Wear grey with brights

I’m in New York and spring is in the air. To be fair, spring was in the air last week in London too. Suddenly everyone seems that little bit more optimistic, as they stand on the street with their upturned faces bathed in sunshine.

Sartorially there are many ways to celebrate this change of the seasons. Brighter light means brighter clothes or lighter clothes.

I tend towards the lighter colours in my wardrobe. Out come the biscuit-coloured linen jackets, the pale ties and the white trousers. For a precious day or so (or less than that, this is England after all) I can pretend I live in Naples and am sipping espresso or wandering boulevards in the sun.

But a colleague recently reminded me of the power of brighter, rather than lighter colours. Strong, fruity shades of orange, pink and green are pretty much impossible to wear in any other weather. They stick out like a sore (glowing) thumb.

Bright colours require careful handling though. The key to wearing them well is grey.

Grey is the most versatile and kind of colours. That’s why a mid-grey suit will flatter more skin tones than navy (the two standard base colours for men’s suits). Navy looks smarter, is perhaps more slimming and is usually the default choice; but grey flatters more people.

The contrast is lower. Those with pale skin are less likely to look washed out. It makes pasty skin and tanned skin alike look darker and healthier.

So a mid-grey or light-grey suit is the best accompaniment for bright colours. It provides a neutral background for the bright oranges and greens to hammer against. In fact, the Express website (where the images pictured are taken from) automatically suggests mid-grey or light-grey worsted trousers as the ideal match for its bright shirts. So someone there has obviously got their head screwed on when it comes to combinations.

The addition of a white handkerchief or a dark, striped tie enhance the effect, containing and controlling the vibrancy.

When I do wear bright colours, I tend to do so in a handkerchief or a tie. I have always been a big fan of green or orange ties, for example, worn with a Bengal-stripe blue-and-white shirt. Or a bright paisley pocket square brightening up an otherwise conservative grey suit/white shirt combination.

But if bright shirts are your thing (and you’re part of a long, distinguished history of men on Jermyn Street) then grey is the background you’re looking for.

Stop only fastening the bottom button!

Ok, I’ve said it before. But it’s worth saying it again. And perhaps once more.

Men are still wearing their suits with the bottom button of the jacket done up. Only the bottom button.

On a two-button jacket this ruins its line, destroying the cut of every panel in the construction – panels that were tailored deliberately to emphasise the contrast between width of shoulder and narrowness of waist. The neckline hangs, ponderously, devoid of tension and meaning. On a three-button jacket it’s even worse: the jacket’s front actually balloons away from the wearer, creating a false stomach that wobbles around in front of him.

It’s bad enough when a man never does up his jacket. Then it hangs loose, but at least it isn’t distorted. It’s a little sad that he doesn’t appreciate the style and point of his jacket: I saw a group of young office workers walking out to get lunch yesterday, all in suits precisely one size too big, all with shirt collars undone and ties lolling dejectedly. And all with their jackets undone.

It’s a little sad, to me at least. Permanent Style was set up to try and explain to men how to take delight in their clothes – to help them appreciate the pleasures of chic fit, singing colour and lasting quality. Not appreciating your clothes is like not appreciating your mind or your body. It is how you express yourself; how everyone expresses themselves, whether they know it or not.

But at least these guys didn’t have the wrong button done up. The number of people I’ve seen recently doing this makes me mad. You might as well do up the first and third buttons – to each other. The line of the suit is equally distorted, pulled, unnatural and perverse.

There are very few steps I can take to correct this. One is to write about it on this site, again. Another is to try and express it vehemently enough that it is mentioned by you, by others, to other people. Like anything I’ve written about, it’s a gradual education for many people. It’s something that is passed around and passed on. Through word of mouth and the miracle linkage of the internet, it’s already something that has grown Permanent Style from nothing to 27,000 readers a month over the past year.

Here’s hoping that one more rant will stop people wearing their damned jackets that way.

The pleasures of a shoe shine

Walking along the Burlington Arcade last week, I took the opportunity to have a shoe shine. It’s rarely offered in London these days, which is a shame. So it was nice to support someone that’s making the time to set out there and ply his wares.

(Though I wouldn’t be surprised if he is subsidised by the Arcade itself – a shoe shine boy fits with the image of timeless London and luxury the owners doubtlessly like to create.)

It also occurred to me that I have never had one in London before. In New York, in Tokyo, in Singapore. But never in London. Probably just because one is more in the mood for extravagances when one is abroad – I often have a proper cut-throat shave when I’m in New York, and that’s not something I’d even consider in London.

But then the shoe shine wasn’t that much of an extravagance: £3.50 isn’t bad considering how much satisfaction a perfect polish on my Oxfords will give me.

The point to this piece, though, is that the shoe shine boy’s method was interesting (he wasn’t a boy, obviously, but no other word seems quite right after ‘shoe shine’).

I requested cream rather than wax polish, as the shoes in question could do with some nourishment. He insisted on doing both cream and polish, though, as the application of cream does take off a little of the patina created by layers of polish.

First, the laces were tucked away behind the tongue and each shoe was given a good cleaning – rubbed with a damp cloth all over and particularly scrubbed at the edge of the vamp, where it meets the sole.

Once cleaned, cream was quickly brushed on (brushed, please note, not rubbed with a cloth). It was brushed in circular motions, to work the cream into the leather and to make sure it didn’t miss any brogue holes.

Polish was then brushed on (which surprised me, I thought the cream would be buffed first – but apparently there is no need). A spritz of water was sprayed over the mixture – more efficient than the old spit-and-polish tradition – and finally the whole thing was brushed by two large, horsehair brushes, working in opposite directions on either side of the shoe.

To finish off the effect, a buffing with a cotton rag. Though apparently women’s nylon stockings are better.

Ninety per cent of that process I would have done myself, but the method and application of both cream and polish was interesting. Efficient, too. I walked away five minutes later with a smile on my face and my eyes staring admiringly downward.

New York Times recommends us

The New York Times magazine has recommended Permanent Style to its readers, through its blog The Moment.

Alongside other great blogs A Continuous Lean, Men.Style.Com and The Trad, this site is recommended as one of the 15 best on men's style.

Many thanks. The Times magazine is alright as well.

That 10-inch drop in full

Readers may appreciate this image of my colleague's first outing in his tuxedo from A Suit That Fits. As reported previously, the biggest advantage of bespoke for of man of these proportions is that the drop from chest to waist (46 to 36 in this instance) can be fully catered for.

I'm sure you'll agree that this creates a rather powerful silhouette. Something impossible off the rack.

Beautiful hangers. But do you buy hangers?

Hangers from The Hanger Project (www.hangerproject.com) are nice. Very nice. They are works of art in design and craftsmanship in construction. If I could, all my clothes would hang on these hangers.

But that doesn’t mean I’d spend any money on them.

Kirby Allison, the founder of The Hanger Project, offered to send me a couple to try them out and, if I liked them, review them here. I had seen the project mentioned and was interested to know what could actually be added to the normal suit hanger.

Well, the most important thing is size. The suit hangers come in three shoulder sizes: 17, 18.5 and 20 inches. So by picking one that is closest to your own shoulders, you will ensure that your perfectly tailored jacket has the perfect support.

This is particularly important for larger men, as hangers are normally too narrow for them. The 20-inch size offered here is bigger than anything else on the market and makes sure the padding of a jacket doesn’t sag over the end of the hanger, slowly destroying its construction.

There are other benefits – the sculpting of the line of the hanger to follow the shoulders, the 2.5-inch shoulder flares and the felted trouser bar. But as long as you already hang your trousers from something with a little friction, and never hang a nice jacket on a wire hanger, these benefits are fairly marginal.

For it is true that a wire hanger can lead to collapsed shoulders, which is a real pity. But no man that cares about his clothes would do this. All my jackets currently sit on wide plastic or wooden hangers. They’re not perfectly sized, but they’re not wire either and the shoulders are in no danger of collapsing.

I’ve gathered those hangers by asking for them when I buy a nice suit, or raiding them from new flats I move into. So it’s debateable whether I actually need hangers from The Hanger Project, even if I wanted them.

I am also sceptical that the project’s hangers are have “the widest available” shoulder flares. I have one hanger from Etro that has such wide flares it doesn’t fit any other suit.

And the justification for the premium shirt and trouser hangers is less than that for a jacket. Shirt hangers come in two sizes, again useful for larger men (of which I am not one), and trouser hangers are felted rather than clamping the trouser in place (something I would also avoid anyway).

I reiterate – these are beautiful hangers. They make my closet look better, my clothes hang better and both smell better (solid maple wood). But I’m not sure I will ever pay $25 for one.

Charvet and Brioni: Mass producers

The most relied upon measures of luxury today are the materials used in a garment and how much manpower went into it. The second of those measurements might not be as straightforward as you think.

True bespoke is done by one tailor, from scratch, to your precise and individual measurements; a new set of paper patterns is made just for you. Made to measure is individual, an adjustment to a standard pattern; the implication is that there is extra time involved in making those adjustments, and in taking your measurements.

The best ready-to-wear clothes also involve more time – more hand-stitching, fewer stages and fewer tailors. Shoes sell themselves off time – the number of stages in the benchmade process. That quality is one reason some men prefer handmade shoes on standard lasts.

But two of the most famous clothing makers today – Brioni and Charvet – were successful because they automated the tailoring process. They cut the time it took clothes to be made.

Charvet was initially famous because it was the first shirtmaker to set up a shop – so that the customers came to them, not the other way around. And the biggest contribution of Jean-Claude Colban, the current owner, was to create a system of distributing work that organised shirt-making into specific areas of expertise. He created a factory line, essentially, with the same quality of tailors but each doing one stage in the process.

Good old Adam Smith and the division of labour.

Brioni was founded by Nazareno Fonticoli and Gaetano Savini in 1945. By 1959, their popularity had grown so much that they needed a new way to cope with the demand. So they created the world’s first factory-sized sartorial workshops in Penne, a small town with a long history of tailoring. They faced revolt when they first suggested the idea, with local tailors seeing it as the death of centuries-old hand tailoring.

But 50 years later, both of these brands are seen as bastions of quality workmanship. Salvatore Ferragamo was the same. He converted bespoke shoemaking into a semi-industrial process. So who’s to say that the business models we criticise today won’t become the bedrock of future success?

Kilgour was criticised for offering a cut-price bespoke option that involved manufacture in China. But what’s wrong with that? If they’re the best tailors in China? If they’re better than a lot of the tailors in the UK?

Savile Row tailors pride themselves on having most manufacture within the environs of the Row. Turnbull & Asser prides itself in having all bespoke made on Jermyn Street. But why is it better that something’s made on Savile Row? That it’s handmade? That it’s made in the UK even?

Longevity, not profit, at Hermes

Ties are not easy to clean.

Those made of silk, at least, are very delicate things. They are carefully folded lengths of volatile material that are sewn together with loose, sparse stitches – to allow room for the silk to flow, to stretch and to play.

They do not take kindly to Bolognese.

However, if cleaned properly, most stains can be removed, provided the soiled tie has not sat for weeks in the back of your wardrobe. The problem is, not many dry cleaners have the requisite machinery to press and roll the tie back into its original shape. The difficulty is not with cleaning the silk; it is with retaining that delicate, flowing handiwork.

There are some cleaners that still have the machinery. One is Tiecrafters Inc in Chelsea, New York City. There are others, though to be honest I don’t know any in London. If anyone knows any, please tell me.

Fortunately, I have rarely had a stain on a tie that could not be dealt with by some quick dabbing with a napkin. One I have had, I took to my local dry cleaner. It was a knitted tie from Hermes, so there was little concern over pressing the tie afterwards. But the cleaner did not do a good job, to be frank. The stain was still there and the area around it looked faded.

I should have gone to Hermes itself.

Hermes will dry clean any house tie for £8 in the UK. That’s one pound less than it cost me to take it to the local dry cleaner. The French silk and leather specialist does it at cost, as part of the service of buying an Hermes product. Silk scarves cost £10.

On the European continent and elsewhere, Hermes often does not deal with cleaning in-house. It recommends a good dry cleaner instead. But otherwise the process is the same – there is no profit taken, it is done by top cleaners and at cost.

If only I’d known that before I took my knitted Hermes tie into the local cleaner; oh well. It’s great to know that some of the biggest brands in the world still offer little services like this that ensure the longevity of their products. They are intended to create loyalty, not profit.

Review: A Suit That Fits 2

I was a little anxious today, going with my colleague to pick up his suit from A Suit That Fits. Knowing I was going to review the result; knowing that they knew I was going to review the result.

Overall, though, the impression was very positive. Much of this is down to my colleague’s build. A rugby player with a big chest and shoulders, he has a rather extreme drop from chest to waist: something like 46 inches down to 36.

The standard drop on a suit is six inches. So a 40-inch chest comes with trousers with a 34-inch waist. I need a seven-inch drop (40 down to 33) but this can easily be dealt with in the adjustment of trouser and jacket waist.

Ten inches is a little harder to cater for. And although my colleague has always had his suits adjusted in the waist, it is pretty much impossible to adjust a standard jacket to those kind of proportions.

When I saw the silhouette of the suit from the back, it was impressive. That kind of drop creates a rather statuesque figure in a well-fitting suit. The Atlas silhouette, it is often called.

To my colleague it felt rather snug, both in the waist of the jacket and in the trousers from the knee downwards. I think that is probably because he has never really worn a jacket that fits that close through the waist and hips, and because trousers with a 36-inch waist tend to come with rather wide legs.

Then the waist button popped off.

As he was buttoning up the jacket, the waist button pinged onto the floor. I resisted the urge to make a comment about his girth. Well, almost.

The staff offered to sew it back on; I’m sure it will be as good as new. But it does make you think about the quality of the workmanship. This is tailors in Nepal, good as they are, and not Savile Row.

But then I have commented on the same thing on my suits made in Hong Kong. Buttons have come off occasionally and I have sewed them back on. One seam needed a little attention once, but that’s about it. In every other area the suits have worn well after four years. And sewing a button on is a small price to pay for perfect fit.

This point should be emphasised. For my colleague, it is his first experience with made-to-measure. He doesn’t know quite how slim he wants the fit. And with A Suit That Fits he can have his suit altered any time, as many times as he wants, for free. After a while he will know what’s right, adjust his template and have all his suits made according to that in the future.

Adolescent sexuality; thousands of dollars

A wonderful quote from a reader that emailed me yesterday:

"Thanks so much for your blog. I have been trying to dress myself for a new career. I tried men's magazines and found myself confused about who they could be writing for - how many men can have adolescent sexuality and materialism and a few hundred thousand dollars to spend on clothes?"

Who indeed. Very well put, Mickey.

Sleeve length, yes, but tightness also

The length of your shirt sleeves is important. At the correct length, they display the slightest strip of linen peeking out at the bottom of your suit sleeves, defining the colours and the shape of each. It is a key locus of style, the display of the deliberate relationship between wool, cotton and leather watch strap.

So let’s review the guidelines on length. The suit jacket should fall to your wrist bone; the shirt should fall a little lower, to the base of your thumb. The difference is that quarter to three-quarters of an inch in peeking linen.

One important thing to note about the length of the shirt sleeve: that point at the base of your thumb is also the narrowest point of your hand. So, if the cuff is tight enough, it will stop at that point anyway. It can go no further down the hand.

This does not mean that your cuffs should be super tight. Neither does it mean that their length is irrelevant. But it does mean that both length and tightness are important.

There is supposed to be some slight bunching of shirt material, some excess, at the end of your sleeve when it is by your side. It should not be the precise length of your arm up to that point. This is so that when the arm is extended, the cuff does not come up short, held up by its shortness of length. Rather it has a little excess to go with the arm and stretch out.

This excess length should not be too great – no more than half an inch to an inch. And the cuff should not be too tight – snug without being constricting, allowing for a watch or any other jewellery with a small amount of room for comfort.

So the cuff should not be wide enough, for example, for you to slip your hand through it when it is fastened. A French, double cuff will always be larger than a barrel, single cuff of course. But neither should allow for you to push your arm easily through.

I do not disagree with Will at A Suitable Wardrobe very often. His sense of colour in socks and shoes, for example, is consistently inspiring. But I do feel he is wrong in writing here that intricate cufflinks should be attached before a man puts a shirt on. If that were the case, there would be no room for a little excess material in the shirt sleeve and it would always stop up short when the arm is extended.

The length of your shirt sleeve is important. But the tightness is, also.

Remembering inspiration from Christmas

Eveningwear is not what it used to be. Had you been a gentleman in the 1930s (the decade when all of today’s traditions and ‘rules’ reached their apex), you would have had several options for what to wear at an evening function – such as a Christmas party.

Your closet would have contained a range of outfits for every scale of formality, from that suited to a ball (white tie) through to entertaining friends at home (dinner jacket).

This range has come down to us over the years much the worse for wear. Only two items are still worn: black tie, for almost any formal evening event, and white tie, purely for state dinners and Oxbridge balls.

The rest of the range has been disconnected from its original purpose. Velvet jackets, mohair suits, separate dinner jackets and more formal black tie (patent pumps, two trouser stripes, shirt bib) have all lost their meaning through persistent misuse.

They are floating in the sartorial ether, the preserve of rakes, dandies and ‘characters’; they are picked on as fashion items, or as a means to be a little different. Few really understand what they are wearing.

Yet it is precisely this ethereal lost-and-found that contains the best options for a modern Christmas or New Year’s party. The most fruitful choice is the velvet jacket.

Wear velvet

Gentlemen used to go to a lot of parties. Most nights would bring an evening function of some sort, so men needed clothes that could be versatile and hard wearing.

White tie and tails would be saved for only the most formal event. Black tie as we now know it would be worn more often but certainly not all week. The combination of black jacket with satin or grosgrain revers, trousers with a stripe that matched the revers and a bib-fronted shirt that buttoned into those trousers was not one that could be worn often. The whole ensemble required cleaning and pressing each time. Instead, the gentleman wore an odd (or separate) jacket to many functions.

This odd jacket could be worn with any number of trousers, though most usually plain worsted black, and a range of shirts. Normal day shirts with a folded-down collar and plain front could extend their wear into the evening. The outfit could then be brought up to standard with the addition of a pocket handkerchief, boutonnière and patent Oxfords.

The jacket itself might be double-breasted worsted (considered less formal than single-breasted), mohair (black or, better, midnight blue) or velvet (black, forest green or burgundy).

Wear it with Converse

Mohair and its shiny lustre has associations for many people. Velvet is not without associations as well, but is more versatile and timeless. So let’s take a dark-green velvet jacket as our staple for the modern Christmas party – a nod to tradition, but a tradition we are updating and thus celebrating.

That velvet jacket can be worn to a formal party. Just combine it with black suit trousers, black (preferably patent) Oxfords, a white shirt and a harmonious handkerchief (classic white or perhaps orange/yellow to go with the green). The tie is up to you – bow, necktie or open collar, depending on the event.

The velvet jacket can also be worn to an informal party. Combine it with dark jeans, Converse trainers, an open-necked blue shirt and a more ostentatious silk handkerchief (perhaps paisley or multicolours, rather than the more formal polka dot or plain handkerchief).

The trainers could equally be anything casual and slim. The reason Converse work here and Nike Dunks don’t is that the former have similarly slim lines to a formal shoe, and sit well under lightweight trousers. Adidas Gazelles work, also, for the same reason.

And there you have it. A Christmas party outfit that is adaptable to any occasion and echoes the eveningwear traditions of old. If anyone comments that your black tie doesn’t match, give him a withering and superior look.

Tips for Steve's first visit to the tailor

A colleague of mine in Hong Kong recently asked to come along when I visited my tailor, Edward Tam. Steve has only just moved to Hong Kong and was interested in a recommendation as well as learning about how the bespoke process works.

After the visit, I kept remembering little tips I would have for him when he goes for his first proper session with Edward. For his benefit, and hopefully for yours, here they are.

Go to a store first
Browsing in tailors is not easy, as only a few suits will be hanging around waiting to be picked up. And most of us are unused to buying something that is going to be made to order rather than sitting in a shop for us to try.

So before going to the tailor, I recommend going to a menswear store with a broad range of suits and trying some on. Work out what you like: Do you like the texture that herringbone gives to material? How wide are your preferred pinstripes? How strong are they? Do you prefer two or three buttons? Cuffs on your trousers or not?

Note down all these things as you try on each suit. Then take that list to the tailor.

Get familiar with terminology
You need to be able to tell the tailor what you want. He will never give you every single option available on your suit. Some, such as a full lining or the number of sleeve buttons, will be assumed. And there will be some things he wouldn’t be expected to know – the average temperature in your home country, for example.

So work out what the difference between herringbone and hound’s tooth is. And between pinstripe and chalk stripe.

Look up material weights
A quick bit of research will tell you what weight of wool is average, heavy and light. Three-season worsteds are usually around 250 grammes per metre. Flannel is heavier, usually 380-400. Odd jackets will be made in heavier materials, often around 350 grammes. Tropical-weight suits will be 230 grammes and lower.

And take along this guides in both grammes and ounces. Material from different countries will use different units.

Start small and build up
Have a shirt made first. That will only cost you HKD350 and you will learn a lot about the bespoke process during the process. Wear it two or three times, think about what you like and dislike in fit, and then order a suit. Start with the lower end of the range on materials, so it is less of a risk. Wear the suit three or four times, and again you will learn more about what you like and don’t like.

Best to start with conservative colours and pattern, a navy or a grey in a plain colour or subtle stripe. On fit, best to start with something that is not too close-fitting. It’s easier to make something smaller than make it bigger, and the adjustment is likely to be free.

Talk to others
Ask others that have had suits made at this tailor what they liked and disliked, and what options they went for. My guidance is always going to be from one point of view, to one person’s tastes.

This could also give you new ideas. I prefer trousers with side-tab adjustors, for example. But these won’t necessarily be offered unless you ask for them. Plus I dislike the labels in the jackets, so I have mine without any label and just my initials sewn in instead.

I hope these points are useful, Steve. As always, feel free to add any other questions here in the comments section. I will answer them there or in a full posting if the topic is big enough.

Also, for ease of reference, here are the previous posts on tailoring in Hong Kong:

Hong Kong tailor report

Hong Kong: The unmade suit

Hong Kong: The final suit

Reader question: Going to the tailor

Reader question: Examining the fit

Reader question: Edward Tam

Are you pretentious or not? Take the test

On more than one occasion in the past, I have been accused of being pretentious in the way I dress. Presumably, that means those people think I was pretending to be something I was not.

Sometimes, whether accused of it or not, that may be true. After all, it is a fear of appearing pretentious or out of place that makes one feel self-conscious about wearing particular items. It is the reason I don’t wear a trilby, braces or a cravat.

I’d love to, but I don’t think I could ‘pull them off’. In other words, I would be afraid I was pretending (so being pretentious).

But how do you stop pretending and become the person that can wear those more extravagant clothes? I think the important link here is to another group of words: affected, conceited, self-conscious. Style should be casual, easy and unforced.

It is linked to the Italian concept of sprezzatura. It was captured by Hardy Amies’s edict to forget all about your well-chosen clothes as soon as you step out the door. The tendency not to do it was expressed by Coco Chanel’s recommendation to look in the mirror before you leave the house, and take one item off.

If clothes are affected, it means they are false and do not suit the personality that wears them. That person could be conceited, and will probably be self-conscious, because they do not suit him and his character.

But we’re left with another phrase to define: that which suits someone’s character. I suggest this breaks down into three areas:

Comfort and habit
Men that are at ease in their clothes have dressed that way for a long time.

Yesterday I was wearing a pair of bright white trousers that, having never worn anything similar before, made me a little self-conscious. Then I saw a man coming the other way, wearing similarly blazing-white trousers, a double-breasted blazer, co-respondent shoes and a cravat. On its face, his outfit was more pretentious than mine. But he had obviously worn similar clothes for years and felt entirely at home in them. He was not pretending to be anything.

So youth and a changing wardrobe are a disadvantage. But this does not mean you should not wear anything daring. It means you should take it one step at a time.

I’ve only been wearing pocket handkerchiefs in my jackets for around two years. At some point in the next 10 years I will probably start wearing formal hats – it will feel odd the first time, but not as odd as if I started today. I rarely wear both a tie and a handkerchief, but recently I have decided I like to wear a white linen square on more formal occasions – when I am on stage at a conference or ceremony, for example.

Being ill at ease and self-conscious in your clothing often results in adjusting it constantly – tugging at the pocket handkerchief, adjusting the tie and glancing in every reflective surface. Equally, this discomfort can be caused by clothes that are just too tight, or restrict you.

To avoid pretension you must be comfortable in your clothes. This is a result of both mental and physical comfort.

Knowledge and rule-breaking
Knowing the history of the clothes you are wearing, what they were originally intended for and what rules were formed as a result is a big plus.

A man that wears a strongly pinstriped jacket with pale jeans would usually be viewed as crass and ignorant. Possibly pretentious.

But if that man is Alan Flusser, and you know that he knows every rule and guideline there is, you pause and reconsider. He is breaking those rules on purpose and with an aim in mind. You may think he fails, but you can’t argue that he is necessarily wrong.

Equally, wearing unusual clothes with the propriety they were intended for stops you pretending to be anything you are not. Knowing and applying the rules well stops you looking affected. It should also help with the first point – making you more at ease.

Freedom of expression
As with the Flusser example, your dress will not appear affected or false if you constantly adapt rules to your own taste. If you mimic another man exactly you are being false; you are trying to affect him. If you mimic a man or group from the past, you are being false, for those men are not you.

Take the knowledge that enables you to tick the second point on this list, and then twist it to your own personality. You then cannot be false because you are you. And you’re much more likely to feel comfortable and not check your reflection in car windows.

Obsessively following rules just makes you a nerd and a bore.


These are my instinctive ideas on what stops a man being pretentious, and allows him to deny that accusation. I think you need all three to qualify. And I am not suggesting by any means that I have always qualified. Any man with any interest in clothes has memories of ill-considered clothing that make him cringe today.

But we live and learn, and without experimentation we would never learn what inspires us, what we want to mimic and what we want to twist to our own personality.

The Rake: A real style magazine

Finally. A magazine that professes to be about men’s style and actually dedicates most of its content to that topic.

Finally. A magazine that takes men’s style seriously enough to include a regular section on tailoring, how it works and how it should fit.

Finally, a magazine for me.

The Rake, a new magazine launched from Singapore at the end of last year, fills many of the gaps in menswear journalism that I have bemoaned on several occasions – most specifically in the post No Magazines for Me.

Indeed, it was that post that spurred editor Christian Barker to send me the first two issues of The Rake, explaining that similar feelings about menswear journalism had led him to launch it.
Christian asked me for some feedback, so here it is.

The Academy section, which tackled the shape and tailoring of a coat in the first issue and trousers in the second, shows some good depth and benefits enormously from Scott Schuman’s photographs, on licence from The Sartorialist website. Let’s face it, very few if any magazine photo shoots are as inspiring as Scott’s street photography.

The commissioned shoots are pretty good too though. I was a particular fan of the Richard Anderson Glen plaid suit with pink stripe apparently owned by the staff of The Rake. And thank God that, unlike every ‘fashion’ magazine, you can actually see the clothes.

The profile of Anderson & Sheppard did something more than just sing the tailor’s praises, which was refreshing. Most profiles sound like they were written by the company in question and wouldn’t be out of place in their marketing material.

While this A&S piece didn’t actually criticise the tailor in any way, it did feel free enough to poke fun at the tailor’s snooty past and suggest to readers that the English-drape house style may not be for them.

Equally, the personal experience of having bespoke Berluti shoes made was a nice way in to a profile of the company and the product. A personal recommendation means so much more than an interview or marketing puff, and will nearly always have a unique slant on the topic. Here, that angle was the parallel between creating shoes and creating watches.

Another unique column is the Pocket Guide – what one stylish man carries around in his pockets. Honest, personal and no puff in sight.

The one constructive criticism I would make is that there is little opinion in The Rake. Good journalism is intelligent and investigative on the one hand, and opinionated on the other (in news and columns, respectively).

Menswear is full of opinions and disagreement, as the various online forums attest. But little of it is intelligent, eloquent and entertaining. At most it is one of these, in turns. An opinionated column, by someone with obvious knowledge of the subject and an ability to turn a phrase, would be welcome. Why driving shoes are so inelegant, for example, or Why bright socks are for people without personality.

As with newspaper columns, arguments like this would be interesting even if you disagreed with the point. Indeed, they may be more interesting as they force you to consider why you hold a particular view. How much of it is rational and how much a product of the people that surround you?

There is some puff in The Rake – the column Cherchez La Femme and the profile of Ermenegildo Zegna Couture for example. The latter spends most of a full page trying to find different ways to say ‘this suit fits like a glove’ again and again.

But it is a great magazine. Extremely high production values, a lot for your money and finally, something that takes classic style seriously.

The magazine is bi-monthly (every two months, rather than twice a month – strictly speaking that phrase can mean either) and distributed in Hong Kong and Singapore at present. It costs SGD10, roughly US$6.50.