Last night saw the launch of Sharp Suits by Eric Musgrave, at the Richard James store on Savile Row (as well as a parallel event at Norton & Sons across the road exhibiting the new E Tautz line for family and friends). Photos of the launch are below, courtesy of Andy Barnham. Kudos on the shot of Richard James, Andy (I wonder who suggested you take that one?)
Today is the launch party for Eric Musgrave’s new book, Sharp Suits. It’s being held at Richard James’s premises on Savile Row – the proprietor also lending an introduction to the book.
Sharp Suits itself is a very welcome addition to the literature on classic men’s tailoring. There is precious little of it about.
Alan Flusser dominates the field, with his most recent publication, Dressing the Man, a primer for everyone interested in classic menswear. Indeed, it’s so good that I stole from it for the title of my blog – the book is subtitled Mastering the Art of Permanent Style.
Beyond Flusser, there are idiosyncratic works like Nicholas Antongiavanni’s The Suit and Nicholas Storey’s History of Men’s Fashion. The first is a job pitch that is entertaining but feels the lack of illustrations; the second is an English barrister’s rather particular opinion on clothes, and isn’t really much of a history. There are others, but really Flusser is the only one I would recommend without qualification. Until now.
Musgrave’s book is superb and should really be titled A History of The Suit; it would have been a more accurate title, though perhaps less appealing. Sharp suits takes the reader through several, from different cultural viewpoints. The first is a basic outline, from Charles II’s adoption of the Persian vest (and hence the three-piece suit) through to Armani and Prada. The others look at suit design, royalty, the Italians, the Americans, the French, rock stars and move stars (in that order).
Each chapter is lucidly and sharply written – as you’d expect from an ex-editor. But the personal touches are the brightest aspect of the text. Much of the factual timeline I already knew, but hearing about Musgrave’s commissioning of a brown, double-breasted suit from a rather frustrated tailor at Burton’s, or his recollection of an eighties suit made from cellophane, adds a lot of needed colour.
The other reason to buy this book is the sheer volume and quality of the images. Flusser, as more of a ‘how to’ book, is illustrated by swatches and examples. Other works lack good photos at all. Indeed, Sharp Suits is probably most similar in aim to Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen’s Men of Fashion, a radio show earlier this year that presented a cultural history of menswear. But that sorely lacked pictures. Musgrave’s book makes up for it in spades.
If anyone asked me what primers they should read on classic menswear, I would recommend Dressing the Man and Sharp Suits. One is a guide, the other a history; one definitely American, the other more European.
Sharp Suits is available from Amazon and Waterstone’s now at these links:
Amazon
Waterstone’s
Lodger footwear is conducting its first reverse auction today. The shoe of the month - a glorious boot in unique, one-off Kudu leather - will start at full price at 12pm UK time. It will then drop in price by £2 every minute until someone emails the company, calls or steps into the shop and offers to buy them for that price.
The shoe polishing events that Berluti holds for its loyal customers are legendary. Started by Olga Berluti and nicknamed the Swann Club, it involves gentlemen taking over their beloved shoes, sitting at a dinner table in their cotton socks and polishing the shoes with the greatest of attention. According to previous attendees, these events have something of the schoolyard atmosphere about them – all of a sudden the men become little boys, eager, earnest and more than a little competitive. The events are also well known for the champagne that is used in the last stage of polishing. It is the acidity in the champagne that is key, removing the last vestiges of oil from the surface of the shoe to give it that extra shine. This, the firm admits, could be achieved with any wine. But champagne does add a certain romance to the whole enterprise.
These events are something that the new UK retail manager at Berluti in London, Lorenza Cavalli, is keen to build on. They foster loyalty to the brand and help Berluti keep in touch with its clientele. Indeed yesterday and today (September 25 and 26), Berluti is inviting its customers to drop by the shop for a drink (it is open until 7:30), let the staff take a look over their Berlutis to provide advice, and get a new pair of shoelaces for them.
It is amazing how many men are happy with old, frayed laces – even those that spend an inordinate amount of time polishing the shoes.
Berluti is also planning more polishing evenings at the London store, so look out for these in the coming months. Indeed, Permanent Style has already been invited to the first such evening – so watch this space for tales of debauchery, patina and polish.
Cavalli is new to menswear, her previous job being in the bespoke department at stationer Smythson and other jobs including watchmakers Ebel. But she still says she feels right at home with men’s shoes – something about the fascination that men who truly love their clothes bring to luxury houses like Berluti. “The customers are so interested in the products, in the technical side of them, in the history and the ethos of the company. It is a lot less flighty and trendy that womenswear,” she says.
In other Berluti news, the firm has just launched its new luggage. This is in the Venezia line, the same as the famous Un Jour bag (both pictured here). The design is similar in that it is a simple leather without much ornamentation, just a characteristic patina. The wheels, modelled after those of racing cars, also make it very manoeuvrable, while the thin leather makes it extremely light – lighter than a lot of other non-leather luggage.
Sim, Oxford: I was wondering if you could assist me with your experience regarding sartorial issues, the yays or nays, within banking. I have heard from fellow interns that French-cuff shirts and heavy pinstriped suits should never be worn as they depict status, status an intern does not yet have, and are thus considered a faux-pas by people higher up the chain. Any truth in this and if so, any particular things to avoid?
I think the general guidelines on discretion guided by propriety, and to an extent the dignity of business, should be enough here Sim. It’s just that bankers get a bit more snippy and competitive about it.
If you’re going for a job interview, everyone knows you should be well dressed and smart without standing out. The same thing applies to your first job – or in this case your first internship. Dress as smartly or smarter than your superiors and wear nothing that draws attention.
So I would advise you to wear navy and grey suits, shirts that are white, blue or blue stripes, and ties that are solid colours or simple stripes/geometric patterns. Wear expensive suits if you have them, equally nice shirts and ties. But keep them sober, and finish it off with a nice pair of black Oxfords.
Avoid: braces, handkerchiefs, waistcoats, double-breasted jackets, trouser cuffs, bright socks, contrast collar or cuffs, ‘humorous’ ties, ‘humorous’ cufflinks, ‘fashion’ suits, and strong colours and strong stripes everywhere. They will all draw attention to your clothes rather than yourself, which is certainly not the aim of an internship.
The reason that some of these items of clothing become status symbols among bankers is that they are often flash and always competitive. Wearing a big, bold pinstripe suit is a way to demonstrate that you can get away with wearing it. Because you have attained such a level of success that it cannot be dented by wearing tasteless clothes.
While it is true that some of these items of clothing are more traditional and hark back to earlier days of banking, it is unlikely that this is the reason they are being worn. There will be exceptions, but these are often men over 50 who actually remember when most colleagues wore braces and white collars.
I would have thought French cuffs would have been alright, though, if all other advice is followed. It can be your little indulgence.
After four bespoke suits made in Hong Kong over the past few years, and now embarking on my second British bespoke suit, I find it hard to see how I could ever stop getting a particular thrill out of it. But it will be a while before I pay for bespoke shoes.
Ignore for the moment that I can’t afford bespoke shoes. (I can buy bespoke suits off Savile Row or in the City from £800 and up, but I’ve yet to find a bespoke shoe maker who is as proportionately affordable.) Even if I was spending the usual £3000 or so for a Savile Row suit, I’m not sure I’d be spending £2000 on bespoke shoes.
Equally, when you read the experiences of older men they still buy ready-to-wear shoes even though they never buy ready-to-wear suits anymore.
I think the reason is that a bespoke suit is both more comfortable to wear and flattering. Bespoke shoes are pretty much just about comfort.
A bespoke suit is more comfortable because it hugs your contours and your proportions. It ensures that the waist doesn’t restrict you when you turn or reach for something. And (more impressively, since that last aspect of fit could be achieved by just buying a bigger suit) it allows your arms to move independently without dragging the body of jacket wherever it goes.
So, it’s more comfortable. But that comfort also produces flattery and beauty. If you are relatively slim, the jacket is likely to be more pinched at the waist, giving you broader shoulders and a sharp silhouette. The shoulders will follow yours exactly, creating a smooth, sculpted body of cloth. Overall, as the Dictionary of English Trades (1804) describes the work of a cutter, it will “create a good shape where nature has not granted one”.
But shoes look beautiful no matter how badly they fit. OK if the fit is really terrible the leather might be distorted and bulge (if too small) or crease in the wrong place and leave an awkward curl at the toe (if too big). And a bespoke shoe does follow the lines of your feet better, making it look a little daintier and sculpted.
But generally, being a little big or a little small makes no difference aesthetically. Most of the aspects of shoes associated with bespoke, like a slim and bevelled waist, can also be found on high-end ready-to-wear (like Gaziano & Girling, for example, or Lodger’s English contemporary last).
So for now, I’ll be sticking with ready-to-wear shoes.
Some serious colour matching going on here, and whatever your tastes with the shoes and scarf, mid-grey does look great with purple.
The British silk-weaving industry has changed immensely over the past 50 years. Some can still claim to be among the biggest and best in the world, but many smaller weavers and artisans have gone out of business.
The biggest reason for this, of course, is China. But it’s interesting talking to someone in the industry, such as Andrew Henry, sales director at Vanners in Suffolk, about exactly how that industrial behemoth has changed the dynamic. Henry was kind enough to talk me through his experiences during a site visit last week.
The companies that suffered most from China were those in the mid-market – neither mass nor niche producers.
When China first began its industrial growth, weavers in Europe found they could source much cheaper product from China and offer it very efficiently to existing clients. But that often meant that clients had a choice between cheaper Chinese product and relatively expensive European alternatives – most took the cheaper option. The weavers then found it harder to sell the premium product, and slipped down quickly down into the mass market.
Selling anything in volume is a numbers game, and one where it is hard to remain consistently competitive. As more weavers entered this part of the market, and China began exporting its own (quickly improving) cloth, margins shrank and many of Europe’s best-known weavers went out of business.
Italian mills often suffered more because their industry is less consolidated, with many aspects like dyeing outsourced. (Italy is still probably the biggest weaver of high-end silk, with the UK second and France a bit further off in third.)
“When I used to go to Como 20 years ago to see weavers, it was almost impossible to get a hotel reservation,” says Henry. “Now relatively speaking it is a ghost town. So many have gone.”
China’s reaction was opportunistic. Some of the managers at Europe’s defunct mills were hired by Chinese operations, to help them improve quality and production processes. As a result, Chinese silk weaving has come on immensely in the last 20 years.
“To be frank, the standard of some of the stuff out of China is OK these days,” says Henry. “They’ve come on a long way.”
The problem that Chinese mills face today is that they often don’t have the experience or market knowledge to produce silks that will appeal to the high-end European, Japanese or American audience. They can’t design a range for a client, or know what will sell in a particular market and why.
“I suppose that’s one way in which outfits like Vanners are unique and will continue to be so,” says Henry.
(By the way, you will see boxes labelled ‘China’ around the Vanners weaving shed. But that’s because the silk itself comes from China and always has. Few other climates in the world can support its production – Brazil is probably the second biggest producer.)
I do love orange and brown as a colour combination in socks/shoes. In fact, those that have been reading my series on favourite combinations won’t be surprised to know that there is another post lined up in the future arguing that burnt orange brings out a mid-brown shoe like no other.
There’s a definite orange tendency in most browns as long as they’re not too dark, and a friend of mine even swears by polishing his brown shoes with orange polish. I prefer a sparing polish with black, concentrating on the toe. But that’s just me.
The elegant gentleman pictured here was spotted by our photographer Andy a few weeks ago. I love the cheeky colour spark that his socks produce, and it goes so well with a blue jacket as well. Black or grey would not have worked.
Yes, that’s right. It’s a picture of me cutting the cloth for my polo coat. Russell at Graham Browne realised that I just have a natural tailor’s touch and decided I would cut the whole thing better than him. Also, he fancied a cup of tea and a nice sit-down.
Not really. Russell was kind enough to let me cut just a few inches of the back piece for my coat. And even that I managed to mess up slightly, losing the second, lower piece of camel hair half way. It was a very satisfying feeling though. The shears have a reassuring weight and the cloth provides just enough resistance to feel you are working at it. Apparently the most satisfying materials to cut are light coatings and flannels for suits. The texture suits the work. The most irritating are cottons and corduroys, which “are gritty and feel like you’re cutting cardboard”.
The first decision to make when drawing up the pattern was whether to have the pile running down or up. You get a pile on heavier cloths that are woven a certain way, and it has a feeling just like fur – smooth in one direction, rough in the other. It’s the same effect as you see on velvet, just much subtler.
Most coats are cut with the pile going down, so it is smooth if you run your hand down the sleeve. But other tailors prefer to cut it going up, as there is less friction when you sit down and the coat won’t ride up as much. Favourbrook, for example, cuts its velvet jackets this way.
Having decided to cut the cloth with the pile going down, the same pattern pieces as for my double-breasted suit were used to draw onto the camel hair. A range of extra margins were allowed at various parts of the pattern – an extra 3/8 of an inch on the side seam (from shoulders down to the hem), 3/16 on the back of the neck, 3/8 around the sides of the sleeves and around ½ an inch at the shoulder. The waist is ½ an inch bigger across the front, as well as the “buttons apart” being bigger (this is the distance between the buttons; an alternative way to measure is “buttons stand”, which is distance from the side seam.)
Drawing the shoulder seam involves a bit of free hand, as the extra ½ inch is smoothed out at the sides. More free hand is also needed where the jacket pattern ends, drawing a smooth curve down to the hem. That in particular is a lovely long line, and demonstrates the artistry at the heart of tailoring, no matter how many rulers and patterns are used.
The split seam on the sleeves also requires a bit of extra work. Taking the normal sleeve pattern, the half-way point is measured at the cuff and at the bicep and then the other sleeve is used to mimic the curve from one point to the other. The curved ruler (which looks like an abomination to me, but apparently is one of the most useful things a tailor has) also comes in helpful to smooth the curve.
I was a little puzzled as to why Russell asked Dan to cut him three sleeve patterns. I only have two arms, after all. But as the sleeves have split seams, two of these patterns need to be cut in half, so each sleeve has four panels of material. The remaining pattern is kept with my others as the standard coat sleeve.
Russell also suggested putting in a permanent seam down the sides of my full-length pleat in the back. This is done using Clantex Supercrease, a resin that goes down the seam and prevents it ever flattening out. It is often used in the military to retain creases in coats and trousers (both Dan and Russell, now at Graham Browne, used to be military tailors).
Indeed, Dan was the first person to use the Clantex Supercrease when it arrived at their old employers. Having set up the machine and mastered its workings, he was nicknamed Clantex Superman.
So the cloth is all cut – first fitting (importantly, over my most bulky jacket) in two weeks.
One side note: it was interesting talking to Dan about the costs of tailoring. Even those that cut suits for themselves end up paying upwards of £350 for the finished article, assuming the cloth is around £50 a metre (you need three), the jacket maker charges £100 if he’s feeling generous and the trouser maker costs at least £40; plus the cost of linings, buttons and canvassing. Considering the cutter’s work itself, suddenly the sale price of £650 seems like very good value indeed.
I tried to get a friend recently to go into American Apparel. He looked at me askance. “That place?” he asked incredulously. “It’s full of leotards, Lycra and hideous colours.” I knew what he meant. But I made him go in anyway. Because if I hadn’t been driven in by recommendations, hype and word-of-mouth, I still wouldn’t have anywhere to buy my t-shirts.
If you walk into American Apparel (now seven stores just in London, and counting) it’s easy to be put off by the body suits, printed leggings and high-waisted shorts. Indeed, the caption to the image above the list of London stores on AA’s website says it all: Cotton Spandex Jersey Tank Thong. I can see the picture and I still don’t know what it is. But it doesn’t sound good.
You have to get past that, ok? Find the menswear section and look at the basics – the t-shirts, the sweatshirts, the hoodies. They’re all well-made, high-grade cotton, fitted and very simple. No gimmicks, no logos. And best of all with the t-shirts, they are long enough to tuck into trousers.
I don’t wear t-shirts very much any more. Gone are the Iron Maiden, Pearl Jam and No Fear t-shirts of my youth (each of those a teenage phase, around two years apart). I still wear t-shirts when it’s hot, in the summer and often at the weekend. But most of all what I need in a t-shirt is something simple that will go under a V-necked sweater. Ideally it should be soft, lightweight and (most of all) have a long enough body that, like a shirt, it will not become untucked.
American Apparel’s The Summer Shirt is all of those things. And not expensive either at just £16. It is a basic item of clothing, like underwear, that I just don’t notice anymore. And as someone once said about bespoke suits, that is one of the greatest hallmarks of good clothes.
I also recommend the hooded sweatshirts. Simple and well-fitted, not ballooning around your mid-riff like American college sweaters. Just like the t-shirts, they are fitted without being tight. In a t-shirt especially, that is pretty hard to find.
Just steer clear of the Shiny Bat Wing Hoody, Velour Raglan Sweater and See Thru T-Shirt.
I have a bugbear about driving shoes. I hate the ridge, bobbles or gommini that all brands put on the back of their shoes, as well as the sole. Originally, I presume this was to retain grip on the floor of the car, seeing as your foot would be pivoting on its heel as it caressed the accelerator.
But no one wears driving shoes to drive today, and the rubber bits on the back mean that one’s trousers bunch up at the back, sitting on the rubber rather than flowing smoothly down to the heel. This is a particular issue with bankers that wear driving shoes with suits. The way the trousers bunch up makes them look like pyjamas.
So the first thing I noticed about Fin’s shoes is that they don’t have any bobbles on the back. Just smooth suede or leather.
Fin’s is a young shoe company run by a friend of a friend, Alexandra Finlay. Always interested in entrepreneurs of any type, and shoes in particular, I gave her “simple, fuss-free and fun” shoes a try. And bearing in mind my rather slight bias and connection to the company, I have to say they are remarkably comfortable.
I only owned one pair of driving shoes previously, from Massimo Dutti, and Fin’s are a big improvement on those. At first blush they also seem more comfortable than Tod’s or Bally, though having only tried on those brands I can make no direct comparison.
The shoes are made by a family-run factory in Portugal and are partly hand-stitched (the long moccasin stitch joining the vamp to the upper). Says Fin: “Portugal is renowned for providing fantastic quality at great value. In creating a brand that centred around the ethos of affordable luxury I knew that the balance Portugal offered would be ideal for Fin’s.
“The factory is entirely dedicated to making shoes; their set up is amazing, a cavernous room with the shoe-making process operating from start to finish in an anti-clockwise arrangement. The process starts with a man cutting the patterns, and works its way around to another man wrapping the finished shoes in tissue paper and boxing them up. Visiting the factory at production time is one of my favourite things to do. It makes you appreciate the finished product so much better when you see the work and craftsmanship.”
The construction and padded insole is remarkably comfy, although I must admit that part of that insole cover is coming away in my pair, which I have been wearing daily for two weeks. The insoles are removable though, which should aid any repairs and also helps air out sweaty feet a bit better.
It’s hard to argue with Fin’s philosophy of comfortable, simple shoes, easily ordered (next-day delivery) and in more colours than you could possibly want. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend wearing them with suits though.
It’s not easy to wear strong colours, whether it be in clothes or footwear. So it’s worth taking notice when someone does it well. This gentleman was spotted by our roving photographer recently, successfully mixing strong red trousers with brown and two shades of green. But while it’s worth pointing out that red and green work because they are complementary colours (a primary colour and its opposing secondary), the real secret here is the brown suede boots.OK, so this is how I came to the earth-shattering style insight alluded to in the title:
• most of my ready-to-wear jackets have sleeves that are slightly too long;
• most of those jackets are casual as my suit jackets are mostly bespoke;
• because they are casual they tend to be of rougher material (cotton, linen);
• they are also cheaper jackets for that reason;
• so I’ve never paid to have the sleeves shortened (because they are casual and because they are cheaper);
• so I end up turning back the ends of the sleeves by an inch or so.
Do you like the quasi-logical approach to this style analysis? Essentially, I realised that I like turning over the end of my sleeves on casual jackets. I like it as a small style quirk, as a little casual but personal touch. But I think it only works with casual jackets because the roughness of the material matches the casual nature of the gesture.
A business suit is usually made of smooth worsted wool because smoother, sleeker clothes are smarter. Smooth cloth goes with crisp creases, high-shine shoes and sharply angled handkerchiefs. Can you feel the aesthetic?
By contrast, linen is rough and ready, goes with crumpled lines and soft woollen ties, faded madder dyes and heavy, seamed shoes (Derbys, brogues, double soles). So turning back your cuffs can work.
If you wanted turned back cuffs on a smoother cloth, they would have to be precisely turned and stitched down – like the cuffs you get on velvet jackets and some overcoats. That is the only turned back cuff that will work because it is exacting, fine and firm.
Of course, you need to be able to physically turn back the cuffs for this theory of mine to apply. So a tweed or heavy wool jacket will not work. This is the exception to the rule, though the rule remains – casual touches will work best with these heavy, rougher jackets. So if you need to do some more manual labour (and the cuffs unfasten) roll back those sleeves and get down to it. It’s what working cuffs were designed for, after all. Makes it easier to clean your hands afterwards as well.
(Interesting how times have changed though. John Hitchcock, managing director at Anderson & Sheppard, confirmed to me recently that the firm used to refuse to make working cuffs. They were the sign of a labouring man. And today they are a sign of quality that even A&S is happy to provide. As John put it, “we’ve always liked to be a little bit different.”)
One of the luxuries of shopping at tailors and other high-end menswear stores is the knowledge of staff. OK so if you’re a real shoe geek you might know more than the sales assistant – few people care what a rand is, even if they love shoes. But that assistant will at least be able to explain the different lasts on offer, give you decent advice about sizing and know the difference between an Oxford and a Derby. In short, they will know their stock.
What a shock it is to return to the high street. Inspired by a recent post by my friend Steven Taffel, owner of Leffot shoe store in New York, I went in to Uniqlo yesterday to try its jeans.
If I could help it, I’d rather not pay too much for jeans. As long as they are reasonably well made and won’t fall apart, the only thing I care about is fit. And Steven’s seemed to fit pretty well.
As regular readers will be bored of hearing by now, I have large thighs and a small waist, so buying trousers off-the-peg has always been hard. I recently realised, though, that my tailor can take in jeans at the waist – as long as I’m not that bothered if the thread doesn’t match exactly.
So, all I needed were jeans that fitted in a straight, narrow line and could make it over my thighs. The waist was irrelevant. The good news is, Uniqlo had some. The bad news: it took me half an hour to find them.
Having tried on both slim and regular fits in a few sizes, I was puzzled that the width of the leg (at least below the knee) didn’t vary between styles. I asked one of the sales staff. Blank look. Are the regular jeans more tapered below the knee? Nothing.
OK, this was probably expecting a little too much. These guys didn’t design the jeans after all, they’re just selling them. So I asked whether the blue selvedge jeans (there were two colours, blue and black) only came in slim fit, which appeared to be the case from the table display. No response. “Are these just in slim fit?” I asked. That produced the worst possible response – the assistant started looking at the labels.
If you have to check your own stock to work out what’s there, what use are you? You’re just doing what I’ve been doing for the past 10 minutes. But slower, and with less enthusiasm.
So I took a logical approach, taking two sizes in each of the two styles in three different ranges. Twelve pairs of jeans.
Next time you’re in Uniqlo I recommend asking a fellow shopper for help rather than a sales assistant. They’re likely to know more and be more inclined to help.
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