First British bespoke shirt 2

I liked the trial shirt from the moment I saw it. All neatly pressed and arranged, the cardboard collar finishing in a tab at the front that declared ‘By Royal Appointment’. A nice touch, as was the label (black, discreet, reading ‘Turnbull & Asser Bespoke’) and the bag (also black, with the same bespoke message, but a little less discreet).

This was the trial version of my first bespoke shirt (as previously described on this site, here). The idea is that you wear it three times and wash it as you would your normal shirts, so you can try the fit and so the guys at Turnbull & Asser can see how much you are likely to shrink your shirts over time. You then have a fitting with the worn and laundered shirt, before the final measurements are sent to factory.

When I tried the shirt on, I was pleased with the cloth – a Sea Island-quality cotton in white. The tail was impressively long (no scrimping there). And I liked the higher collar that had been suggested because of my relatively long neck. While not being as large as some fashion-led shirts of the past few years, the extra height was still noticeable and flattering. It also fastened with just the one button – having two or more is unnecessary, even for very high collars.

However, I was rather concerned with how big the shirt felt everywhere else. I could get four fingers under the collar (it should be more like two); the gap between the sides of the collar seemed rather large; the sleeves seemed to be slipping far below the base of my thumb; and the waist and hips felt rather bulky. It also felt like there should be one more button at the bottom of the placket – when the shirt rode up it seemed to gape and expose my mid-riff.

Little changed after three washes (one of them at 60 degrees, to be on the safe side). But then I don’t tumble dry my shirts, which is a big culprit in the shrinking of shirts.

When I went back for my fitting, master shirtmaker David Gale was very reassuring. He repeated his previous message that it is always worth making a shirt big as it can’t be enlarged, only cut down. So we took 3/8 of an inch out of the collar and made the cuffs each ¼ of an inch smaller. We also reduced the gap between the ends of the collar, the presumption being that one would wear a bigger tie knot with a spread collar like this. I don’t.

Finally, we cut down the chest, waist and hips – originally the excess here had been 5, 4 and 4 (inches); that was reduced to 3.5, 1 and 3. I’m sure this will fit well, but I did wonder why the trial shirt itself was not closer to the mark. I also asked for one extra button to be added to the bottom of the placket.

The shirt and the new, adjusted pattern will now be sent to the factory. The next instalment in this series will be a visit to the factory to watch my shirt being made.

[Pictured at top: the shirt patterns of famous gentlemen on the wall of Turnbull & Asser Bespoke]

The coat project 5

We’re almost there with the camel polo coat. Since I covered it last we’ve had a second basted fitting, where it was ripped apart again and re-cut. Then it went away to be made-up and today I had the final fitting – all complete save buttons and cuffs.

A coat is not usually cut to fit snugly over just a shirt, so at every stage we have taken in the waist a little. At this stage we took in an inch more, but I think that is enough – any more and it would look too shaped, rather effeminate. In the picture you see here I am wearing just a shirt underneath, and it fits quite snugly on the waist now (with the pleat in the back at its smallest setting). Obviously that means the shoulders are a tiny bit big, but nothing you can do about that – you can’t alter the shoulders every time you take your jacket off.

The pleat that we planned all the way up the back has been altered slightly (search this site for Coat Project to see all the history). Rather than starting at the neck, it now starts three inches above the waist. We decided that a full-length pleat sacrificed too much control over the fit of the back. This way there is still a lot of room to alter the lower back, waist and hips but the top of the coat will retain a consistent shape.

At the initial design stage I was afraid the raised seam, double breast and patch pockets would look too busy. But the raised seam is very subtle, neat, possibly even smart. (I asked that the raised seam be added to the welt of the patch pocket on the final coat as well.)

I am also particularly pleased with how the split sleeve worked out – lining up the shoulder seam with this is not easy, but looks very sharp (see below).

And I lowered the button stance slightly – the three buttons can be seen marked on here in chalk. This was to balance with the length of the coat. You can also see a chalk mark where I have requested the sleeves to be shortened slightly. Coat sleeves should completely cover jacket sleeves and shirtsleeves, but then I like my jacket sleeves short anyway.

In the picture you can also see that the overlap of the coat partly covers one of the patch pockets. This is because we extended the overlap as part of the extra waisting; that pocket will be moved further round.

Finally, you will notice from the below pic that the patch pocket is sloped outwards towards the bottom. I assumed this was a sporting detail to accommodate gun shells etc, but apparently it is so that the two edges of the pocket are parallel to the front edge of the coat and the side seam. As the coat is gently flared, so too are the pockets… Apparently all flaps on suit jackets should be sloped in a similar manner, they are just too short to notice.

Hopefully final coat next Tuesday!

Sharp facts

Every time I read a book on men’s style, I underline facts I don’t know. Over the past few years, the number of underlinings in my books (and magazines) has got mercifully less. Fewer defaced volumes on the shelf.

But with Eric Musgrave’s Sharp Suits, the number of facts multiplied. I gave up 50-pages in, so criminal did it seem to write all over the book. The problem is, this is a history of menswear rather than a guide. And a history not only contains more facts, those facts come with quotes, anecdotes and supporting evidence.

I’d heard most of the stories about Edward VII, for example, but I didn’t know this quote from German Chancellor, Prince von Bulow: “In the country in which unquestionably the gentlemen dressed best, he was the best-dressed gentlemen.”

Equally, I knew Edward’s innovations included the dinner jacket, wearing tweeds at the races and leaving open the button of a waistcoat. But I didn’t know he was also responsible for the black Homburg hat, shorter tails on evening wear and turn-ups on trousers (to protect the bottoms from muddy ground).

I shall endeavour to scatter some facts from Sharp Suits throughout future posts. But for the moment here’s a few to be getting on with:

• A 1960 inventory of the Duke of Windsor’s wardrobe listed 15 evening suits, 55 lounge suits and three formal suits (all with two pairs of trousers).

• By 1849 Brooks Brothers had 1,500 people making its clothes, and could put a claim to being the first company to offer ready-made clothing.

• After the Second World War there were approximately 100,000 tailors working in Italy, dressing around 85% of the adult population. And yet it was the Italians that became the leading manufacturers of ready-made suits in the modern era.

• Hickey Freeman’s greatest innovation was to bring the various parts of suit production into a single factory. Up until then different tailors worked on different parts of a suit in different locations, often at home.

• The innovation of Hart Schaffner & Marx (which bought Hickey) was to offer proportioned suits with basic body types – tall, short, stout and thin.

• “Pierre Cardin was arguably the most influential menswear designer of the twentieth century…he changed attitudes to dress in men who had relatively little interest in their appearance” Colin McDowell. Cardin ruined this reputation with astonishingly promiscuous licensing.

• The hottest trend of 1962 was the suit silhouette worn by a group of public school boys that gathered around Le Drugstoe, a café on the Champs Elysées in Paris. They went to Marina, an old tailor on Rue Vernier in the seventeenth arondissement, who was the first to cut flat-fronted, wide-bottomed trousers with small cuffs known as marinettes.

I’m done. More reading to do now.

How a Drake’s tie is sewn

Following up on last week’s post on how the silk for a tie is cut, here’s a demonstration of how it is sewn together.

The key to any well-made tie is the slip stitch that runs all the way up its centre. It begins with a bar tack at the wider end and ends with a similar tack at the narrow end, plus that all important loop – a couple of inches of extra thread that allow the stitch to slip.

Let’s look at how one is made at Drake’s ties. The first image, above, shows the tie’s lining being placed along its middle. The lining determines the weight and feel of the tie, and has to be carefully balanced with the weight and handle of the silk. Here the lining is a wool and cotton mix.

The lining has a rough and a smooth side. It makes little difference to the shape of the tie which side is uppermost, but proprietor Michael Drake prefers the rough side to face the front – if only because otherwise there is a chance the texture could show through onto the back of the tie when it is being pressed.

In the second image, the lining is being pressed down into the front tip of the tie. The tipping is picked out to harmonise with the colour of the silk, here a white tipping for a small blue-and-white check: both very summery-feeling colours.

There is slightly more tipping on a Drake’s tie that a normal tie. This is because Michael likes to have the bar tack a little higher than average, allowing the end to splay out a little and “display more character”. It’s more expensive as it requires more material – a place someone could save a little money if they wanted to.

The two sides of the tie are then folded over the lining and tipping, and pinned all the way up their length. That’s the pinned (and weighted-down) tie you can see in the background of the image above.

In the foreground is the needle that is used for the slip stitch. This is unique to the job, with a slight curve that makes it easier for the sewer to catch both sides of the tie, and the lining, with each stitch and yet not prick the front. It is crucial that the lining be held with each stitch, so it does not move around the tie and provides consistent body along its length.

The bar tack is the first, anchoring stitch – it holds together all those elements mentioned above, plus the tipping. Some companies use an oversized stitch to demonstrate its strength. Drake’s considers that ostentatious.

The image above shows the stitch half-way through its progression. The self loop has just been inserted and stitched into place. By the way, a slip stitch is a loose, irregular stitch that allows the thread a certain amount of movement, while still securing the material.

At the end of the tie, a loop of excess thread is left (as shown below) before the thread is secured in a final tack. This loop means that the tie can be stretched, knotted or contorted, yet left to hang under its own weight will return to its original shape.

A tie without one is pretty much DOA.

How to wear a trilby

It’s not easy wearing a hat. You stand out more in a crowd than a man wearing polka-dot knickerbockers or a cape. The hat radically changes a man’s silhouette, probably more than any other item of clothing.

People look at you if you wear a hat. Anyone that is passionate about classic men’s style is probably used to the stares of others. But a (proper) hat draws stares from everyone, everywhere. I bought my first proper hat – a brown-felt trilby from Lock & Co – a couple of weeks ago and am just getting used to these sensations, this attention.

The comments on that previous post included: “I have been a daily hat wearer for years. While I do get the occasional odd glance while wearing a hat, I mainly get compliments” and also “wearing a hat makes you look like a dope, especially if the hat is a very fine one.” I can completely understand why men are passionate about hats in both directions.

I think the reason is that everyone knows hats are incredibly practical, but they don’t feel comfortable wearing one. And I can’t help feeling that perhaps they resent that. Or they resent that their head gets cold and they feel silly in a beanie. And flat caps look odd, or over trendy.

A hat keeps you warm. It’s an overused fact, but a fact nonetheless, that most of your body heat escapes through your head. When you get older, losing your hair, many years from now (as the Beatles put it) you need something to cover your head in cold weather. It’s necessary.

And a hat keeps you dry. Remember those close ups of Humphrey Bogart, standing in the rain on a street corner, watching the house opposite? The rain was pelting down on his hat and trench coat. But he wasn’t getting wet. It’s an oddly liberating experience when you first where a proper hat in the rain, and everyone around you is either clashing umbrellas or scampering for cover.

If you just don’t like hats, fine. But trust me, if you have even the sneakiest suspicion that you might like one, try it a few times and you won’t want to turn back. Sure, you’ll feel self-conscious, but that’s the case with wearing anything new. I used to feel self-conscious wearing a pocket handkerchief. Now I get odd looks if I’m not wearing one.

Some hat enthusiasts will disagree with me, but I think a hat is also an unusual enough accessory to need balance elsewhere. I won’t wear my hat with a double-breasted suit, tie and briefcase. Because to me that is straying almost into costume – or a lack of individuality. I think my hat looks best with casual trousers, a blazer and open-necked shirt. Perhaps a raincoat on top. In the same way I wouldn’t wear a tie, pocket handkerchief, tie clip and boutonniere to work, no matter how good it might look. It’s a question of balance and personal taste.

Finally, for those that requested it, there are shots here of my hat with its box, and a photo of how it looks rolled up for travel.

Final boots from Cliff Roberts

I have written previously about the boots being made for me by Cliff Roberts, an old hand of Northampton shoemaking who started making his own shoes from his conservatory recently. Well, I finally took delivery of them this past weekend.

Cliff was kind enough to bring them down to London personally, partly to compensate for an inability to source a tool for securing the speed hooks, which had delayed the process by a couple of weeks.

I was immediately impressed by the quality of the leather, which was very soft and supple. In particular, the leather lining and suede in the upper half of the boot was especially malleable. The finishing was also impressive, with Cliff taking the time to put my initials, as well as a pattern of arrows, in the heel with tacks.

Cliff’s lasts are slightly wider than average for the various fittings, so my size of 8½ E and 8 F came up a little bigger than I expected. As Cliff points out, boots do need a little more room in order to get the foot in easily – and the high fastening ensures that there’s no chance of any slippage. It’s marginal, but I should perhaps have gone with a D and E.

This is one of the obvious drawbacks of having shoes made remotely: you can’t try on a range of sizes and pick accordingly. Then again, I have frequently bought the wrong size in ready-to-wear shoes in the past even after trying them on.

From a construction point of view, the beveling of the waist on the boots and the greater support for the instep both make a big difference: touches that remind you of bespoke shoes rather than ready-to-wear.

Talking of bespoke, Cliff is considering launching a bespoke business next year, with lasts being made by Springline and being used to make ‘sprung’ or ‘braced’ trial shoes that can then be tried on by the client, and used to adjust the last. Cliff has tried to make shoes direct from a last that has been created by scanning a client’s feet, but the fit is never quite right. As I wrote previously in two posts on finding cheap bespoke, others’ experience shows that bespoke shoes are more a question of trial and error. So Cliff’s service should work well – and after the initial outlay to have a last made (around £230) the price of the shoes would be the same.

Some pictures of the hand-bunking, inking and toe tacks below. I’m off to put the boots on again; they really are very nice.

Patrick Grant on dressing well

The proprietor of Norton & Sons gives his thoughts on dressing up and dressing well.

What’s the key to a great men’s outfit?

The great thing about the way men dress is we have so many bits and pieces we can put together. And if you’ve got an eye for it, a little bit of flair, you can lift an ordinary outfit into something quite special just by, you know, picking up the purple overcheck in a dark-grey Prince-of-Wales and accessorising that with your pocket handkerchief. Someone will see it, just catch that item, and they’ll think: ‘huh, I like that.’

Do many people do that these days?

No. I think it’s a real shame that we’ve got to the point where people who want to dress nicely feel embarrassed to do so. That they feel they can’t wear both a tie and a pocket handkerchief because of how it will be perceived. It’s depressing to me.

So few people get any joy out of getting dressed in the morning these days. It’s a shame because it can be a very pleasant, slightly introspective pause in your otherwise hectic schedule: ‘I’m just going to take 10 minutes and find the right tie to go with this shirt.’

I used to spend hours and hours swapping ties and things around. But you tend to find that, the older you get, the easier it is. It’s just experience like anything else. Our shirtmaker and has been on or around Savile Row for 35 years now, here and Jermyn Street, and he just has a good eye. You almost never see him wearing anything that isn’t spot on. And it’s never just a plain dark tie, a pale shirt and a dark suit. It’s always something with a little colour.

We try to express that sometimes in our shop window. There have been ones there recently with grey shirts and purple knit ties, as well as other colours.

Do you like knit ties as an alternative to silk?

Yes, it’s the sort of tie that gives a little more character. A printed silk tie is fairly ordinary, business-like. A woollen tie feels less dressy and makes you feel more comfortable. Like Lanvin’s ties – someone pointed out to me recently – some of which are crumpled and perhaps don’t make you feel like you’re actually wearing a tie. People would often wear a bow tie before they’d wear a silk tie.

I often feel the same way with woollen handkerchiefs. They feel much less dressy than silk.
Absolutely. Though more people are wearing handkerchiefs these days, almost more than are wearing ties, which is really funny. I’m glad they are, because you need a little bit of colour. If I take out my handkerchief, this automatically becomes a less interesting outfit. Without the tie as well, it becomes very dull. It’s something anyone could put together.

[Patrick is wearing a mid-grey herringbone suit, blue and white Bengal-striped shirt, pale blue silk tie printed with a white geometric pattern, and a silk handkerchief that is a mix of blue florals, cream and navy edging]

You can understand why men feel very uninspired by clothes when they see their peers walking around in just a suit and shirt, or most of the time just a shirt and trousers.

Exactly. If the trousers are beautifully cut and the shirt fits very well – as in it isn’t billowing out around your waist and flapping underneath your arm – it can look nice. But it’s rarely going to be that exciting. It needs something different. Wear a tank top or something that adds a little colour.

Something dark, dignified, but still with interest and sophistication – like a dark purple or bottle green.

Sure. My favourite colour combination at the moment is blue and yellow. We’ve got some really nice shirtings at Tautz in blues and yellows. Some nice bright ties too.

[E Tautz is the ready-to-wear label launched, or more accurately relaunched, by Patrick last year. Available in Matches and Harrod’s.]

Orange, too, is something I’m into. For the summer, perhaps pale blues as the base, indigo somewhere and then a very bright, citrus orange. Almost orange peel. Not a lot of it – just a dash of it, in a tie for example.

I saw you say previously that you are very influenced by what you see people wearing that come into the shop.

Yes, absolutely. It’s all the little details you pick up on. A little bit of colour here and there. Even if it’s just the edge of a pocket square that picks out something in the tie – just that little bit of thoughtfulness. And there’s one customer that always, always wears bright red socks. It isn’t going to match with anything, but it’s a statement.

Another wears his watch over his wrist, like Agnelli. He has his shirts specially made so I suppose it’s easy to get them to work with the watch. But then if you are as prominent in his industry as he is, you can get away with it.

Do you make mistakes in what you wear?

Sure, you shouldn’t be embarrassed by experiments. Particularly when I was younger. That’s what your childhood’s for really, making horrendous fashion mistakes. I remember they used to have a menswear section in the back of Elle, perhaps once a quarter, and I picked out outfits in there, copying them all exactly. I’d think, ‘oh I don’t have that blue tie exactly, so I’ll try something else instead.’ And it would end up being a horrendous mistake.

And then you would see yourself coming in the opposite direction the next day?

Well no this was Edinburgh, so the chances of that are pretty slim. But a lot of it is just trial and error.

There are some people, I suspect, that look at their wardrobe, pick three things out and look perfect. Other people pick three, decide against it, try another combination, reject that and finally decide on something. Still others pick out an outfit, walk out the door and look like a dog’s breakfast without knowing it. I think I’m in the second category rather than the first. There aren’t many in the first.

You develop staples over time, that you know work.

Yes, things you revert to. That’s where experience comes to play, because eventually you’ll have enough good outfits that they will all start overlapping. There will be a Venn diagram that over time has more and more things in the intersections as you add circles. Then at some point in your life you will know how to combine everything. I haven’t got to that point yet but some of my customers certainly look like they have, and they’re all in their sixties so I’ve got a couple of decades to carry on learning.

I think some people probably find it quite frustrating that they seem to spend all their time trying and never quite get it right.

Well then they need to walk around Savile Row a little and see what everyone else is doing. There should be no shame in just picking up on what other people do. I write it all down – if someone comes in wearing something really unusual that I like, particularly a combination of lots of different colours and patterns, I write it all down – shirt was this, tie this, suit, handkerchief, socks, shoes, everything. There’s nothing wrong with copying other people.

Hand-cutting ties at Drake’s

Traditional manufacturers often do things a bit differently. It may take more time, and it will probably be more expensive, but they think it’s worth it. On Permanent Style, that’s something I like to celebrate. This week I’m celebrating the way ties are made at Drake’s, specifically the way its silk is cut.

The more ties you can get out of a block of silk, the cheaper they are to produce. Original seven-fold ties were made of just one block (sheet). By squeezing them in and not cutting all of them on the bias, some modern manufacturers can get four out of the same sheet. Drake’s gets two (like most high-end tie makers today). That’s a pile of silk blocks you can see pictured below, weighted down and with the front and back blade chalked out. The back blade is on the left – you can see the slight flaring at the tip, a signature of Drake’s on its narrower ties (seven and eight centimetres). Notice how both blades are positioned at 45 degrees to the edges and so to the weave – that is cutting it on the bias.

All this is really by way of introduction. Because what we want to talk about is how these silk blocks are cut up. The sides of the tie, those on the left and right of the blades you can see marked out, are cut by a handheld machine. It slices through the cloth very quickly and efficiently – that’s it being operated in the next image below, by Mario (a cutter of some 30 years’ experience).

It’s fine to do those edges by machine, because they are tucked away on the insides of tie. The tie maker will fold over the edges, fold both sides together on the back of the tie and then pin it in place, before sewing it all up with one slip stitch.

But the small edges, those at the top and bottom of the blades (and the top and bottom of the neck, the third piece in tie, to which both the blades are connected) are cut by hand. “They’re more delicate and make much more of a difference to how the tie hangs,” explains founder Michael Drake. “At the front end of the tie that bottom edge is folded over very closely as well and has to be just right.”

So a sharp knife is used to cut these edges. That’s Mario cutting the edge of a neck piece below. He has to cut through around 40 sheets of silk here (the number ranges from 40 to 50, but that depends on the silk and its construction, so the depth of cloth is pretty consistent). The knife does not go through easily or quickly. It takes a few seconds and some back-and-forth; a bit like slicing through a large ham.

“We’re about the only tie makers that cut the silk by hand,” says Michael Drake. “It’s a small thing but we think it’s worth it.”

Mario’s mentor has just retired – the first person to retire from Drake’s since its foundation – but Mario has trained up two other cutters, Steve and Lily. So the tradition is in safe hands.

[P.S. The item in the foreground of the first picture is a Japanese chalk marker. It is full of chalk dust and has a little wheel that dispenses in on the cloth, just as sharply if not more so than an actual chalk. And it never needs sharpening. Michael is currently considering making a mint by exporting it to the world.]

Second British bespoke, part 1

I mentioned a while back that I had commissioned a second suit from Graham Browne in London. And after rather too much travelling lately (Milan, Madrid, Dubai in a month; and Hong Kong next week) I’ve finally got around to watching the first step of it being made.

It’s unlikely I will post quite so many photos of this suit in its construction and fittings, in that much will be similar to the last series. But whenever things are new, I will. Here, the most obvious novelty is the waistcoat.

The suit is in 13-ounce, navy, chalk-striped flannel from Hunt & Winterbotham. The weight of the flannel means the stripe is rather fuzzy, which is how I prefer all stripes in suitings. (The only stripe I like is a bead stripe – anything too precise and without texture seems to look cheap.) The jacket is three-button, rolling to two, and the waistcoat has notched lapels with five buttons, rolling a little at the top as well.

A new waistcoat pattern was cut for this suit, but not a new jacket pattern – my existing DB pattern being simply folded over to cut the SB jacket front panels. The waistcoat has a full, floating linen lining, something tailors rarely do these days. The linen gives structure and a shape that moulds to the chest, while not being too bulky.

Russell and Dan report a lot more waistcoats being ordered these days. (Perhaps people have been reading the Logical Waistcoat Theory.) In fact they say they’ve made more in the past year than the past 10 years together. Problem is, there aren’t many waistcoat makers around any more. Graham Browne uses one lady and she is overworked. Jacket makers can make waistcoats as well but they dislike it, as the work is similar for less pay.

The other issue with waistcoats is that men today wear their trousers a lot lower. The question for the tailor is: does he try and convince the client to have his trousers cut higher for a waistcoat, or make the waistcoat longer? Having a gap is not an option, but some men would resist the former, while the latter can make the body look too long. Russell says he leaves it up to the client to a certain extent, but there are limits.

Also if you plan to wear a separate waistcoat with a suit, buy that or have it made first. One client of Graham Browne’s didn’t tell the tailors that he already had a fancy waistcoat he wanted to wear with this suit, so the trousers were not cut high enough. Always best to bring the waistcoat along, so the trousers can be cut appropriately.

In the images here you can see the folded jacket pattern being placed on the cloth; the sleeve pattern being chalked on; the linen lining that will be used on the waistcoat; and finally the marked-up jacket.

In the last picture those three horizontal lines you can see at the top left are the button placings. The curved line coming up into them (from underneath the middle of the scissors) is the edge of the jacket. Notice how it meets the vertical between the first two buttons, to take account of the roll (you’re looking down the jacket).

My first British bespoke shirt

A few months ago I had my first British bespoke suit made. Time, I thought, to repeat the experience in shirts – so I toddled off to 23 Bury Street, home of Turnbull & Asser's bespoke service.

I've been a fan of Turnbull & Asser's shirts for a while, and wrote a while back about the vast improvement that has been made in the block for their ready-to-wear shirts. How many men with a 15-inch neck wanted that big a waist on their shirt I'll never know. The new line is much slimmer, and fits better than some made-to-measure I've had done.

Bespoke is made in almost exactly the same way as ready-to-wear, and all in the Gloucester factory. But the difference is the fit. I have to say being measured by master shirt maker David Gale was an eye-opener for me. The attention to detail in body and personal habits was greater than any other tailor I've had.

Take the width of the cuff, for example. Obviously this is dependent on the width of the man's wrist. It should be tight enough to that wrist such that the cuff stays at the base of the thumb and does not slip further down. That allows the shirtmaker to build in around an inch of excess material in the sleeve length, above the wrist, so that when a man's arm is extended the shirt goes with it.

However, some men wear large watches on their wrist, making it impossible to keep the cuff tight enough to prevent slipping down the hand. So instead, the cuff is made larger but there is no excess in the sleeve length. To still allow for movement of the arm, a slight excess is built into the back of the shirt, rather than the sleeve.

The same process would be used for a man that prefers to put in his cufflinks before he puts the shirt on. The cuff is made a little wider and the sleeve a little shorter, without that excess material. Equally for a man with particularly thick wrists in proportion to his hand.

I do wear large watches, but I also have slim wrists – so it balances out.

It also makes a difference what type of cuff link you wear. A silk knot keeps the cuff very tight; a bar is rather looser; and a chain is looser still – even if they are the same length, the looseness of the chain means it forms a bigger circle than a bar. This is as important as the thickness of your wrist.

My first commission was for a white dress shirt, in Sea Island Quality cotton. This is not actually from the West Indies, as Sea Island cotton originally was, but from the same plants transported to Egypt. I was told that the cotton you get today from the West Indies is monopolised and thus overpriced. In T&A's opinion, Sea Island Quality feels better anyway. I've felt true Sea Island cotton and it is heavier and silkier. Whether that is better is really a question of taste.

The first, draft shirt will be ready in three to four weeks. This will be made slightly on the conservative (wide) side in terms of fit. For example, the excess of cloth in chest, waist and hips can be as low as two inches each. Mine will be five-four-four, with the presumption that it will be taken in. Better too much than too little, as you can't make a shirt bigger. (Or not easily anyway. You can add side panels but it is a lengthy and costly process.)

The shirt will then be worn and washed two or three times, before being presented to David for a fitting. Then the adjusted paper pattern goes back to the factory to be made into a final shirt.

Watch out here for reports on both stages.

How my ties were made

The men and women at Vanners were kind enough to send me pictures recently of how my bespoke ties were made down in Suffolk. So here they are, with explanatory captions.

The three-piece pattern for the tie is laid out on the woven silk, at exactly 45 degrees, having been made to my specifications in length and width.

The resulting pieces are laid out in bunches, ready to be sewn.

The silk tipping to the tie is then machine-sewn to the front and back blades, forming a one-centimetre edge or ‘mitre’ along the edge. I opted for self-tipping, with the same silk as the body of the tie. (There is much tradition around tipping – some brands, for example, deliberately tip all their ties with black in homage to the black-out curtains that were used for tipping after the Second World War due to a fabric shortage.)

The two blades and the neck are also joined together. And a smaller, hand stitch is used to close the tip of the tie to prevent any pulling at that point. Any excess fabric is also trimmed.

The tie is lightly pressed at the tips and seams.

The lining is then inserted into the tie and the folds carefully placed over the centre line. While this is referred to as a seven-fold tie, there are in fact 10 – here you can see eight of them, with two more tucked underneath.

(Ancillary fact on tie folds: Originally all printed ties were seven-folds as the silk came in lengths one-metre wide, and it had to be folded seven times to get the width of the tie. All woven silk came 28-inches wide, as that was the width of the hand looms, and so they were always made into four-fold ties. This was before the use of linings or ties that were made in three pieces. Thanks to the guys at Peckham Rye for that fact.)

When the folds are in place, the tie is pinned along its length to hold its shape prior to sewing.

The self-loop (a loop to hold the rear blade that is the same material as the tie) is then inserted.

Before a single thread is used to sew the entire length of the tie.

The tie is then gently steamed by hand and all its dimensions and measurements are checked.

The self loop and any labels are sewn on by hand before the final inspection.

Which is done by machine as well as eye, before the tie is packaged ready for delivery.

Favourbrook: English artistry

Party favours


Favourbrook showcases deeply dandy, exquisitely artful English attire


By Simon Crompton

Walking past Favourbrook on Jermyn Street (or in the Piccadilly Arcade, round the corner) you’d be forgiven for thinking it was just a shop for wedding attire. But that market came to the firm accidentally. Its origin was in vintage waistcoats and unfashionable dandyism.

Three people – Oliver Spencer, Peter Vainer and Marina Wallrock – began by selling vintage waistcoats in Portobello Market and offering bespoke shirts door-to-door in 1989. Two years later they opened a general emporium in Prince’s Arcade, offering everything from cashmere sweaters to umbrellas, silk cloth to those decorative waistcoats, all in patterns that were rather out of kilter with the times. As current manager Chris Ingham says “the only thing that compared to it was the floral ties across the road at Turnbull & Asser.”

The waistcoats begat jackets, then frock coats and dandyish accessories. Behind it all was a fascination with fabric and decorative technique, working with some of the best mills in Europe to produce new designs, tapestry and embroidery. It was formal wear for men that didn’t want to look like everybody else, whether that was a smoking jacket for entertaining at home or flamboyant party wear. Favourbrook deliberately harked back to a time when formal wear was a source of expression for a man, rather than a question of propriety.

Art and design still permeate everything the firm does. Spencer was the original designer, but today there are staff with training from the Royal Academy of Arts and Royal College of Art, as well as a jeweller. It’s a tight-knit group with a common aim.

A wedding gives men the greatest opportunity for decorative wear today, so it was always going to be a big market for Favourbrook. But there’s much more to the firm than that. Just stop by and have a look at those waistcoats.

The wonders of Bicester Village

I am a sucker for a good deal. Indeed, if one were being unkind it could be said that sometimes being a bargain gets in the way of my actually wanting something. Anywhere north of 80% off and I start to feel giddy.

For a long time I’ve been a fan of the Designer Outlet just outside York. That’s where my in-laws live and it’s a nice excursion when I’m up there for a few days. But recently I discovered Bicester Village; York has rather paled by comparison.

I went to Oxford University yet I think I only went to Bicester once (the outlet is a just a few minutes outside Oxford, around an hour from London). It was a bit of a disappointment - small, damp and not particularly large discounts. How that has changed in the intervening 10 years.

Most outlets offer few options for men. Perhaps a Hugo Boss and a Hackett; Paul Smith if you’re lucky. Most men spend their time wandering around the luxury labels - Gucci, Armani, Prada - looking at the relatively small selection catering to them rather than their other halves.

Bicester has a great Dunhill outlet. Plus Ferragamo, Zegna and Pal Zileri. And Aquascutum, Brooks Brothers and Church’s, Burberry, Tod’s and Gieves & Hawkes (a sad endictment of Gieves that). It’s got everyone. Even Ralph Lauren, a regular in this kind of shopping outlet, has an oversized store here with extreme discounts. There was a Purple Label cable-knit sweater that still haunts me - £695 reduced to £89.

But my favourite discovery was Loro Piana. A extremely luxurious Italian cashmere label, I didn’t realise they had a discount outlet anywhere - indeed, I’m not sure that management is keen for people to know about this one. I picked up a true investment piece: a three-button leather jacket lined with cashmere, soft yet hardy, already imbued with the feeling of 100 winter walks. It was 80% off. I staggered to the till, a little light-headed.

I think the scale of the discounts at the moment is unusual and driven by the economy. According to a regular visitor, increasing numbers of shoppers has meant that the standard discount is not as large as it used to be. The Village is also dominated by Asia women chasing branded handbags and boutique designers, but it’s big enough for everyone to get around - just don’t go the Saturday before Christmas.

The train from London Marylebone to Bicester North takes 50 minutes and costs £23 return. Then there’s a mini-bus shuttle that costs a further £4.40 return and takes about five minutes.

Budd: Very traditional shirts

A second piece by Permanent Style from the latest issue of The Rake

Budd: Very traditional shirts

Budd shirtmakers is for men that really like English tradition. Unostentatious almost to the point of modesty, Budd has been quietly making some of the best bespoke shirts in the world since 1910. In those 99 years it has moved just once, across the Piccadilly Arcade from number 4 to number 3, when the former suffered bomb damage in the Second World War. It is the only original member of the Arcade still trading. Everyone else has faded away.

The interior still retains four original pieces of furniture: a floor-to-ceiling mirror, two delicately carved chairs and a four-poster bed, the end of which was chopped off to prop up one end of the shop. You won’t find a single computer on the premises. Budd’s two tailors, John Butcher and Martin Levitt, have been in the business for 46 and 52 years respectively. As director Andrew Rowley says, they’re showing promise.

John (or Martin on a Monday or Tuesday) makes up the client’s paper pattern, cuts the collar with a knife, the body with shears and sends it all down to Hampshire. There they are sewn together by Webster’s, current owner of Budd and a firm that itself goes back to 1847.

The ready-to-wear shirts are made with many of the same detailings as bespoke, with the same cloth and sewn by the same people. Unlike most ready-to-wear shirts today, where the body is closed up and then the sides sewn together, Budd’s ready-to-wear uses the bespoke technique, with the sleeves being put in separately.

Compared to many brands today, though, the body has a rather generous cut. “We don’t do slim-fit shirts because most of our customers wouldn’t get in them,” says Rowley. So don’t ask for slim cuts or an extra large collar – the company’s standard one hasn’t changed for 26 years, after all. Budd doesn’t do fashion.

My very first hat

I've wanted a proper hat for quite a while. But two things held me back. First, it's an unusual item for a young man to wear today and stands out. Wearing it well would require careful balancing with other clothes and some nerve while I got used to it. Second, I have a rather long head (dolecephalic) requiring any hat to be large and making it hard not to overwhelm my face and shoulders. Bike helmets just look silly.

If I was to wear a proper hat, most likely a trilby or a fedora (generally speaking, narrow or wide-brimmed respectively), it would have to be casual enough to wear with jeans and a shirt as well as a suit. So probably a soft, brown felt, with a narrow ribbon and minimal bow.

I'd looked around for a few years without much enthusiasm. But then a chance encounter in Madrid a couple of weeks ago turned my fortunes. Like many European cities, the best menswear shops in Madrid specialise in selling English style to the locals. This one had Hackett shirts, Drake's ties and Penhaligon's perfume, alongside the standard woven belts and driving shoes. But it also stocked Lock & Co hats, and the Voyager Sombrero in size 7 3/8 seemed to fit the bill perfectly.

I waited until I could go to Lock & Co in London, finally getting over to St James's Street last week. Retail manager Andrew Baselgia was immediate and exact in his analysis: 'you have a long head so you need a larger size, but the brim needs to be smaller to avoid it overbalancing you,' he said. He went straight for the 7 3/8 Voyager (there's no Sombrero suffix in the UK) when I said I wanted a soft, brown and casual hat. It looked (300) great and, to be honest, I felt a little ashamed that I had put off buying a hat like this for so long. Perhaps it had more to do with social norms than I would have liked to admit.

The Voyager also rolls up for travelling abroad, which is perfect for me when going away for business. You just have to push out the crown, fold down the brim all the way around, and gently fold the hat in half to form a concave curve. You then roll that curve up, making it much easier to carry and store.

Though to be honest, I'll be taking quite a bit of pleasure in storing it at home in the distinctive Lock white hat box that came with it.

Notes on actually wearing the thing to come later in the week.