The Nature of Appropriateness

Why is it that some items of clothing have transcended their originators or original purposes and others haven’t – or rather, why are we more squeamish about using them? When does adopting some item of kit become a matter of ‘all the gear, no idea’, or merely an acceptable appreciation of an aesthetic? And at what point does an item of clothing cease to belong to one particular group?

Since my post on Smart Turnout‘s upcoming range of clothing it’s one I’ve been wrestling with. Though not the original purpose, the commentary to that article quickly degenerated into an argument about the appropriateness of using heritage and military colours when one wasn’t a member of said groups. One comment suggested that such behaviour was ungentlemanly. I should point out that the founder of the company was himself a former Army Officer.

This is not a new argument. In 1919 when the Duke of Windsor, then Prince of Wales, toured America he sported a regimental tie. This was soon adopted by the populous on mass and as the Duke himself remarked, “It is still popular among Americans, who like to wear British regimental and old school ties, blissfully regardless of any right to do so”.

In the case of ties Americans get around this by having the stripes slant left to right as opposed to right to left. But does that make it alright? Does the regiment own the colours or the colours in a specific combination? What if the exact same colours are incorporated vertically for example? And is ignorance a defence? Are you still a despicable cad if you know no better, and those whose company you keep are none the wiser?

If you take a hard-line view in answer to these questions then there is always a danger of being found a hypocrite if you fail to apply them with the same rigour to other items of clothing.

The beef role loafer or ‘Weejun’, for example, were originally peasant shoes created by Norwegian fisherman. Do you have any right to sport them if you’re not versed in hauling in a net of herrings?

So many of the wardrobe staples we take for granted belong to one group or another. Indeed, it is their heritage that gives them anchorage and longevity. That summer stable the deck shoe was the creation of Paul Sperry, specifically to provide yachtsmen with traction on wet and dry decks. As a sailor should I feel aggrieved by lily livered land lovers wearing them about town? But then I happily wear Polo shirts and have never played Polo. Do you have to have had the calling before you can sport monk strap shoes, and can only the equine inclined, or jackasses, wear centre vents on their suit jackets?

Interesting questions and I’m not sure I have answers as yet.

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Harvie & Hudson

H&H is one of those fine English outfitters that every chap should have in his back pocket. Perhaps best known for their bespoke shirts which are still cut on the premises, they are the last of the Jermyn Street shirt makers still owned by the founding family. Bold butchers stripes are a trademark, as is the white collar and cuff shirt –which is my preference for something classic and bold.

I’ll confess I have a shirt maker and so haven’t bought either their bespoke or ready to wear shirts. But here is a nice little article by Will on his blog ‘A Suitable Wardrobe’.

Where I find them useful is in supplying everything else, from Covert coats to boxer shorts. And I have to say I love their kit. If you’re looking for no-nonsense old school, classic clothing at a fair price and of good quality they’re the guys. A good example is their lambswool jumpers, a couple of which I bought on Saturday. Under a £100 for two, they’re 2 ply, soft but substantial and made in Scotland. As someone who sports more of a  family-pack than a six-pack one of the things I particularly like about Harvey & Hudson is that their clothing is classic cut, so I don’t have to worry about sizing.

I’m sure that some would be put off by the dowdy exterior and interiors to the shops. It would be fair to say that remodelling hasn’t been high on the agenda. But the staff are approachable and courteous – particularly the old boys – and if  the image of a shop is the sort of thing that matters to you, then you’re free to go to flashier establishments and pay more for a lot less.

That said, after years of inactivity there appears to be movement at H&H, not only have they redesigned the website to give it a fresher look, they have also introduced a line of slim fit shirts to their ready to wear range. I was also interested to learn that they have teamed up with that other Jermyn Street icon, Taylor of Old Bond Street, and begun offering a barbers and grooming service in a new establishment in the City.

Speaking for myself, Jermyn Street really wouldn’t be the same place without them.

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Old School Scoundrel: Terry-Thomas

Terry-Thomas was a gifted comedic writer, comic actor, raconteur, ladies man, television pioneer and film star. A man of infinite cheek and charm; when in Hollywood he compiled a form guide of leading starlets breasts. Dining with Pablo Picasso he enquired of the artist; “does anybody ever say to you, can I have a word in your eye?”

But beyond these accomplishments, the fruity voice and rich vocabulary he was a true sartorialist. Despite all appearances Terry-Thomas, or Thomas Terry Hoar Stevens as he was christened, was born into a lower middle class family in the London suburb of North Finchley.

The phrase “dress for the job you want not the job you’ve got” could have been created for Terry-Thomas, although he dressed not just for a job but for a new life. Desperate to outdistance the humdrum middle-class life of his parents, clothes become an essential part of his escape kit.

His attention to detail and single-minded pursuit of distinction through dress no matter the circumstances are examples any student of style would do well to ape.

For his first job as a junior transport clerk at Smithfield Meat Market he turned up wearing a taupe double breasted suit and green pork pie hat, sporting a clove carnation and cigarette holder, two items that would latter become trademarks of his wardrobe. Known by his colleagues as the man in the carpet slippers, because of his predilection for suede shoes, in an environment of grey and blood stained aprons he cut a peculiarly compelling figure. It was here that he also developed his knack for jokes and comic capering.

In 1942 Terry-Thomas received what he described characteristically as; “a cunningly worded invitation to join the Army”.  Yet even the strictures of service life didn’t stop him, much to the occasional annoyance of superiors. Though not an officer himself, he continued to sport brown suede shoes with his Khakis  – a colour reserved for officers – and even sought out former tailors to make his own type of bespoke battle dress. Entering the forces entertainment corps he readopted his cigarette holder and cut such a dash he was regularly saluted as an officer.

When fame and money finally came his way the lessons were well learned, and he was able to give them full expression. A founding member of London’s Waistcoat Club he amassed a collection of 80 bespoke suits, 22 dinner jackets and tail suits and 150 waistcoats. Of this last garment he had every conceivable material and wore them religiously. Top pockets on suits were cut 7 inches long to accommodate his cigarette holders and he even had his boxer shorts made bespoke. He never left the house without a clove carnation, even if he were “slipping out to the pub”.

The only time TT was unable to pursue this life long cause was towards the end of his innings when Parkinson’s disease tragically and slowly robbed him of his wit, his money and eventually his beloved wardrobe.

If you’re tempted to read more on loves, life and wardrobe of Terry-Thomas then I can heartily recommend Graham McCann’s entertaining biography entitled ‘Bounder!’.

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Dover Street Market

If last week’s recommendation, Albam, is the best of modern Britain then the Dover Street Market is the worst. Everything most awful is here; a belief that ‘new’ is a substitute for ‘better’; that manners and common courtesy are old fashioned and the concerns of others; the delusion that celebrity and fame make up for quality, and a willingness to pay vast sums to foreigners for what amounts to our own damn heritage. Add in a liberal application of ‘Hoxton Twat’ (follow the link for a definition) and that pretty much sums up Dover Street Market.

The shop is what might be referred to as a ‘concept store’. Applying the word ‘concept‘ to anything should be viewed with suspicion in my view. After all, global thermo nuclear war is a concept, it’s just a really, really bad one.

In this case, the ‘concept’ is to create a shop with the variety and unstructured, rough nature of a street market. To that end concrete floors, metal banisters and steel frames for hanging clothing seem to be the main accoutrements for achieving this.

I’d read so much painted prose about this place that I was keen to check it out. In addition, it’s the only stockist in London carrying a Mark McNairy shoe, the subject of a recent post, and I wanted to have a look before buying online.

To begin with, spread over several floors you have no idea where you’re going. Nothing is labelled.  There are no signs and no staff members willing to halt their conversions with one another long enough to offer assistance. I made for a stair case in the hope that it might lead somewhere. There I encountered a couple who were watching my movements as closely as I watched theirs; each of us hoping that the other might make some knowing move which would signify where to go. Spying some clothes I dashed through a doorway and found two assistants, who were merrily ignoring members of the public. Asking where I might find Inventory clothing I was treated to an up and down glance before the female assistant contemptuously spat out the word “basement”.

As I trudged back down through the shop, confident that at any moment I might find myself in the ladies toilet, I saw shop assistant after shop assistant ignoring customers to lounge around pretentiously while talking to their colleagues. Not once did anybody say hello, good afternoon or even acknowledge my presence, nor anybody else’s for that matter. I thought Hilditch and Key was the least hospitable shop in London, I was evidently wrong.

As to the stock, we’re talking the latest in street wear, new ivy and American work wear. This genre is something I take an interest in, and it was good to finally see items from Inventory, Junya Watanabe and S.N.S Herning. But for the most part it was over priced tat of indifferent quality masquerading as classics with a twist.

Having had enough I quickly left with a desire never to return. If it were a dining experience it would be a public bin with a French maître d and Gordon Ramsey hurling abuse at you from a darkened doorway.

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Ormonde Jayne Perfumery

It’s always a great day when you discover something new, particularly when it seems to be everything you were looking for.

I was a little reluctant to write about and recommend a perfumier given that aftershaves and colognes are personal things; and describing scents requires a certain type of linguistic dexterity I’m not confident I possess. But specialising in unusual oils and ingredients Ormande Jayne produces something very different, so I thought it a perfect Mensflair recommendation.

I decided to visit having received a press release from the company. While plenty of sites are happy to re-print company propaganda I like to check things out for myself, so I popped in on Saturday.

A very small boutique based in the Royal Arcade on 28 Old Bond Street, the antipodean girl that served me was both extremely knowledgeable and very polite. As it happens I also met the founder Linda, who came down to say hello. A woman who was eminently approachable, even a little nervous when talking about herself, I found her very pleasant. Her background is as exotic and original as the scents she produces; having travelled the world running boutique hotels, a soya bean farm, a small chain of ice cream parlours she started her scented career selling flowers by the roadside and learning to make scented candles and bathing oils.

Ormonde Man is my favourite of the scents. Rich and layered, if velvet had an odour this would be it. At the top end it’s spicy and woody with floral undertones that provide balance and stop it from being heavy and old fashioned. It lasts for the day and as it wears the top notes fade and the floral undertones take over, providing a clean fresh smell reminiscent of lavender, roses and talc, but without the sickliness or smelling too feminine. Occasionally catching a sniff as one moves around you feel cocoon in pleasantness.

Ingredients include; Juniper Berry, Bergamot, coriander, cardamom, cedar, sandalwood, musk and unusually Black Hemlock.

At £68 it’s at the top end of the cost spectrum but worth every penny in my view. It’s my birthday in March so I may well treat myself.

There are other fragrances to choose from, Isfarkand being another notable one, and Linda is keen for people to take sample scents to try out for themselves. Ormonde Jayne has an online presence and they ship to the rest of the world.

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