Social Commentary

"Sweat pants are a sign of defeat. You lost control of your life so you bought some sweat pants."

-Karl Lagerfeld

"I really don’t understand the idea of a celebrity stylist. Is it a real job? I know there’s unemployment, but frankly the railways need to be fixed too."

-Daphne Guinness

-Lagerfeld photo by Le Figaro and Guiness photo by Mike Coppola/Getty Images for NARS

Something For The Journey

There seem to be fewer desireable items unique to a place. Leaving aside the bespoke, which is always best ordered and fitted in the presence of the cutter or maker, nowadays almost everything is available on Google for comparison shopping, flipped on ebay by some enterprising parallel importer or made especially for discount sale through Gilt. If it isn’t online, once the magazines discover it, some boutique in New York will pick it up and pretty soon a brand expansion will bring the fragrance, the bath robe and the limited edition tote bag with purchase to these fine stores.

I am for progress and renewal. Unfortunately, redevelopment in the historic shopping areas of the world usually means homogenization to a standard of boring, set to the thudding Abercrombie & Fitch drumbeat that echoes down Savile Row (I felt very sorry for the shirtless doormen when Abercrombie & Fitch opened that shop on a cold January day). Still, this is a consumer concern, not one of encroachment on cultural or archaeological areas. At the same time, changes to retail areas generally seem intended to fulfill the most expedient desires for gain and appeal to similarly expedient convenience, or our pretensions to taste and social status rather than to any real sense of beauty, let alone originality or edification. Taken to its logical if extreme conclusion, perhaps one day we all will buy our factory food from a hypermarket, eat corn syrup, salt and hydrogenated oils in various configurations at similar franchise restaurants, obtain diabetes in a cup from an American-style chain café, pay anything from very little to very much (depending on our sensitivity to different kinds of marketing) for essentially the same cheaply-made clothes, and go to a multiplex to watch some ghastly CGI nightmare less convincing than the old Ray Harryhausen stop-action stuff.

There are still oases of originality in this encroaching desert of sameness that make one cry, as the old joke goes, “Vive la difference!” Since Will asks, there are still a few items of clothing, shoes and accessories available in Paris that can’t be found elsewhere, such as the exquisite new line of Massaro ready-to-wear shoes, Jacques Ferrand’s off-the-wall leathergoods, and the silks on offer at the baroque little boutique L’escalier d’argent in the gardens of the Palais-Royal.

Both L’escalier's location and its merchandise are compelling to those of us who remain impressionable tourists at heart. Despite its name, the Palais-Royal was never inhabited by French royalty, IIRC – the cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin made it their homes and eventually it was carved up into separate residences, becoming by the 18th-century a bit of red-light area. Le Grand Véfour is there, as are old shops selling bizarre items like toy soldiers, the vintage couture shop Didier Ludot, a few designers, and this boutique, selling magnificent ties based on 18th-century French fabric designs. The proprietor’s wife comes from the Jacquard family which invented that loom, or so he informed me, and the magnificent brocades are made up for the shop and then handmade – still in France, last time I looked into ties and, for the flamboyant, ornate waistcoats, although those are costumey enough to appeal to a riverboat gambler. The owner and his wife are genial and warm, and their charmingly odd little shop also sells cashmere shawls and old military and map prints. Prices are relatively reasonable, particularly given the original designs and the quality construction.

It was also interesting to me that L’escalier d’argent’s ties are made in France now that the most famous French tiemaker (apart from Hermès and, I suppose, Charvet), Breuer, has begun labeling its ties “Designed in France, Made in Italy,” as if intangible French design should be a strong selling counterpoint to their change in place of manufacture. The Renault Le Car and the current Bibliothèque Nationale were also designed in France, but no one should be proud of those. I’m sure one doesn’t need to look back to 18th-century fabrics for laurels French design can rest on or for gloriously magnificent imperfections – even, say, the beauty and creativity present in Jean Nouvel’s less practical building designs.

Interesting clothiers like L’escalier d’argent are often small and family-owned, and are getting rarer – according to our friends on the French blogs (hi boys), the infamous Left Bank shop Arnys is being purchased by LVMH, possibly in order to use its location to compete with a sprawling new Hermès store across the street. Like many family-owned businesses in France, L’escalier d’argent is closed for a period in August and, I would guess, at the beginning of the year, inconvenient for time-pressed tourists. However, if one expects the convenience and accessibility of a suburban Neiman-Marcus, one ought to expect its soul-killing unimaginative selection of the pompous and the pedestrian as well. Plan ahead or visit at a different time of year.

Despite their designs being inspired by the old, L’escalier d’argent’s ties work well with the new – some, such as the woven feather pattern, may require something of a sense of humor, but work well with, say, a light orange zephyr shirt, while the bright red woven pictured is gorgeous with a variety of different colors and patterns. While their woven silk is soft and substantial, the ties themselves are not oppressively thick and tie a good knot. Something interesting for the journey, even if going home simply involves stepping on the Métro.

-Text and photos by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

New Cottons And Suedes

Cottons and suedes are the story on the ASW store this week and there is a selection of new choices in those materials. First, I am now stocking butterfly shaped Marcella bow ties, the heavy cotton that is the only appropriate thing to wear with a tailcoat. And those bows are complemented by four highly refined new Simonnot-Godard handkerchiefs - perfect mates to the sheen of my silk oxford, jacquard and reppe neckties that are the right texture for Spring.

Oh, and let me not forget the three new leather lined suede belts that you will want to wear with your suede shoes. They are impeccably made by the same company that makes our Taurillon Galuchat models, and offered in caramel, tobacco and snuff suede.

Cottons and suedes, indeed.

An Afternoon Around Shoes

G. J. Cleverley's Glasgows, senior and junior, are travelling about the United States currently and that is always a good excuse to spend an afternoon around shoes. My personal favorites these days are the understated blind brogues of the late Baron de Rede, which are so perfect as to make me think seriously about wearing black shoes more often.

Cleverley is known for its exotics, and they were showing several new samples that will get a lot of play in Asia, including stingray evening shoes in a glittery dark blue and the hippopotamus in the photo.

More down to earth, the well-known Russian Calf captoe is the kind of thing that would get some stomp around this man's grounds. And that, dear reader, is the danger of spending time around the Glasgows.

Change at Holland & Holland

For years, Gunmaker Holland & Holland collaborated with Drake's London to offer some of my favorite pocket square and scarf designs, like the medieval hunt pattern in the first photograph.

The company elected to change sources recently, and the new patterns are executed in different scales than the old.

As with the passing of so many other things, I mourn the loss of the originals. 

-Photos by Christian Price

Black, White and Gray

Mr. Arnaud M. Bamberger, Executive Chairman of Cartier UK, demonstrates the effectiveness of the simple combination of a mid-gray suit with white pinstripes, white shirt (his is Marcella, a fabric rarely used aside from formal shirts), and a necktie with white in the pattern. We might quibble about the informality of the horsebit, but black shoes (I believe those are by Cleverley) are at their best in these circumstances.

Particularly effective for men with dark hair and better still for those with a touch or more of gray.

Photos: Nick Harvey for Getty Images

Well Dressed Around The World: Madrid

In this first installment of a periodic new series, we interview Mr. Lucio Rivas one of Madrid's best-dressed men. An attorney, he is vice president of the Aristocrata, that city's leading gentleman's club.

We are fortunate to have in Madrid some of the best men's clothing shops in Europe, innovative, creative, elegant and stylish. My favorite shop because of their high quality and constant source of inspiration is MAN 1924, a place that will one day be renowned internationally. Shops aside, the long tradition of tailoring in Spain is going through difficult times. In the past Spanish tailors enjoyed a well deserved international fame. Nowadays, tailored clothing is relegated to second place in Spain; it has lost its leadership and is completely unknown outside of our borders.

One of the things that have made tailors in successful in places like London and Naples is that when customers do not come to see them they make tours to see the customers. People who pay attention to how they look in the United States, for example, can have suits made by Savile Row, Neapolitan or French tailors without having to travel outside their borders. On the contrary, Spanish tailors don’t promote themselves outside the country and that is unfortunate.

My personal style combines a classic look with the brighter colors of Spain. In my wardrobe I try to balance the elegance of English styled suits with bolder Italian tailoring. I think Italian tailors are better for odd jackets other than tweeds. They are making unlined jackets, and using different fabrics and patterns.

In my opinion, the double breasted suit is the most elegant of all and Savile Row does those better than enyone. There are fabrics that are best for double breasted suits and others that are not. Cloth with diplomatic or wider stripes are at their best with a double breasted suit, and, in my opinion, most checks are less successful.

I complement Savile Row and Italian tailoring with shirts from Paris, ties from Florence and shoes from Northampton. For me there is nothing like the shoes made in that English community. My preferred shoe brand is Crockett & Jones, where the hand grade oxford is the best that you can find and the best to wear with suits. While there should be innovation and creativity in the day's dress, the shoes must always be classic.

I always wear Oxfords with my suits and Derbys for less formal clothing. I agree that “brown is the new black” when it is applied to shoes, and I have more brown than black. Black shoes seem boring and don’t do much to highlight the day's clothing, except perhaps when they are combined with socks that have the same color as the tie or the vest. On the other hand, innovation in shoes should be limited to color and not extended to shape or design.

When it comes to suits, every wardrobe should have a navy blue, a Prince of Wales and a striped double breasted. Basic jackets should include a blazer, a tweed jacket, at least one in a Spanish fabric and an unstructured jacket with Neapolitan cut.

The shirt wardrobe ought to include several whites, a blue stripe with a white collar and cuffs, another with vichy squares and finally at least one light blue and a pink.

Two blue neckties, one dark blue and another light blue, are a must. Complement them with a yellow, a pink, and a couple with stripes. And don't forget a bow.

Finally, pay special attention to accessories such as braces, cufflinks, handkerchiefs and socks. A lot of times you can change accessories and look as though you are wearing an entirely different suit.

-Text and photo by El Aristócrata.

You Must Be Somewhere In London

Well I did not have them long. With apologies to The National, an American rock group that published a song whose title I am borrowing for this post, those Norwegian slip-ons that I had been waiting for were with me for only 24 hours. I took them in to have them shined you see, and the first part of my usual shine is a coat of conditioner. Through no fault of its own, said conditioner removed the antiquing from the shoes, leaving them a particularly unattractive shade of mousy brown. They are once again somewhere in London.

This state of affairs is not unheard of for bespoke shoes. As it happens I had email from a friend that same week relating the story of fox-colored suede slipons from another firm that had a cosmetic flaw and were a little tight across the arch. The maker very kindly said they would re-make them and six months later the new pair arrived in a timid (I already used mousy and a timid color is about the same) brown that had little to do with the originals. That saga continues.

I gave my friend some context by relating the story Nick Foulkes tells about his London shoemaker. He ordered a pair of summer shoes, waited some months and was told they were ready for pickup. Upon arrival he was shown a pair of half boots. Very nice half boots, but hardly summer shoes. Asked to explain the discrepancy, he was told that boots were what the maker had felt like making. He sighed and ordered a second pair, in brown this time.

To Réginald-Jérôme's point of yesterday, you can buy character but the process is not always straight-forward.

Buying Character

I’ve just spent the last few moments meditatively polishing an object lesson in considerations of value and bespoke. And polishing these shoes.

First things first. These are an ancient pair of bespoke shoes by the London bootmaker and spurrier Henry Maxwell. They are probably older than I am. I bought them used years ago when I got carried away by the romance of owning something bespoke, even if it was made for someone else. Because they are bespoke, there was no written size to compare with my own, but the approximate measurements across and along the sole seemed promising. Once I got them, I had a good local cobbler resole them and wore them a few times, but it was clear they’d lived a long life. It felt like the guts of the shoes themselves had been treaded down over that lifetime. I didn’t really want to wear them much in that condition. However, I eventually confided them to the down-to-earth but talented bespoke shoemaker Anthony Delos. At his old shop in Montmartre, which was literally a scene out of Le Fabuleux Destin d’Amélie Poulain, he carried out repairs in addition to making bespoke shoes and boots. He lasted these old Maxwells on my bespoke last, carefully re-welted and resoled them by hand, adding a beveled, fiddled waist and a steel toe plate, restored the insole and the footbed, and reconditioned their uppers. The result looks rather like one of the century-old bespoke samples in the windows of Jermyn Street or rue Boissy d’Anglas. They glow with that deep glow that comes with age and care. And they fit and feel excellent. However, this experience illustrated a few points to make about the longevity of quality items and the occasional related justifications we let ourselves believe about them.

There is a clothing aphorism, repeated by various sources and thus received as wisdom, that you should buy the best, as it will last for a lifetime and, due to that, will be cheaper over time than the mediocre alternative. (In the world of classic clothing, “best” gets conflated with bespoke and handmade, which are all different characteristics; for the purposes of this piece, I intend to refer to handmade good-quality bespoke as an approximation of the “best” these aphorists allude to.) The amortized price-quality rationalization is a potent nostrum – a comforting but ultimately unsuccessful justification. The best is not the cheapest by a long shot. Additionally, for an item of clothing to last a lifetime requires a set of redundancies as extensive as the failsafes in a nuclear power plant (at least, one hopes), and relies on the premise that your tastes and dimensions won’t change significantly over, well, that lifetime.

The binary contrast between some enduring best and the short-lived rest is seductively romantic. We all would like to believe that the test of time reveals true quality – we’d like to believe that about ourselves too. Certain people seek out quality old clothes in order to see if they’ll last for a second lifetime: the secondary markets carry plenty of dead people’s Savile Row suits, bespoke shoes and handmade umbrellas. This petty necromancy (life, but not as the original owners knew it) must have come as a huge surprise to the few remaining quality makers offering repair or refurbishment services. In recent years I suspect they have seen an explosion of requests from youthful gentlemen of the internets to re-cover a century-old Brigg umbrella, patch a Barbour older than the Quorn hunt, or resole a pair of Edward Greens made on a last and for a retailer forgotten for thirty years. But to make the best last often depends on giving it the best care. While the playboys who made their model girlfriends’ eyes roll sending their shirts back to their London or Paris makers for laundering are gone (for the most part), the uncompromising lover of quality clothing will find that repairs to an item by the original makers or by someone who knows what he or she is doing can carry prices as shocking as the item itself. Resoling and rewelting by hand a pair of bespoke shoes as Delos did, while better for their longevity, can cost as much as a new pair of good ready-to-wear shoes. And it requires finding someone with the skill to do that painstaking work, as opposed to someone who’ll lie and rob you blind. A good normal cobbler could resole the shoes by machine a couple of times, but couldn’t carry out the work on the welt that my shoes needed. And, supposedly, resoling hand-welted shoes by machine would mean they couldn’t be resoled as often as by hand. There are, of course, folks who confide their fine clothing to a cheap cleaner who reuses solvent and presses everything flat, or who have the chop shop in the mall resole their handmade shoes, without another thought, which leads me to my next point.

Many of the pieces of quality clothing that lasted a lifetime did so because their owners, no matter how they treated them, had plenty of other clothes. The Maxwells that I purchased were just one of a number of pairs that turned up for sale, indicating that their owner had been a prolific consumer of bespoke clothing. As Will has pointed out in earlier pieces on Anthony Drexel Biddle, even if the number of lounge suits (that is, business suits in today’s parlance) in some historical clotheshorse’s wardrobe doesn’t seem particularly large, bear in mind that the people who ordered quality clothing several generations ago owned many different types of clothing for different occasions and levels of formality and changed often depending on their activity. They had a lot of clothes and by and large took them for granted – no effusive blog posts about them, no writing and collecting books about lastmakers, buttonsewers or hatters for them. Still, even then some refrained from wearing their most expensive or nicest items apart from special occasions, as was the case with the 19th-century prime minister who announced upon seeing a price list that he would have to save his bespoke John Lobb shoes for “best.” You can make just about any pair of shoes last ten years if you wear them once a month. However, clothing is never an investment, with apologies to all the persuasive ad copy and internet enablers out there.

Sure, getting to a critical mass of clothing that permitted that sort of rotation took a large outlay of cash back in the day, but labor costs were a lot lower – and for much of the history of modern clothing, bespoke didn’t cost more than good ready-to-wear. Today, however, that hortatory “best” lies far up a dizzying hyperbola of cost where prices can be not just twice, but ten, fifty or a hundred times what most people consider a reasonable price for an article of clothing – let alone enough of such clothing to last a lifetime. So don’t use supposed savings as a justification for seeking out someone’s idea of the best.

And, of course, supposing your handmade shoes last decades, that your feet themselves don’t irreversibly change (a development which forced Terence Stamp out of his beloved Cleverleys post Priscilla, Queen of the Desert), there’s the chance that you’ll look at them and realize that round toes/chiseled toes/square waists/beveled waists/heavy antiquing/sober solid colors/laceups/slip-ons/button boots/longwings/wholecuts are so tired nowadays. Many of us think we’re safe with a classic design, but what we think of as classic evolves too. When I acquired these shoes, the vogue for pointy, chiseled toes was just taking hold of the shoe crowd, but these shoes, round-toed and almost fetishistically conservative, did not ride that wave. Still, following their recraft, their rounded proportions contrast pleasantly , even sensually, with the contours of their sole.
Why do it, then, when pursuing this ideal is fundamentally unjustifiable?

Why did I do it? I guess I have trouble throwing things away. Why pursue the best, the bespoke? In this day and age, and judging from my friends and e-friends who are bespoke customers, I’m tempted to say we’re all as dysfunctional as a Robyn Hitchcock song. But it’s a labor of love, and like the moral to a bad Star Trek episode, that’s a variable that doesn’t fit into a cost-benefit equation. I got the satisfaction of remaking these in my own three-dimensional image, my own last, and reclaiming them from whatever limbo ownerless bespoke shoes go to.

Besides, look at them now – they glow. Delos once told me that as a finishing touch, a quick rub (of the shoes) with a woman’s nylon stocking brings out an incredible shine. As my Texas Chainsaw Mascara days are over, I’ve found that an old polyester or silk tie does an equally good job – as the burnished gleam of these, deep with truly antique patina, shows.

Who says you can’t buy character?

-Text and photos by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

Razors, Hank And A Small Reduction

New on the ASW store this week are a selection of traditional razors for luxury wet shaving, with heads that accommodate Gillette Mach 3 and Fusion razor cartridges. Both types of cartridges are easy to use without training and, unlike double-sided razor blades, the U. S. Transportation Security Administration permits them to be carried on to aircraft.

There are different opinions about whether Mach 3 or Fusion gives a better shave but a couple things are generally accepted. First, Fusion costs about 50% more per shave than the older Mach 3. And second, the Fusion has a single blade built into the back of the cartridge that makes it easier to trim sideburns and shave under the nose.

Modern as these cartridges may be, the new razor bodies have classic looks. Complementing Mach 3 bodies in hand-turned ivory and ebony resin are new models in the same finishes for the Fusion cartridge.

On another front, in response to customer requests I am now stocking a very fine Spanish cotton handkerchief with a hand-rolled edge that is $25 compared to $35 for linen. Linen is of course better in a jacket pocket but my cotton version is every bit as good if not better for mopping up spilled champagne and other common handkerchief uses.

Finally, all my Drake's neckties except the Silk Shantungs and Tussahs are now $140, a small reduction that reflects a decline in their landed price.

Brown Neckties

It is true that 70% of the neckties sold by a couple of tiemakers of my acquaintance have blue to navy blue grounds. Other popular colors are silver and shades of red. At the opposite end of the sales spectrum, brown neckies seem to be the ones that end up on eBay or in the sale bins. But there is an argument for brown neckties.

Brown neckties you see are slightly unexpected with dark suits, like brown shoes which they complement. They look great with gray or navy suits, atop light blue and light pink shirts. I like brown grenadines with patterned shirts and brown wovens with a small pattern when I wear solids.

In the photo, a dotted brown necktie worn with a navy mohair and wool suit, a shirt from Simonnot-Godard's peach chambray and one of that same firm's linen handkerchiefs in the jacket pocket.

For A Summer's Evening

Summer's white dinner jacket is, like formal day wear, another of those rarely worn things whose place in the closet can be hard to justify. Good as it looks when it can be trotted out, the thing just does not have many opportunities unless one is some kind of hospitality director for a cruise ship. But, also like the stroller of yesterday's post, having one to wear is a great deal easier if it can do double duty. And, with credit to Luciano Barbera from whom I stole the idea, I have but two words for you dear reader: linen and suit.

The classic white or cream dinner jacket has a shawl lapel, but there is nothing that says a peak is not equally appropriate. And since those lapels are rarely if ever silk (the late paragon A. J. Drexel Biddle had two jackets in cream gabardine and both sets of lapels were self-faced), a conventional double breasted jacket can do double duty. Which leads me inexorably to the cream linen suit, a garment that has only somewhat more utility than the cream or white dinner jacket to anyone who is not spending his summer on the Amalfi coast. But pair the jacket with black semi-formal trousers as Ms. Fran Liebowitz has done in the photograph and it more than suffices for summer evenings. No-one but one's closest friends need know the difference.

Photo: Jonathan Becker

Two Birds And One Stone

There are few occasions that call for formal day wear any longer. In the United Kingdom of course, it is worn with some frequency: on Easter Sunday, to weddings and funerals, to work by certain bank managers and, for some reason that has never been explained to me, to the races. In the United States it is still seen at the Supreme Court, a minuscule proportion of weddings and that is about it. Given that weddings and funerals occur perhaps twice before we gain or lose twenty pounds, owning the stuff in America would seem prohibitively expensive on a cost per wear basis.

There is however another way to think about it. The classic day wear combination consists of black shoes, striped or checked trousers, linen waistcoat and cut-away coat. A conventional jacket can be substituted for the cutaway however and, when that jacket is double breasted, the waistcoat done away with. When trousers and jacket are worn together, as they are in the Esquire illustration, the semi-formal (in the same way that the dinner jacket is a semi-formal version of a tailcoat) combination is called a stroller. But together is not the only way to wear the components. Paired with gray flannel trousers, the jacket is simply a dressy black blazer that if anything is easier to wear during the work week than the usual navy blue. And the checked trousers can be worn separately with a variety of solid jackets (this is less true for stripes and is a good reason to choose checks instead). Then when an appropriate occasion does arise, the two pieces can simply be re-united.

This reasoning occurs to me because I wore my black jacket out a couple of years ago and have been procrastinating about a replacement. But I do need another city odd jacket and this time I think I am going to kill two metaphorical birds with one metaphorical stone.

Change

There was a piece on penis warmers in one of the fashion sites that I read from time to time (how else to keep up with Karl Lagerfeld?). Penis warmers were apparently worn in the depth of Croatian winters while the predecessors to Mr. James D'Arcy in the photo were dancing the night away in London. And frankly I will choose the dancing every time despite the starched collars of evening dress.

As everyone knows, both formal and semi-formal evening dress have all but disappeared since as a culture we stopped riding horses. Or, for that matter, having dinner at a table with eight to twelve friends and acquaintances, at least one of whom would be obliged to move to the piano afterwards and entertain us with his or her singing. Pianos of course have been replaced by sound systems, and evening dress by considerably simpler clothing to the point that I found myself self-conscious wearing a smoking jacket to entertain at home the other night. My usual evening clothes these days are a white shirt, black trousers and black house shoes.

Our dress of course has evolved rapidly since animal skins became accessories rather than all we had to wear. We have gone from skins to cloth robes to tailored clothing and beyond at an accelerating pace. And despite all that, penis warmers are still knitted in Croatia. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Photo: Tom Munro for W./E.

Under the Maker’s Care

One of the benefits of living close to the people who make one's clothing is the easier access to the ancillary services most provide. As Will has noted here before, finding firms capable of a sponge and press or alterations is perilous, sartorially and psychologically, and life is better without those particular worries. Shirts are no different, of course, as most cleaners return the things looking ravaged. And even if one has them laundered at home, ironing is an entirely different matter, involving skill and time, considerable amounts of time, for to iron a single shirt properly requires about twenty-five minutes, or so my shirtmaker, Madrid's Camiseria Burgos, tells me (I’d go wrinkled without them). For evening shirts it is even longer, an hour or so, at least as Burgos does it, using a process unchanged in the century they’ve been in business. The process is too complex to perform at home and too long to detail here, but just a few highlights are sufficient to suggest that the people who make one’s clothes are often the people best able to care for them.

To press an evening shirt, Burgos uses two cast iron irons (pictured above). These are heated over a flame. They are rather heavy, which allows them to punch a bit of extra crispness into the shirting, and quite small, with a surface area perhaps half the size of a standard iron. Most importantly, they get very hot, hotter than all the irons Burgos sampled in hopes of replacing them.

Before ironing, Santa, who does all of the ironing at Burgos, mixes Borax with water and starch in a bowl. She then plunges the shirt’s collar into the mixture and works it in with her hands. She does this repeatedly before soaking the collar in a bowl of fresh water and wringing out the mixture. The same is done to the cuffs and bib. The purpose of this step is to add stiffness, but the addition of Borax helps keep the interlining from pulling away in these three areas during ironing. This is an issue because Burgos’ evening shirts are not fused, and unfused interlinings can be easily damaged by inexpert ironing.

Since the irons have no steaming device, Santa can go over any of the hand-stitched seams without fear of loosening or weakening them, consequences more likely to occur with handstitches because they aren’t quite so close as machine-stitches.

When Santa sets to the cuffs, she lays them lengthwise on her workbench, and pulls them taut so that the interlining stays smooth inside. Then she begins to work the requisite roundness into the cuffs. She does this by moving the length of the iron over the cuff slowly and, once the bottom of the iron passes the buttonhole, by curling the cuff away from her and toward the iron, so that it looks almost the way a pencil shaving might coming out of a sharpener. The technique leaves the cuff looking fully round, not just like two halves of a circle welded together.

The collar is worked much in the same way the cuffs are, except before rolling some roundness into it she uses a separate wood board covered with a thin cloth to press it flat. This creates even more rigidity, desirable here because the wingtip of the collar needs to remain in place after it is bent and pressed.

Viewed as a series of steps, the process seems simple enough, but considerably more complicated is what resides in Santa’s fingers, smoothing, curling, and pulling just so whenever such manipulations are needed. This kind of muscle memory is bestowed by time and has been passed on slowly over the generations at Burgos. It is not likely to be gleaned from a training video. One pays for such attention, there is no doubt, but caring for one’s clothes is not as expensive as replacing them. It only takes one ruined shirt, after all (and frankly if there is one there are likely to be six), to incite regret and make one turn over the care of his clothes to (real) professionals. More often than not a man need look no further than the people who made them.

-Text and photos by Anthony Eletherion

Love Comes At A Price

Mr Geoffrey Munn, managing director of Wartski, London’s preeminent dealer in Fabergé and pre-Raphaelite cufflinks, has some startling things to say about the world of modern jewellery. Try this, “A gemstone is not a particularly interesting object. I don’t subscribe to D flawless and clarity and all that rubbish. That’s all about money really.” To someone like me, who’s grown up in an era that believes that Ms Marilyn Monroe was telling the truth when, in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, she sang Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend, this is revolutionary talk.

It turns out that what interests Mr Munn about jewellery is its artistry, craftsmanship, romance and history. These are virtues that cufflinks from the long-defunct Victorian jeweller Child & Child have in spades. The firm, which had its base in London’s South Kensington (where a Child & Child monogram remains visible on what is now Thurloe Street) was established in 1880 by two bachelor brothers. The partnership lasted for 19 years, during which time it made jewellery for Queen Victoria, The Empress of Russia, the famous architect Sir Edwin Lutyens, and the pre-raphaelite painter Sir Edward Burne-Jones. The painter was in the habit of taking his own designs to jewellers and asking them to make up the pieces for him.

The Burne-Jones-designed cufflinks in the photograph are made of green stained ivory, and are still in the artist’s family. “Child & Child were very impressed by Sir Burne-Jones,” explains Mr Munn. “It would be like a visit from Madonna now, somebody enormously famous. Sir Burne-Jones was very interested in bringing materials into jewellery that weren’t intrinsically valuable, but which were beautiful. Green stained ivory was so humble that it was used for the handles of dessert knives and forks.” Perhaps surprisingly heart-shaped cufflinks are rarely seen these days, but it was an almost inevitable choice of shape for Sir Burne-Jones. Mr Munn explains why, “The thing about the pre-Raphaelite movement [of which Sir Burne-Jones was a leading light] is that it was hopelessly romantic, they didn’t really write or paint about anything but romantic love. So these heart-shaped cufflinks, for Sir Burne-Jones, are absolutely in tune with a million other things he designed and made.”

It’s a shame to break into Mr Munn’s riveting and passionate exposition to ask about the practicalities of sourcing a pair of Child & Child cufflinks, but it must be done. “You’d be enormously lucky to find them just like that,” he warns. “I might never see another pair of green-stained ivory cufflinks in my lifetime. If they don’t have to be designed by Sir Burne-Jones then you probably could buy some Child & Child cufflinks.” Should you be lucky enough to find a pair the price range suggested by Mr Munn is “probably less” than £10,000 (about $16,000). Love, it seems, always comes at a price.

-Text by Mansel Fletcher
-Wartski storefront photo by Chloë Lederman
-Cufflinks photo by Wartski

How To Use A Shaving Scuttle

New on the ASW store this week are three new Albert Thurston barathea brace designs for warmer weather, including two colorful stripes that will brighten your entire day. And then there is a made in the U.S.A. hand-thrown stoneware shaving scuttle which, for those who are unfamilar, helps the luxury shave experience feel even more luxurious.

With a large handle for a brush rest as well as a secure grip, and a large spout for easy filling of the 16 oz. reservoir, my Best Shaving Scuttle helps you turn shaving cream into thick, warm lather. Fill the inner and outer bowls with hot tap water, then let your shaving brush stand in it for a couple of minutes (while you shower works well). Empty both bowls and refill the outer reservoir with more hot water. Build your lather in the inner bowl and it will remain warm for at least the time necessary to make three razor passes over your face.

And that is all there is to it.

Spring Textures

There are exceptions to every generalization but I find I rarely wear printed silk neckties these days, preferring the texture of grenadines and knitted silk mixed with cashmere in winter and shantung and tussah silk in summer.

Mr. Peter Zottolo was in the studio the other week, interviewing me for a piece for Style Forum, and we took out several things for photographs. Among them were a Shantung silk necktie and linen pocket square by Drake's London. I liked the combination so much that I wore it the other day with a cotton suit fresh from its storage bag. After months of winter neckties it was time for spring textures.

Photo: Peter Zottolo

Astaire's Trousers

Look at the waist on Fred Astaire's trousers in the photograph. The high rise means the trousers hang in a straighter line to the ground, which is the thing that separates great trousers from the ordinary. And the high waistband (which is not a waistband at all since instead of a separate piece of cloth his trouser legs simply continue to the top) means among other things that the flash of a belt buckle will be safely hidden by a jacket, sweater or square tailed polo.

All trousers used to be made this way, until the combination of second world war cloth rationing and clothing makers' desire to cut costs drove them down to the hips. Now a new company, Stinson R. Ely, has put theirs back at the natural waist where they should be. The stylish man can choose to let them drape quietly under a jacket or make an impression by pairing them with just a shirt and side tabs or a great belt.

Made to measure in the United States for about $500 a pair, plus cloth. For more information, contact the company.

Video: Put This On Season Two

PTO Man: G. Bruce Boyer from Put This On on Vimeo.

My friends at Put This On premiered the first episode of Season Two of their video series in mid-March (there were half a dozen nicely done episodes in Season One that are available for purchase for $16 plus shipping here), with five more yet to be shot.

The video above is a short preview that was shot in New York during the production of the first episode. It is an interview with G.Bruce Boyer, the dean of American clothing writers, and, like both Boyer's books and the rest of the PTO videos, worth while.

Consider The Windowpane

Graham Lawless of Davies & Son was wearing one the other day, and the sight made me realize that we rarely see windowpane checked city suits like the one in the Esquire illustration these days. That is opportunity lost, in my opinion. Any time a man can break out of the solids and stripes routine without going beyond the pale, so to speak, he is better off for it.

The Pale of course was the part of Ireland that was directly controlled by the English kings after the Norman settlement. It was surrounded by a staked fence or palus and, within what is very roughly now county Dublin, English language, laws and customs reigned. To go beyond the Pale was to leave that form of civilization, just as wearing a bright red suit (and I saw one of those in Madrid a few years ago) would be to step outside the accepted norms for business dress. But I digress.

The elusive windowpane business suiting is a relatively discreet overcheck, though one that might be better worn in a more sophisticated city than in a place where it might be too noticeable. Like the far more common glen check, its non-directionalness combines well with equally non-directional neckties. Foulards of all types work well, for example, as do textured solids.

The challenge with windowpanes is finding them but they are out there. Harrison's of Edinburgh has several in its 13 ounce/370 gram P & B Fine Classics range for example: light gray on dark gray, light blue on navy, a very handsome dark red on charcoal and a couple shades of blue on gray.

Consider the windowpane.

The Umbrellas of Cherbourg

In the 1960s, Jacques Demy directed Catherine Deneuve in two wonderful musical confections, The Young Girls of Rochefort (with her sister Françoise Dorléac) and The Umbrellas of Cherbourg. To my knowledge, only the latter film inspired a new luxury handcrafted goods company decades later.

It is very easy to sound discouraged when writing about makers of quality clothing and accessories. There seem to be fewer and fewer of them and the ones that exist often have had to compromise their standards or come to terms with a present where most people don’t care about the care such makers put into their work or don’t know enough to seek them out. And, of course, competitors making cheaper versions of their offerings can undercut them and spend the difference on better marketing. Making something with care takes time, practice and skill, along with interested purchasers who care about such details and can afford them. Thus, there aren’t many new enterprises making things from the ground up, as opposed to new businesses trying to sell the idea of custom or heritage by opening a storefront at an expensive address and being coy about product. It is refreshing to come in from the rain and discover a new company that does offer quality without pretension.

Let us return to Cherbourg, that rainy town in Normandy associated with transatlantic crossings and Demy’s plangent operetta sung so blithely. Even with their singing voices dubbed, Catherine Deneuve and Nino Castelnuovo brought an innocence, a genuineness to a sad little story of true love. To avoid spoilers and wordiness, I’ll sum it up as boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Girl loses innocence. Each eventually gains maturity and an acceptance of how fate has separated them.

Thirty-three years after The Umbrellas of Cherbourg came out, a man named Jean-Pierre Yvon founded Le Véritable Parapluie de Cherbourg (literally, the genuine umbrella of Cherbourg), taking inspiration from the title of the film (umbrellas do not, to my recollection, play a pivotal role in its plot). True to its name, each Véritable Cherbourg umbrella is made in Cherbourg, France and intended to stand that area’s very active “wind and tide” according to its brochure. Canopies are tested for wind resistance in windtunnels in St-Cyr and feature overlocked stitching for water resistance, with carbon steel ribs in certain of the top-line umbrellas.

True to the film, the Véritable Cherbourg line features a certain degree of whimsy – canopies are available in, felicitously, a rainbow of colors (including the mauve I chose). The brand’s amusing coat of arms (crossed umbrellas over the arms of the city of Cherbourg, which include three bezants or gold balls) can be embroidered there in full color or tone on tone.

Le Véritable Cherbourg has a number of different models, from lighter models up to a doorman-size umbrella for two people to shelter under in a gale (or so they claim). Handles range from chestnut and maple to old-growth Malacca on the luxury models, which also have handsewn lambskin rosettes (the fabric-covered ring that slides along the umbrella shaft and connects to the ribs). All models have a little collar proclaiming they are the genuine article – in brass, gold plate or gunmetal. I chose a portable folding umbrella for when the fancy takes me, with a maple handle and the coat of arms embroidered tone on tone. No need to stick out. It performs well – more substantial in feel than other folding umbrellas I’ve owned and as yet not even the hint of flipping inside out.

Le Véritable Cherbourg has also done special umbrellas, including a commemorative of the Normandy landings. However, its range generally focuses on practical models with a fairly limited set of handle choices and other options. I imagine it’s probably necessary given their small size and niche. In that regard, more Internet-famous umbrella makers like Brigg of London and Mario Talarico can sleep easy knowing that Le Véritable Cherbourg can’t fulfill every daydream: no solid-stick umbrellas (that is, where the handle and shaft are made of one piece of wood like a walking stick) or silk canopies, which, pace those who romanticize them, aren’t quite as good at keeping the rain out. There are no whimsical handles like oxhorn or solid silver either. A few other umbrella makers in France might offer such extravagances, in particular the beautiful Alexandra Sojfer at Madeleine Gély, a magical little shop where she turns out gorgeously unaffordable creations. Another maker, Fayet, makes a whangee-handled sword umbrella – catnip to those of us who keep a perfectly curled Herbert Johnson bowler hidden away, but the blade is dull and the umbrella flimsy for the steep price.

Instead, the fancy of Le Véritable Cherbourg is limited to the twinge of recognition at its name and the way its umbrellas, like the songs of the film, allow us to glide through and over a sordid reality until we, too, can come to terms with it. Until then, Le Véritable Cherbourg can be our artificial shelter in that grey rain.

While its website lists a limited number of resellers in some random places (including Naples, Florida and Knokke-le-Zoute), Le Véritable Cherbourg is not widely available outside France. But its umbrellas can be ordered direct from the makers with little fuss.

-Text and photos by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

How To Speed Things Along

In step with the increasing informality and simplicity in men`s dress in the western world, the boutonnière, or buttonhole flower, is seldom worn, except on special occasions. In earlier, less hectic times, each day and its activities were seen as just as important as every other day, and meals were eaten by families and friends around a table, as meaningful, social events. The table was properly laid and several courses eaten. This was the same across a broad social spectrum, even if the meals differed in type and amount. No doubt this contributed to the wish to be dressed for the occasion, whether that meant dressing for dinner in evening clothes, or simply changing out of work clothes. Sometimes it might well have included adding a buttonhole flower, though evening was not the only time buttonholes were worn. Some men wore flowers to work regularly and there is more than one man still living who cultivated flowers under glass so that he could have a fresh buttonhole each day year-round.

Joseph Chamberlain was a dynamic, nineteenth century industrialist and British politician (father of Austin and Neville), and he seems to have worn an orchid, except when he was asleep. Adventure novelist Sir Henry Rider Haggard wore a flower so often that, when he was waiting at home (distracted away from his hothouse), for the ambulance that would take him to the hospital where he died, even then he rather sadly took a daffodil from a vase and threaded it through his lapel.

Today, probably, most men would feel ridiculous wearing a buttonhole flower every day, let alone to work, and still fewer would ever dare to wear one with a breast pocket handkerchief. The Prince of Wales seems to be a refreshing exception to the modern fear of a little adornment, in this respect.

In any event, even if we are forced to accept that in many workplaces today a buttonhole flower would be seen by many as a sign of flippancy or even degeneracy (the best that one could hope for would be to be regarded as a buccaneer), the special occasions, to which dressing with care has largely been consigned, do still give us an opportunity to sport a flower.

For weddings and social events that call for morning dress or suits, there is Gardenia jasminoides, which is shown in the photo at the top: waxy and highly scented, it benefits from being worn with a glossy leaf or two still attached and is a better choice than a white carnation or camellia. The gardenia is also a great flower for either full evening dress or black tie (even brown tie, come to that!). Herbert Buckmaster, founder of Buck’s Club in London, bought his wife Nellie a flower shop next door so that he could have a supply of them.

Tea rose buds are also useful for just about any occasion, because they come in a wide variety of colours. The deep crimson, black-tinged clove carnation matches well with a city suit or black tie evening dress.

However, if you are really stepping out and have a desire for some Edwardian-style dash, why not try an orchid? The type in the second photo is Brassiolaelio-cattleya haw yuan beauty and is much showier than the type immediately above, which is the smaller, more discreet (but still interesting) Masdevallia hoosier angel. Moreover if you are young and single and find yourself going to other people`s weddings (where, apparently, many another match is made), and someone catches your eye, then engaging her in conversation will probably bring an enquiry about your orchid – and what better way to speed things along than to present it to her?

-Text by Nicholas Storey

-Orchid photos by Liz Johnson

-Gardenia photo by Clifton Nurseries

The Walking Stick Is Optional

Distracted by all the people running in their exercise clothes these days we sometimes forget the simple pleasure of a well dressed walk in the spring (by spring I mean temperatures of about 60 F /15 C and not the considerably warmer weather that some parts of North America have had recently). 

The man on the left in the Esquire illustration is wearing all the right things for the season: a tweed coat that could as easily be a shirt jacket, flannel trousers and crepe-soled suede shoes. His jacket is closed by a maroon silk scarf which gives the ensemble a finished look without need for a necktie, and keeps his chest warm at the same time. Add a nappy cotton and wool shirt underneath the jacket and a madder silk pocket square and take the stuff out for a stroll. The walking stick is optional.

It Is Not Just For Tee Shirts Any More

There is a scene in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo where Daniel Craig is stripped down to his briefs and, lo and behold, they are black. Obviously black tee shirts worn with denim trousers are part of contemporary culture, but black briefs were a revelation. After all, traditionally one's underclothes were supposed to blend, as in guys with dark skin wore dark stuff and palefaces wore light. Past that, the subject was hardly worth thinking about - only medical professionals, other men in the locker room and spouses or prospective partners should see one's undershorts and in the latter case it will be for as little time as possible during the process of disrobing. From that point of view, the important thing is that they are clean.

Of course, what this attitude failed to take into account is that each of those moments before and after are overwhelmingly more important to the normal male than all the medical examinations and workouts he is likely to be a part of during his lifetime. And where white is naive, even virginal, and boxer shorts generally somewhat middle aged looking, black is sexy and black briefs sexiest of all.

Black. It is not just for tee shirts any more.

Video: Moi, Mes Souliers

A bit long at thirteen minutes, but this video produced by Bottier Pierre Corthay captures the making of a pair of bespoke shoes.

Book Review: Sicilian Tailors

Juhn Maing, the man behind Sleevehead, the weeklyish blog on tailors and related subjects, self published Sleevehead's Guide to Sicilian Tailors recently. The work is a short but thorough narrowcast, by which I mean that it is aimed at the relatively few English-speaking men interested in and comfortable with travelling to Sicily to have their clothes made.

The leading, or perhaps bleeding edge of tailoring discussions on the men's clothing forums has moved steadily east these past few years, with Naples receiving most of the recent attention. This interest has been driven by the combination of people's interest in hitherto undiscovered things, cheap air travel, and the hobbyist's passion for hand-made clothing. Lower wages in Southern Italy mean that bespoke jackets can still be made entirely by hand for half (or less) the price of a Savile Row coat with a lot of machine sewing.

Naples was one of the principal stops on the Grand Tour of the 17th and 18th centuries and there was a large British expat community there by the mid-1800's. The Neapolitans learned to make English style suits the same way that Hong Kong tailors did: customers would leave something so it could be copied. Over time, the tailoring got to be comparable to that of London, give or take stylistic and aesthetic differences. And some of the men (and it is a male dominated field) trained in Milan, Rome and Naples brought their craft to Sicily.

Maing's book chronicles his meetings with about a dozen tailors in Palermo, Catania and Messina, ordering jackets, suits and trousers from five of those. The book offers travel advice as well an overview of each tailor's style and substance, illustrated by photos of the men and their work.

At nearly $1 a page ($49 directly from the author), the Guide comes nowhere near to conforming with conventional e-book pricing, but that is hardly the point. For men who are willing to assume the risk that always accompanies experimentation with new tailors and invest in a couple trips to Sicily as well as a translator (most of the tailors have not a word of English), the reward is Neapolitan style tailoring for $800 (600 Euros) or less exclusive of cloth. If all goes well, the savings may pay for the travel with the beauty of Sicily thrown in for free. And for the merely aspirational among us, the Guide is an interesting tale of a tailoring experience far from New York, London and Rome in both space and time.

Visualizing Summer

Under-used but always appreciated, that is the combination of black and white and maroon. The houndstooth patterned wool and silk jacketing in the photo, one of the last of that combination in John Hardy's Ascot book, will call for dark red complements.

One jacket can help visualize the look of another. It lacks the smooth finish and slight sheen of the first cloth but in the second photo, a different black and white coat previews how a slubby red Donegal inspired shantung silk could add texture as well as color to black and white this summer.

London's Best Basement

The premises of W. Bill Ltd., London cloth merchants specializing in woolens, are in a basement. But what a basement.

Just a few blocks from Savile Row, W. Bill is open to anyone in need of a length of cloth, provided they are escorted by a tailor. And there are row after row of bolts of tweed, linen and cashmere. Everything but worsteds.

Visitors will often be helped by Mr. Ray Hammet, who if my arithmetic is correct celebrates his 65th year with the firm this year.

Most cloth is chosen by looking at small swatches these days. W. Bill has entire bolts, which makes it much easier to see how a cloth is likely to look when it is made up.

W. Bill is truly London's best basement for men who appreciate tailored clothing. And it has to be visited. The web site does not begin to do it justice.

-Photos by Christian Price