There were a few tailors he found right off the bat, though they mostly handled women’s clothing, dresses, and the like, or otherwise did formal wear. Some, he learned, were the personal tailors to a roster of local nobility, and he got the distinct impression that he’d rather not share such establishments with the other nobles out of some niggling need for privacy. He was, after all, going to rely on this person to help fabricate all of his clothing after all, and there was none of the anonymity of the vast, impersonal commercial system he was used to on Earth to protect him from his personal space issues. He pressed on in his search. It was not that he was short of clothes—indeed, the garments he had had made for him by the creepy twins far to the south in a desert settlement of Pawstown were still very much serviceable. He had taken to wearing fresh clothes every day, which on Earth had been a norm but in this world was a luxury. He could always use more, and better, garments.