Several lives can fit into one lifetime. Ari Rovira has worked in roles related to sustainable fashion consultancy and continues to work in education, but at one point felt the need to take a more political and activist stance within the fashion world. That’s how Lancaster Studio was born—the country’s first queer tailoring studio. A space where made-to-measure clothing affirms identities, and where figures such as filmmaker Alba Cros, historian Ana Garriga, and FC Barcelona player Patri Guijarro, among many others, have already passed through.
Lancaster’s made-to-measure creations break with standard formulas and sizing, becoming a tool for social action, for reaffirming one’s identity, and for building community.
We interviewed Ari during the photoshoot for the 10th-anniversary campaign of Moritz Feed Dog, with Félix Valiente behind the camera.
Do you remember your relationship with fashion when you were a teenager?
Our adolescence happened without TikTok or Instagram. Your references were your friends, your classmates, the artists you admired, what you saw on TV… You’d see something, identify with it, and want to try it out. My relationship with fashion was fluid—about experimenting and playing. Now references are very complex and super digital. There’s too much noise, maybe.
Did your style change when you entered the professional world?
Because I worked in fast fashion, there was a certain pressure. You had to keep up with the latest trends. I was 25 and it was all about hierarchies and internal codes—people looking at you and judging you based on what you wore and what you were able to buy. Now I see it as nonsense, and I love wearing a shirt that’s ten years old; but that little world can sometimes condition you.
Would you go back to that age?
The construction of identity has been—and continues to be—a super interesting journey where you get to know yourself and like yourself more and more; so who would want to go back? I really enjoy exploring freely, and I think as a society we make a mistake when we label, point at, and criticize how others dress. Criticism prevents people from experimenting more—it makes them afraid or reluctant because of what others might say—and it also interrupts the free process of building one’s own identity.
Are you a perfectionist?
Yes, that’s why I love tailoring and why I enjoy pattern-making and sewing so much. Measurements, patterns, stitches—everything is precise. To make made-to-measure clothing, I think you have to be a perfectionist. When I finish sewing a complex pocket and it turns out perfect, it gives me real pleasure. I’m also a very tidy person, and that makes me happy. At home I organize my wardrobe by categories—for example, all the shirts together, from white to dark. I don’t have a lot of clothes either; everything is very carefully chosen, and I have three pairs of shoes that I love.
Do you have a favorite brand?
I have a soft spot for brands that stay faithful to their essence and purpose over the years. Brands that aren’t guided so much by trends, that feel more timeless. Brands that break with more conservative values, with binarism, and that create new narratives. And above all, I like brands that offer quality—clothes that last a lifetime. References? Maison Margiela, Comme des Garçons, Yohji Yamamoto, Jean Paul Gaultier.
How do you choose to communicate your brand?
In my case it’s quite different because Lancaster Studio isn’t really a brand—it’s a service. For me, it’s key to communicate that the most important part of the project is the people and the process. I like showing the creative process, all the steps behind a suit and the pleasure I feel while working on it. But the most beautiful thing is when I share the clients who come to the studio—showing what they wear and how they feel. My project communicates itself through their experiences, which is why I don’t have a website yet; for now everything happens through Instagram and word of mouth within the community.
What are the timelines of tailoring?
In my case, quite long, because whenever I can I do the whole process myself—from the pattern to the final stitch—and there’s a lot of handwork involved. It’s a slow, precise, and romantic process, and of course the timing reflects that. To make a made-to-measure suit we do at least three fittings, where adjustments and changes require time and dedication—and above all, a lot of care. That’s why the minimum time to work on it calmly is two months; though if I can, I prefer to work with a four-month lead time.
Do you think you have to do a bit of tailoring “pedagogy” with clients?
Having a suit made is a new experience that might only happen once or twice in a lifetime. The person who comes to the studio really appreciates it when you explain everything, because they’re placing themselves in your hands and trusting your work completely—even though they haven’t yet seen how it will look on them. I explain every step: why we take certain measurements, the time required, how the pieces are made. So far I’ve been very grateful for that trust; all I want is for them to leave with the suit of their dreams.
Has it ever happened that a piece didn’t turn out well?
Never, because I work with time. With enough time, pieces can be adjusted—and if necessary they’re cut again, unstitched and sewn again; whatever is needed until it’s perfect. If it’s well worked, everything can turn out well. And besides, I don’t believe in the idea that certain bodies can’t wear certain shapes. Tailoring actually highlights each person’s singularities.
It’s a beautiful craft.
Yes, it’s very beautiful. Nothing and no one can take that pride away from me. If I keep my hands strong, it will be a craft for life. What I love most is that in tailoring there’s no brand, no visible logo, no ego. I design with my clients; I put myself at the service of what they want, and it’s beautiful to dress the bodies and desires of my community.
Which documentary from this year’s program would you recommend?
I would recommend The Hands that Sew because it shows something that’s often forgotten when people talk about fashion: that behind every garment there is a craft, patience, and many hours of manual work. The documentary highlights the people who truly build the pieces—the hands that cut, adjust, and sew with precision so that an idea becomes a real garment. Above all, it offers an important gender perspective, recognizing the role of many women dressmakers and seamstresses whose work was fundamental to haute couture but has historically been rendered invisible.
