna, Gucci, Calvin Klein…they’re all making suits here on the mainland now.)
Can you see the machine’s nameplate? Durkopp Adler. Made in Germany. This is the other thing I realized today. Even in a rundown ex-Communist ball-bearing factory, only recently converted to the service of the world’s menswear brands, the machinery is all imported from Germany, Italy and England.
I kept thinking about that fact, as Ms Fan led us to one factory after another, and everywhere I came across imported European hardware from equipment manufacturers with names like Moll Automatische Nähsysteme GmbH, Santoni, Sangiacomo, Framis Italia, and Oorkopp. I also came across a fair number of Germans – supervisors, consultants, and production line specialists. Only one Italian, though.
It’s funny, when you think about it. Luxury brands – they make such a big deal about their ‘Made in Italy’ label. But the word they omit is ‘machine’. ‘Machine Made in Italy’ doesn’t have quite the same caché. I suppose it’s one way that they protect their markets (and profit margins) from identical clothing made with identical machinery, supervised by German and Italian specialists hired away from their own factories, in low-cost countries like China or India. I wonder what would happen to their profit margins if more people realized that, by and large, the major difference between ‘Made in Italy’ and ‘Made in China’ was the skin color of the finger pushing the button.
Lots more to reflect on. I haven’t even gotten to the tortuous part. Tomorrow.
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