My story, the story of Biagio Santo, is the story of my country, of Southern Italy, of an authentic Salento, made up of men and women dedicated to work and to sacrifice, a country of contradictions, rude and polite, full of colour and perfume.

I grew up here, in the dusty streets of the after war, barefooted, where the houses were made up of only two rooms and the neighbour's door was always open, because everyone lived and grew up together. It's impossible for me not to think of the past when, as a young boy of just eleven years, immediately after fifth grade, l took up needle and thread and, above all, began handling the fabrics.

In fact my parents took me to the most qualified tailor of the town, Don Umberto, so that l could learn the trade. Right from the start, in the backroom, armed with a remarkable spirit of self-sacrifice, l learnt step after step the stages of sewing a suit, obediently following the instructions and explications of my master.