Boris Bidjan Saberi had a cold. Or the flu. Something like that. Anyhow, the point is he was sick, and it was an unusual state of affairs in his atelier. Look at a picture of him: He’s a hardy guy, strong, resilient. But this time, he was under the weather, and that was a problem.

Not because of his health, though of course we wish nothing but the best of health for Mr. Saberi and all those around him. No, it was because of something else — it was because of the jackets.

Mr. Saberi makes ornately detailed, strikingly proportioned leather jackets that exude a nomad warrior confidence. The leather is meaty but supple. The stitching is homespun but executed with industrial rigor. And even as they hang in the store, waiting for an adventurous soul to pick them up and try them on, they look as if they have already been through the wars, as if they have been sculpted by the sweat of men who weren’t willing to sacrifice protection for comfort.