Designer vs. High Street: my view

Ideally, buying designer clothes should be about design.

Runway shows have a perennial fascination because they showcase (in rapid, often dazzling procession) a series of unique and original designs. They are a flick-book approach to art – glimpses into the mind of a designer with one theme, and perhaps hundreds of preoccupations.

The best designer stores, equally, are fascinating. Glancing through rails, even just taking in the mannequins and their lighting, pose, dress, can be an aesthetic pleasure, akin to any exhibition of design. One walks out the best of them feeling inspired (even if you couldn’t afford anything inside).

But many designer purchases are about three values, only one of which is design. Those other two values are branding and quality.

When making such a purchase, bear in mind which of those three values you are prioritising and why. This will help you decide whether to opt for that designer bag or its high-street equivalent.

Branding
The first value, branding, can be dealt with most easily. Everyone succumbs to it to a greater or lesser extent – the desire to belong to that view of life, that aesthetic, to buy into it and possess a part of it. While this is objectively the least rational value, it would be churlish to condemn it. And without it life would be a little duller. Buy into it if you want, but be conscious what you are doing.

Quality
Buying something for the quality of its workmanship is far more rational. It will last longer, and look smarter for a greater proportion of that time. In the case of classic men’s clothes such as suits and shoes, that quality will mean something lasts for a decade rather than a year.

Designer clothes will be better made than high-street ones. But the difference may not be as large as you think. Many suits, for instance, are made in the same factories for different brands – one buyer told me that Austin Reed, Aquascutum and Gieves & Hawkes suits are all made in the same factory despite representing high street, designer and tailoring in many people’s minds.

Some of those suits are only super 100s or below, and fused rather than canvassed. Designer doesn’t necessarily mean quality. Research the brand and know what you are buying if you want quality – Mulberry bags, for instance, are designer and they are still made in England and will last a lifetime.

Design
Design has value when it’s unique. So buy designer clothes for their design when you can’t find them anywhere else. As with much in this posting, this has an echo in Winston Chesterfield’s thoughts last week – I would pick out his sunglasses example as something that can easily be copied, and so found on the high street. Buying a designer version seems pointless. You are not buying it for design or for quality. It’s all about value number three: branding.

Other examples of pieces that can easily be copied are belts, hats, ties and socks. You may buy a designer version of this for its superior quality, but not for its design. The pieces that are worth buying for their unique design are those that are complicated: suits, dresses, jackets, shoes. They are unlikely to be copied well.

So, in answer to the question of whether to buy high-street or designer clothes, I say: analyse where the value is. Is it in design, in quality or just in branding? Thinking through those three should make the decision easy.

The blog's third way

A man called Adolfo recently commented on Permanent Style that “All men’s magazines and blogs are either too conservative/traditional or too modern/fashiony. There is no middle ground.”

It’s easy to sympathise with this view. There is a plethora of blogs out there looking at the latest catwalk shows, giving their views on which looks they like and do not like. This is fabulous (and free) market research for the designers, but the comment from fashion enthusiasts is not necessarily that original, insightful or knowledgeable. At a certain point, it is just like going shopping with a friend who insists on commenting on every outfit he sees.

Equally, some of the conservative/traditional blogs can seem rather nerdy, obsessing over the waist on a certain type of shoe or a vanishing line of Harris tweed. While the lessons concerning fit or materials are useful for anyone, the base knowledge assumed means that those lessons are long since past discussion.

Adolfo’s example of a middle ground is The Sartorialist, of whom I am also a fan. Scott manages to combine both contemporary and classic looks by looking at what people are wearing on the streets. And his photographer’s eye means that the images are both intriguing and attractive.

(The alternative is those sites that exhibit “What I’m wearing today”. You can imagine a situation where these might be fascinating, if it were Tom Ford for example, but unfortunately bloggers rarely come up to that mark. And more importantly, you can’t help feeling that you would have to read a lot of these blogs to get any comprehensive view of men’s style.)

I think the Sartorialist could be improved with more insight and commentary, perhaps along the lines of the conservative/traditional blogs Adolfo refers to. Scott presumably doesn’t have the time to write extensively about each shot every day, (and the actual comments on the site are rarely more than sighs of approbation) but there’s no reason we can’t. This is my first suggestion for combining the two types of blogs Adolfo refers to. Please tell me if anyone else has any suggestions.

As an example, I include this image from The Sartorialist. It is one of my favourites. I think it shows how well and how subtly a plaid jacket can work, with a few gentle echoes between the blue lines in the jacket and the shirt/tie, and between the jacket and its sombre, background trousers.

It has lessons for more casual (perhaps read contemporary) wear as well. For example, an odd, plaid jacket look can go very well with dark jeans. And if you are unsure what to wear under it, remember a blue shirt will always seem the most neutral and casual, and combined with a blue knitted tie it is the perfect background for the jacket. Try this as a background to anything more unusual or fashion-forward you are experimenting with.

Finally, the white pocket square picks up the look well and is a great addition to a outfit when you are already wearing a shirt and tie. Blue would look too conscious. White looks fresh and standard. On the contemporary side, there is always the risk that wearing an odd jacket and a knitted tie can make you look like a history teacher (though I do know some well-dressed history teachers). The handkerchief dispels that suggestion, as it rejects any idea that this combination is about laziness rather than style. A flowering blue/white handkerchief instead of the tie would pull this idea further along.

This analysis could just as easily be done through a more casual, younger example. Perhaps I’ll do this next time. In the meantime I’d be interested to hear what people think of combining traditional and contemporary analysis in this way. Particularly you, Adolfo.

It could have been so much better

Among my peers, Savile Row, its suits and tailors, is a thing of aspiration. It makes the best suits, has dressed the best people and justly carries an air of arrogance. One day, when we have enough money to sensibly spend a lot of it on a very nice suit, that is where we will go, with a certain amount of trepidation. There is a readymade market among British youth there, all with accelerating income and aspirations to luxury that include Huntsman, Poole and the rest.

The tragedy is that the BBC series on Savile Row may have popped this bubble, by trying to lure exactly that youth market.

Monday’s final episode in this series was entitled New Blood, and focused on the need for Savile Row to hire talented young tailors that are willing to stay in one unglamorous career their whole lives, for the love of the job and without much pay (at least to begin with).

Unfortunately, all it did was highlight once again Savile Row Bespoke’s mistaken efforts to brand the street as a whole, to bring together disparate individuals into one marketing exercise. The SRB association is planning to set up an academy to train young tailors. Unfortunately, one tailor further down the Row that is not a member of SRB has the same idea. Or, rather, a slightly different idea: he wants his own academy because he feels the work done on the rest of the Row is not up to scratch.

The two meet, have a reasonably gentlemanly discussion and depart, each refusing the other’s offer. So now any young man (or, increasingly, woman) wanting to be trained by the best has to choose between the Savile Row Academy and Savile Row Bespoke training. Both claim to be superior and to be aiming for the same thing, and will likely offer nothing to the potential tailor that clarifies the situation.

It reminds me of the many language schools that set up in Oxford so they can call themselves The Oxford School of Languages, trying to lure in foreign students who think they are somehow being admitted to Oxford University. Some even set up on Oxford Street with the same intention.

This view of the Row – as confused and unwieldy, amateurish in the extreme – is bemoaned even more by those closely associated with it. As Thomas Mahon says on his excellent blog English Cut, “I never thought I’d see the day that a programme about the business I’ve been involved with all my life could possibly make me cringe so much. It was all very sad and tragic.”

“It appears that Savile Row Bespoke is doing a better job than all the high rents, bad exchange rates and global fashion brands could ever do at eating away at the core of what makes Savile Row a wonderful and unique place.”

It will never puncture the image of Savile Row sufficiently for me. But for others it may well have done. It is a real shame that SRB (credited by this programme and therefore presumably involved) thought a documentary would help spread the Savile Row word, when it has undone anything positive that professional, targeted advertising would have achieved.

An interview with Suit Supply

Following on from Permanent Style’s posting on Suit Supply, the following is an interview with Suit Supply staffer Richard Finlay-Newton about the brand’s economies of scale, and how to get value for money in your suit.

Permanent Style: How is Suit Supply able to offer made-to-measure suits more cheaply than other stores?

Finlay-Newton: Suit Supply is a vertically integrated company, so we design, make and sell our products ourselves. Therefore, the best and most direct line to the end customer makes a better price. We don’t have to pay for agent’s, trade fairs etc.

PS: What quality signs, such as fineness of wool or canvassing, should readers look for in suits generally, and how does Suit Supply compare here to other stores?

A suit does not take shape from itself, you need to put something inside a suit to give it form, a structure, the inter-lining. There are many ways to make this structure, most common even in the more expensive suits being a fused construction in which a plastic layer is fused to the outer fabric. We use the old-fashioned technique: a canvas of cotton and horse or camel hair. If you bend these hairs they come back, these hairs have long lasting ‘form memory’ and we use them to give form to a suit. The result is a suit which follows the form of the body, one that does not make you feel locked up, and which will keep its form even through the valeting process.

PS: How much of a suit’s price is attributable to branding and advertising, do you think?

Around 60%

PS: Where do most other brands have their suits made these days?

Quality suit making is still concentrated in a few areas, where we and other brands make our suits. These towns contain the people who have the required skills in their fingers. So we all stick together in a way. The skills don’t migrate as fast as in other more industrialized trades. So we and our competitors still produce a great deal in Italy, but China is also moving up in quality garment making.

PS: Do different brands tend to be made at the same factories and even with the same wools ?

Cloth can be sold from one mill to several companies, with the suit possibly being made at the same factory. The main difference is often the cut of the jacket. Each company will aim to create a shape that sets it apart from its competitor. You may still find the same cloth in different shops at different prices.

PS: What other industry insights can you offer about how suits are made and how to get value-for-money?

The make of a suit is just the starting point. The satisfaction you will get from a suit is decided largely by how it fits you. If the person measuring your suit has got it right you will feel better in the suit, and wear it more often. It is about expertise in making the suit, but just as important in the skills of the people measuring you. You can buy an ill-fitting suit for a lot of money. That is the reason why we focus on just one thing: suits, and do not divert into casual wear, shoes etc. It enables us give our full attention to the promise we give to every customer a perfect fitting suit.

PS: Does Suit Supply have any plans to extend to the US or any other markets?

The first months of trading have been very successful, so we are going to open more stores in the UK this year. We are also planning to open a store in Milan and Zurich in the next 12 months. The UK is in a way a portal to the US, although suit wise there are some big differences – our orientation is probably more westwards in this regard.

Savile Row splutters abroad

I liked the first episode of the Savile Row TV series. But episode two kicks it into touch. Gone are the reverential shots of tailors and their workshops. Gone the image of a British institution comfortable with itself. And gone the unity that attacking Abercrombie & Fitch briefly sparked.

Savile Row is trying to modernise itself and market itself. But no one in the Savile Row Bespoke council seems to know what they want (or how to go about it). And they all fail to know what they want in slightly different ways.

To ward off competition and retain the purity of Savile Row, the council is drawing up rules about who can qualify as Savile Row Bespoke. Most clothes must be cut and made on the premises, on the Row or within 100 yards of it. But two tailors, Edward Sexton (of 1960s and Tommy Nutter fame) and Ravi Tailor were excluded. Sexton had moved to a Knightsbridge address a while ago, and Ravi was forced out after a mistaken partnership with Japanese jeans company Evisu. Both were judged to be more than 100 yards away (despite a heartbreaking scene when Ravi’s young son paces out 78 yards to the new store).

But surely the point of the association was to prevent new tailors using the Savile Row name, and keep the spirit of the brand pure. It was meant to be forward-looking. Little seems to be gained from excluding these two historical names from the list because of rules just invented. Moreover, different members of the council seem to have different views of the point of this rule, and some even think it is 50 yards, rather than 100.

The project seems even more ridiculous after a section following Henry Poole’s expansion in China. They have one store already in Beijing and are setting up another close by, both managed by a Chinese tailor. Not only is this nowhere near Savile Row, but the staff working and cutting in the new store are not Henry Poole staff. They use cloth sent from England, but no mention is made of the training Chinese staff receive.

(It has also been suggested that the exploits of Henry Poole’s man in China are rather like David Brent abroad. This may be unkind, but the beard and lack of social graces are certainly there. See Andy Forum discussion here.)

It is also instructive that no mention is made in the programme of two Savile Row brands that have successfully expanded their marketing and appeal – Kilgour and Richard James. Kilgour recently began offering a service that uses Chinese tailors that are hired and trained by Kilgour, but work in China. This cuts around £1000 off the price of a suit.

When this is mentioned to Henry Poole cutter Angus Cundey on an ill-fated branding exercise in Florence (their designer produces table placings with “Savile Road” emblazoned on them) he disowns any suggestion that he has operations in China. Apparently it is better to have a store there but no workers that export work back to the UK, which seems a little academic.

The story of Savile Row’s tailors and their expansion is a fascinating one, but you can’t help feeling that with so many individuals among them, they would be better off branding individually. Follow the examples of Richard James and Kilgour, or what’s left will be a vague “save the Row” campaign, not a modern business plan.

Savile Row on TV

Those in the UK are being treated to a three-part TV series on Savile Row at the moment. The launch pad for the programme, evidently filmed last year, is the opening of Abercrombie & Fitch’s London flagship store at 40 Savile Row – the rather imposing old building at the end of the row that used to be the London tailors’ bank.

Cue shots of dapper men standing on their porches, sniffing as the hoardings for Abercrombie are put up – black-and-white shots of chiselled male torsos. The sniffing reaches a crescendo when the store actually opens, and teenagers cue round the block to get in. The Abercrombie philosophy of pumping music, dark lighting and piled-high goods couldn’t be much further removed from the Savile Row aesthetic.

But the truly interesting observations are at the margin of this drama. For example, most of the men sniffing on their porches are younger tailors, dressed a little flashier than their older colleagues, hair greased down, face and tone competitive if not aggressive.

The more senior tailors are a little more relaxed. They realise that Abercrombie is only there as a gimmick. It wanted the address, nothing more. It is not competition and it is more than likely that it will not be there in 50 years, or it will have moved to Oxford Street. A meeting of the senior tailors of the row is described by our narrator as a “council of war”, in response to the Abercrombie opening. Yet no one at that meeting looks particularly upset, and nothing seems to come of it. The subject is quietly dropped during the programme, in order to concentrate on a trip to the Isle of Harris for some genuine tweed.

It is equally interesting that the tailors have, to a certain extent, a right to be there. While rents might be expensive, the landlord has it built into the letting contract that only the work of tailors or clothiers can go on there. This doesn’t prevent the landlords turning the top floors into apartments, or stop Abercrombie (as it strictly speaking could be described as a clothier) but it does partly explain why Savile Row has maintained its consistency and security of address over time.

Another fascinating observation, made in passing, is that few of the tailors are rich. While all of the bespoke suits they offer are expensive, starting at around £2500, they are genuinely made by these experienced old men, by hand, on that site in central London. Given the number of hours it must take to make and fit each one, it is not surprising that the profit margins are not huge. Those trips up to Harris to personally order a few bolts of tweed can’t be cheap either. Remember that next time you are comparing Savile Row tailoring to the big fashion houses (and their profit margins – see posting on January 25).

The Savile Row series screened the second of its three parts on Monday this week. However, all the episodes can be seen in retrospect and by those abroad on the BBC’s iPlayer.

A good, honest umbrella

The text read: “You’ll know this Simon, where do I get a great umbrella in London?” It was from my cousin Harry, but I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t know what to answer.

Being absent-minded at the best of times, I’ve never spent more than five pounds on an umbrella. Even the free brollies from various law firms that litter the office get lost. I take them out when it’s raining, and they get left on the tube, the bus, the Pret a Manger counter. I once bought what seemed a rather nice umbrella from Muji for five pounds. Full-length, a mossy green and smart without being boring. It got left on the bus on the way home.

Ashamed by my lack of brolly knowledge, I didn’t reply to Harry. Being the sort of wandering fellow he is, though, he spent the next hour exploring Bloomsbury and its environs. And I got a triumphant text: “Found the most brilliant umbrella shop. Old, musty, lovely men inside. Didn’t buy anything, but there was a great one with a sword inside.”

The only thing he could tell me was that it was on New Oxford Street. But a bit of research easily identified his find as James Smith & Sons, purveyors of fine umbrellas, sticks and canes since 1830.

From the website it looked as though most of the umbrellas would be out of my price range. With city umbrellas starting at £79, it would be foolish to spend that amount of money on something that could be lost of the train back to Dulwich.

For the sake of research more than anything else, I wandered in there last week – not intending to buy anything, but merely to gain sufficient knowledge of the place to be able to answer a text (and perhaps its detailed follow-up) the next time around.
The inside felt practical. Rough and ready, with a taste of sawdust in the air. Somehow, a place so unpretentious makes you feel that you are implicitly getting value for money. The sheen and gloss of a fashion brand may seem alluring, but you know you’re paying a sizeable premium for that excitement, that sense of belonging. At no point does it seem honest.

Anyway, turns out James Smith does a rather nice range of city umbrellas that start at £39. For your handle there’s a choice of cane, redwood and a rather rough wood that looks as if has just been hacked off a nearby trunk. They are long-lasting, and can be repaired at any time on site.

I opted for redwood, and am rather pleased with it. It’s lovely to extend that feeling of luxury or tradition to another part of your attire. I really hope I don’t leave it on the train.

Putting waistcoats into practice

Someone commented to me recently that I wasn’t living by my waistcoat theory (see postings on January 16 and 18). Given that Men’s Flair is “men’s style as seen by those living it” this is probably a fair criticism.

The waistcoat theory suggested that modern air conditioning meant a waistcoat and trousers would be the work attire most in line with traditional menswear. As men never wear a jacket around the office, the beneficial effects of a suit are almost entirely lost. A waistcoat, on the other hand, retains the shape and elongation of a suit while being comfortable for work at a computer and not too warm for an office with central heating.

This was meant as a theory more than anything else – to make a point about how a suit, despite all the time people spend thinking about it or having it made, is actually worn. But it wouldn’t be much of a theory if it was never put tried in practice.

So today I opted for a grey flannel waistcoat and trousers (two pieces from a three-piece Ralph Lauren suit), dark brown derby shoes from Richard James, and blue shirt and dark blue tie.

One tip: both waistcoat and tie should be plain. Most people have memories of an awful waistcoat some relation or other wore to a Christmas lunch. This is not a wedding and the waistcoat should not be fancy. The tie, equally, should not be aimed at drawing attention to itself. If anything the shirt should have the pattern, perhaps a thin stripe, which will also help add width that the waistcoat lacks as opposed to the jacket.

There is one problem with the theory though – most waistcoats are made too short. Originally, all suit trousers sat on a man’s waist (above the hip bones and probably just under the belly button). At this height, the waistcoat and trousers would overlap by at least an inch or so, allowing a man to sit down or stretch without exposing his shirt.

Today, most waistcoats are made at the same length, but trousers are worn closer to the hips. This can create unattractive ballooning out from the waist of the trousers, particularly if the shirt is not particularly fitted.

Some waistcoats are made slightly longer in recognition of this. And while they will never completely correct the problem – as they would have to go down over your bum to overlap the trousers by an inch or more – this is a step in the right direction. I recommend Flight, a company that sells high-quality suit separates in green, blue and grey flannel.

I'm trying to watch a film here!

Spicer is thrown to the floor as the mob closes in. His nervous twitch accelerates as panic grips him. Pinkie grins with that frozen, demonic grin that Richard Attenborough did so well.

Is that a belted suit?

Suddenly, a cut-throat razor slashes across his cheek. With the innocence of a child, Pinkie clutches his cheek as blood oozes between his fingers.

That tie clip looks good.

A whistle rings out. As the cops fight through the watching crowd the mob scatters. Pinkie ducks under an arm and escapes. Spicer is left on the floor, presumed (at least by Pinkie) dead.

Those three buttons are only about an inch apart!

I’m sure it’s happened to you, if you are the sort of person that reads this blog. At some point during a classic film, you realise you’ve been thinking about what the actors are wearing, and not the plot. In this case the film was Brighton Rock, the 1947 dramatisation of Graham Greene’s famous novel, directed by John Boulting and with an unforgettable Richard Attenborough in the starring role, as the sociopath Pinkie Brown.

Like so many films of the time, it is fast-paced. After an hour it feels like you’ve already watched a whole novel. But I couldn’t stop looking at the suits Pinkie’s mob wears. They are broad-shouldered, with wide, sweeping lapels. The waists are so tight there are stretch marks across the back.

Some of the jackets have a belt detail that doesn’t tie – it is just sewn in for effect – but emphasises the waist still further. All of them have one button or, as mentioned above, have three buttons that are about an inch apart. Again, the single fastening emphasises that wide, deep V across the chest.

It’s obvious what the style was aiming for. Strength and vigour suggested through breadth. It’s noticeable that Spicer, the weakest member of the gang, and Fred Hale, the traitor whose murder starts the film, wear more conservative suits. They look ragged, the jackets are undone and the ties are loosened. Pinkie’s tie is pinned by a tie clip almost ridiculously high, giving him a tight, jutting knot. Broad and neat = power.

If you manage to watch the film, keep an eye out for Pinkie’s jacket as well. I’ve seen sports jackets with “bi-swing” styles around the shoulder before – they are pleats built into the join where the shoulder meets the back of the jacket. They allow greater stretch by bellowing out when the arm is extended, but lying hidden when the arm is straight. They were designed in an era when men actually used sports jackets for playing sport. But Pinkie’s jacket has three, not one. Three bellows on either side! Surely fashion rather than function.

The pictures shown here do it some justice, but I also recommend watching the film. It’s a cracking plot, when you can concentrate on it.

Why the English want to be Italian (and vice versa)

In style, the grass often seems that little bit shinier and slinkier on the other side of the fence. As the proverb suggests, however, that is merely because you happen to live on one side.

The English want to be Italian. To them the Italian knows more, spends more and fits better into his clothes. It’s been a long time since brands proudly displayed on their labels that something was Made in Korea or Made in Taiwan. Now the location of production is hidden on an inside label unless, of course, it has been made in Italy.

Marks & Spencer has its Italian range, with the location of production proudly displayed on labels and advertising, and all against a deep red that suggests sophistication. Unfortunately for Marks, this wasn’t always true. The chain was successfully sued a few years ago when it emerged that pieces it claimed were made in Italy were actually manufactured in India and Egypt. Now the claim is that the pieces are of Italian design.

But while the English want to be Italian, Italians often want to be English. Or, at the least, English clothes and shoes inspire an idea of history and longevity, tradition and excellence. It wasn’t until I was on honeymoon in Italy that I realised how true this is. One chain called Sir Winston I found in Turin, Florence and Milan, and stocked every English brand I could think of from Edward Green to Barbour, Church’s to Mulberry.

It proudly claimed that all its shoes were made in Northampton. But to people with only a passing interest in clothes (probably those that shop at M&S) Northampton is not synonymous with fine English shoemaking. It’s just another northern town. Just like being made in Italy doesn’t necessarily mean quality, or sophistication, to an Italian.

Of course Americans want to be Italian and English, and few Italians or English want to be American. But there are brands that create a unique appeal to those on the other side of the Atlantic.

One of these is Ralph Lauren, and this brings me onto my second point about grass and its greenness. To a certain extent, foreign buyers are immune to the dilution of a brand that goes on at home. I am a big fan of Ralph Lauren here, but I’m sure if I lived in the US, and everyone I knew wore large, shapeless pony-branded polo shirts, that enthusiasm would be dampened.

Plus Ralph Lauren is sub-branded into so many categories in the US that the impression of quality suffers – alongside the Polo, Purple and Black labels there is Polo Jeans, Lauren by Ralph Lauren and even I believe Ralph by Ralph Lauren. Recently they launched another at the bottom of the scale, entitled Rugby. Unlike other brand divisions, such as Old Navy/Gap/Banana Republic, or Bershka/Zara/Massimo Dutti, the spread between Ralph Lauren’s top and bottom end is now so big that it’s hard for your opinion of the top end not to suffer.

So I am saved by my limited exposure to RL, only witnessing it in the beautiful Bond Street store.

The English equivalent may be Paul Smith, which while I am a big fan of, has an association with chavviness or laddishness in the UK (for readers in the US, this is the bottom end of the market). It has this association because of its sub-branding into Paul Smith, Paul Smith London, PS and Paul Smith Jeans. The brightly coloured t-shirts at one of the scale can’t help but affect your impression of the suits at the other.

Abroad, however, I know Paul Smith is very popular, and escapes this association. So the message should be, enjoy your view of the greener, slinkier grass on the other side. If you lived there it may well lose its luster.

A hole in made-to-measure

The problem with made-to-measure suits in most of Europe is that they are an afterthought.

Most of the high-street brands offer made-to-measure, where a tailor takes somewhere between eight and twenty measurements and creates a block for the factory to make your suit by. Hackett offers it, Austin Reed offers it. So do Aquascutum and foreign chains such as Massimo Dutti, or American chains such as Brooks Brothers.

But they are all afterthoughts – a desk and book of swatches lies at the back of the store, waiting without much anticipation for that customer who wants something a little more personal.

And that is how it is often sold, as the opportunity to customise your suit or shirt. Pick your lining, pick your buttons, have your initials sown into the cuff. Well if that’s all you want, it would be a lot easier to take your shirts to a tailor willing to sow something onto them for you. Or even to replace the lining.

The real selling point of made-to-measure (one that is rarely used in these high street stores – as they rarely try to sell the service at all) is that the suit actually fits. Few people can pick up a suit which is measured by one thing – your chest size – and have it fit them well. Even if you pay for a few alterations here and there.

As the subject of my last posting, Hardy Amies has it: “Normal figure: There is no such animal. You may be ‘stock’ size so far as chest and leg measurements are concerned, but it is 99% certain that you will have some idiosyncrasy of figure that makes you not abnormal but simply individual.”

Everyone should buy made-to-measure if they can. And they may be able to, thanks to the launch of Suit Supply in the UK. This Dutch brand launched on December 12 last year, setting up shop at 9 Vigo Street – at the head of Savile Row. It offers made-to-measure from £300 for its English wools and £600 for the Italians.

It can be that cheap because everything is geared to economies of scale. It has its own factory. It can mass-order fabrics. It offers the three most popular colours (mid-grey, charcoal, navy) at the cheapest price, because these are ordered in the greatest volume. As made-to-measure is its main business, there is someone on the shop floor dedicated to that service.

A computerised ordering system tells the factory immediately whether your stance is stooped or straight, whether your right arm is a little shorter than your left, and how high up you like the waist of your trousers. It is made-to-measure, made efficient.

(Have a look at www.suitsupply.co.uk. The website is pretty fun as well – try dragging the pictures around! Those in the US, you may have to wait a while for this to come your way. It’s only Belgium, the Netherlands and the UK so far.)

The Future of Style, as Told by Hardy Amies

The previous Permanent Style posting described how Hardy Amies, resident of Savile Row and men’s style legend, saw fashion in the sixties.

In his book ABC of Men’s Fashion he described the narrow, high-buttoning suit of the period and his belief that, for practical reasons, that style would remain the norm. Another interesting aspect of this is that he believed future trends would follow this line, only to a greater extreme.

He was wrong, of course. By the end of that decade all clothes were looser, baggier, freer. The seventies would see such a profusion of wide lapels and flared trousers in suits that commentators at that time again felt confident in predicting that the new style was here to stay.
Amies described the style of sixties most succinctly in a caption to one of his illustrations at the centre of the book. It reads: “The complete man-present: forward-looking hat, high tab-collared shirt, high-buttoning suit, slim boots with raised heels.” The picture shows a man in a pale-grey, checked suit, with only the top two buttons of his four-button suit done up. The trousers are narrow and a little short, the boots shiny and black. His dark, knitted tie is matched by a dark pocket square (though as the photo is in black and white the precise colour cannot be discerned).

Opposite is the future, as Amies sees it. The caption reads: “The complete man-future: slim bow tie balancing the vertical line of the suit, high-buttoning cutaway jacket, extra narrow trousers tucked into calf-length boots.” The gentleman pictured wears a dark, pin-striped suit, with only the top two buttons of his five-button jacket done up. The bowtie is matched by a dark silk handkerchief. And, amazingly, he indeed has his suit trousers tucked into calf-length black boots in what appears to be suede.

(My apologies that I don’t have any reproductions of these pictures. If anyone has any suggestions as to where I can get these to illustrate this posting, please tell me.)

Did Amies really believe that the future of formal wear was suits tucked into suede boots? Can you imagine businessmen today sitting in the boardroom, their suit trousers tucked into Ugg Boots? Admittedly Uggs would be too chunky for Amies, but it seems no less ridiculous.

The fact is fashions oscillate around a figure of Permanent Style, with the sixties narrow form at one extreme and the seventies flair at the other. One swing is followed by another in the opposite direction. (By this I mean long-term swings, those that last decades not years. Skinny jeans, for example, do not qualify. They are a seasonal fad, like cowboy boots or peasant skirts.)

Once enough men today have bought one-button suits, expect to see three or four-button versions on the catwalk. Designers have to come up with something that’s different, after all. And when those inventions seem to chime with the times, as boots did in the sixties and flares did in the seventies, they’ll become a decade-long swing.