Garak both loves and hates his tailor shop.
He loves it because he's good at it - he gets to talk with people, investigate their needs, and exercise his creativity. And he is very, very good at it! People leave happy, and he gets the glow of satisfaction in a job well done.
And every time he gets that moment of joy, he hates that shop a little more. Because it's not what he's meant to do - he was a member of the Obsidian Order, a spy, a genius! He loved his homeland, loved it so much, and to be banned from it, exiled to here, an alien shop on an alien station, never to see home again... every second is just a reminder of what he's lost. His status, critical in a military-controlled Cardassia; his father and mentor, gone from harsh respect to cold distaste; and his beloved homeland, lost forever to fools like Dukat.
How it must have galled, to find he can, in fact, forget - take pleasure in something as nothing as a dress design, when he once played the game of kings! To turn his keenly honed mind to guessing clothing styles! And, for even one second, enjoy it, and forget his well-earned misery!
It must have been fun once - a good cover, one he could sink himself into, knowing that he was fooling them all. How he must have reveled in his skills, the best of spies, the best of tailors!
And then he was asked to do something he couldn't countenance - finally crossing the line. And he made his choice, and got caught - not such a good spy after all - and reaped the consequences, falling back on his tailoring to make a living - a mean, poor living for a man once as powerful as he. And every second he sits in that shop, every dress he hems, every time he is assured that being a tailor isn't so bad, is more salt in the wound. Because it's not about being a good tailor - it's about betraying everything he once held dear, and losing it all, for a moral stance that ended up meaning less than nothing.
But imagine the kind of man he'd be if he hadn't made that choice.
