Why The Fuss? ‘Effortless’ Style

“Yea, he’s cool” the girls nodded, glancing towards the unkempt, tramp-ish looking gent at the bar; a man so carefully careless in appearance and so studied, that the girls’ following remark (“He’s just so effortlessly stylish”) was a curious hilarity. On another occasion I was asked by a lady friend my opinion of her new boyfriend; an out-of-work actor of fascinating pretension. She particularly wished to know what I thought of his attire; “Don’t you think” she gushed, fanning her flushing face with her fingers “he’s just like, the BEST dressed man ever?!” Acknowledging her ardour, I provided diplomatic mutterings that conveyed a disingenuous approval. My true feeling was more of pity; for the gentleman was merely another example of a style which, once aligned to a greater art of sartoria, is known merely as ‘effortless.’

George Clooney is apparently the archetype of this style. His ‘ability’, according to his rather star struck columnist proponents, is ‘to look like the best dressed man in the world whilst seemingly making no effort at all.’ While Mr Clooney manages, armed with his considerable fortune, to look vaguely presentable at occasions which require a modicum of formality, he can scarcely be considered the best dressed man when he and ‘dressing’ maintain only the slightest of nodding acquaintanceships.

This ‘effortless cool’ has less to do with dressing and a great deal more to do with sexuality; sartorial sexuality, which for much of the Twentieth century, replaced propriety and ornament in female dress, is now the pinnacle of style for a great many men. Clooney is a desirable and attractive man who, apparently, manages to transform seemingly ordinary clothing into style choices of sudden and magnetic genius. The reason why is because Clooney, though outdressed in all styles by more ‘anonymous’ gentleman across the world, is smothered gracelessly in Hollywood’s secret sauce: sex.

‘Effortless’ cool used to be about a lot more than sex. It used to be about the way a gentleman could pair the casual with the more formal, largely for reasons of comfort or practicality, and still achieve elegance; the way he would close his dressing gown and knot the belt; the way he would quickly roll up his trousers when wearing loafers in the summer; the way he would tip back his hat to allow the sunshine to warm his face, or use a tie as a belt when feeling in a jaunty mood. The new ‘effortless’ cool offers no such invention or attractive pragmatism. It is not about ‘effortless’ dressing but simply avoiding dressing; shirts unbuttoned to the chest, contrivance of simplicity, avoiding details and shunning innovation.

The most important thing to note is that it only appears to ‘work’ on men of a certain physical appeal. If you are on the books of Storm, are the tall silver-haired totty of the boardroom, got paid $12 million for your last acting job or tend to make girls weak at the knees with the merest flutter of your eyelashes, you’re laughing; a slovenly ‘style’ will not distract from your other charms. If, like the rest of us, you are not so genetically blessed; feeling rather short, awkwardly made or simply lacking in what might be termed ‘looks that can kill’, there’s precious little of the superficial to recommend. Wandering around in an open white shirt, clumpy shoes and a suit of average aesthetic and ubiquitous style is not likely to make others confuse you with Mr Clooney. Making an effort, for the majority of men, is far more attractive, rewarding and interesting than appearing not to have made an effort at all.

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On My Soap Box

Thanks to a spot on article in this week’s London Evening Standard I’ve joined a couple of protest groups.

For the many readers who live outside London, you might not be familiar with the area known as Portobello. The largest open air antiques market in the world, for the sartorially inclined it is a treasure-trove of second-hand fountains pens, cuff links, tie bars, watches and vintage clothing. The street market that stretches from Ladbroke Grove to Notting Hill is a cornucopia of sights, sounds and smells. Portobello provides not only the above but freshly prepared foods from the mundane to the exotic. It’s also home to some great independent retailers, Adam of London being my favourite.

Sadly this is all under threat. Recently an AllSaints store opened on the street, and in order to accommodate its 15,000sqft – the length of seven shop fronts – over 150 independent antique dealers were evicted from what was formally Lipka’s Antiques Arcade. You may think; how is one store a threat?

What retailers see is footfall. What they fail to understand is that the reason people like me go there is precisely because they’re not there. The arrival of this soulless dross palace will give heart to all the other rapacious chain retailers, landlords and property speculators who see this wonderful area as underdeveloped and ripe for exploitation.

What is happening in Portobello is happening in many of London’s unique retail areas – a sort of retail equivalent of acne. Bates Hats and Barons of Piccadilly, a favourite independent gents retailer of mine and fellow columnist Winston Chesterfield, are both victims of redevelopment of buildings on Jermyn Street. While Bates has secured space in Hilditch & Key it won’t be the same. Sadly Barons is going out of business all together. And as good as TM Lewin, Charles Tyrwhitt and Hawes & Curtis are at supplying cheap shirting, they’re not shirt makers as Cary Grant or the Duke of Windsor would have recognised them. How long before Jermyn Street is just any other?

If you saw the BBC’s four part series on Savile Row you’ll have seen the tailors work rooms being moved from top floors into basements to make room for hedge fund managers; and the arrival of Abercrombie & Fitch on the Row indicative of commercial interests coming before character, variety and quality.

It is often said of the English that we are incapable of appreciating what we have.

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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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Historical Prescriptivism: The Awkward Bedfellows of Tradition and Evolution in Menswear

But,
 erm,
 what
 exactly 
is 
Historical 
Prescriptivism? 
The
 term
 relates 
to 
the 
linguistic 
notion
 that, 
whilst 
language 
is 
constantly 
evolving 
and 
changing 
form, 
certain 
styles
 (often 
those 
that 
were 
popular
 in 
the 
past) 
are 
considered 
‘better’ 
language 
by 
a
 majority 
of 
speakers, 
at 
any 
given 
time. 
For 
example:
 the 
subjunctive 
in
 English 
often
 goes
 unmarked,
 these
 days, 
meaning 
that
 many
 people 
would
 say
 or 
write
 ‘If 
I
 was rich’ 
instead 
of
 ‘If I 
were rich’
 – 
just
 the 
sort
 of
 thing
 your
 secondary
 school
 English
 teacher
 would
 have
 pulled
 you
 up
on. 
Leaving 
aside
 the 
subjective
 argument
 as
 to
 which
 version
 is
 more
 pleasing 
to
 the
 eye 
or
 ear,
 it
s 
not a
 wild 
suggestion 
to
 say
 that, 
in
 the 
future, 
the 
‘If
 I
 were’
 construction 
may
 be 
completely 
obsolete, having
 been
 superseded
 by
 ‘If
 I
 was’
 which 
will
 then
 be 
considered 
standard,
 ‘correct’ 
English
 of
 the
 sort
 spoken 
by 
BBC
 presenters.

The 
point
 is 
this:
 change 
is
 natural 
and
 unstoppable 
but
 the 
majority 
will
 always
 resist
 change
 and
 look 
longingly
 to 
the 
way 
things
 were 
in 
the
 past
 as 
a 
sort 
of
 golden 
ideal.
 This 
linguistic
 example 
is
 allegorical
 for
 menswear,
 too,
 where
 innovation
 and
 evolution
 are 
often
 criticized 
for
 departing 
too
 far
 from
 the
 map
 drawn
 up 
by
 their
 historical
 forebears.

This 
issue 
came
 to
 a
head 
for 
me,
 recently,
 because
 I
 was
 asked
 by
 a 
friend 
who
 has
 her
 own
 clothing 
line
 to
 design
 some
 menswear 
for
 a
 bridal
 line 
she 
is
 working 
on
 at
 the
 moment. 

In 
the
 process
 of
 collecting 
images
 for
 the
 moodboard, 
I
 did
 some
 research
 online,
 reading
 some
 of the
 men’s
 style
 blogs
 and 
fora
 in
 order
 to
 get
 a
 sense
 of
 the 
mood
 vis‐à‐vis
 morning
 dress 
and 
what

one
 ought
 to 
wear 
to
 a wedding. 

I
 was 
struck 
by 
how
 rigid 
and 
dogmatic 
the 
majority
 of posters
 were
 with 
respect 
to 
what
 precisely 
constituted
 acceptable
 wedding 
attire!
 When 
I
 came 
to
 sketching 
the 
pieces, 
I
 found 
myself
 wanting 
to 
make
 subtle 
changes 
to 
the
 clothes 
but
 feeling
 almost
 guilty
 for
 doing
 so.

Some 
degree
 of 
change 
is 
to
 be
 expected:
 as
 we 
live 
and
 work 
in
 centrally 
heated

or
 air‐conditioned 
houses 
and 
offices 
and
 are 
thus
 less
 exposed 
to 
the 
elements 
it
 is
 only
 natural
 that 
we 
should 
change
 our
 clothes.
 As
 body
 shapes 
change 
and
 new
 textiles 
are 
developed,
 we
 should
 expect 
this,
 too, 
to
 have
 an 
impact.
 The
 real
 difficulty 
for 
us 
lies 
in 
assessing 
how
 much
 modification
 of
 existing 
styles 
is
 possible 
without
 the 
clothes
 losing 
the
 essence
 of
 what
 they
 originally
 were 
or
 appearing
 ersatz.
 For
 what 
it’s
 worth, 
I
 believe 
that 
change 
for
 the 
sake 
of
 change
 is
 pointless;
 but
 I 
am 
all
 for
 tweaking,
 personalizing,
 and
 making 
more 
relevant
 the 
classic 
items
 and
 designs
 that
 have
 served 
us
 so well
 in
 the 
past.

I’m
 curious
 to 
hear
 your
 thoughts.

This article is guest post by Matt Clarke, a freelance journalist and entrepreneur, based in London.

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Hand Sewing At Edward Green

I was fortunate enough to be able to tour the Edward Green factory in Northampton last week. A new building (as they’ve moved around a few times since leaving what is now the John Lobb factory in the centre of town) it nonetheless has a lot of atmosphere and personality. This is due in no small part to the personality of the staff, who delighted in teasing each other about which job best showed off their talents, or indeed which angle was best to photograph them from.

One aspect that particularly caught my eye was the hand sewing of the apron on a Norwegian split-toe. This is the Sandhurst, a pattern revived from the 1930s archives that was the precursor to Edward Green’s famous Dover. It has been updated in two different styles to celebrate EG’s 120-year anniversary: a grain leather version in tan, with a round toe and external welt to give it a country feel (202 last), and a dark-brown calf version with a severely squared toe that would look well in the city (888 last). Two very different looks with the same model.

The apron has to be sewn by hand because the two parts of the upper are at right angles to each other. A machine can stitch two parallel pieces of leather in any arrangement, but it can’t do angles.

The sewing is done by pig’s bristle that is bound to the thread, which it draws through a small cut made by an awl. The bristle is narrower than a metal needle and can move through the leather at angles a needle cannot.

The hand sewer prepares the pig’s bristle by cutting off its root, sanding the broken end to ensure it’s sharp and then splitting the other end to allow it to be bound with the thread. Several strands of yarn are then twisted together with the split bristle and rubbed down with beeswax. The thread is then rubbed hard with leather to melt the wax, ensuring that thread and bristle are bound together. The beeswax also helps seal the stitching on the shoe.

Doing the operation here is Gary Finedon, who joined Edward Green when it split from Lobb and has been hand sewing for 20 years. He makes around 20 such uppers a week, as does Green’s other hand sewer, Andrew Peach.

It’s important to develop a rhythm and not stop halfway, as that usually ensures the stitches are evenly spaced. So of course I interrupted Gary with about four stitches to go. He tactfully finished the last few while listening to my questions, then put the apron down to give me his full attention.

I never realised that the reason the split-toe seam has that distinctive finish is that this same hand sewing technique is used on the inside of the toe, to join the front two pieces of the upper. It’s that hand sewing underneath that creates the dimpled effect on top, which is so often highlighted by the polish.

I was also fascinated by the refurbishment process at Edward Green. There seemed to be a lot of old shoes around waiting for this treatment, and the picture here shows the sock of one pair that had been worn away pretty badly inside.

The two main reasons shoes are brought in is that the sock has worn away or the collar on the top of the heel has split. The latter is usually due to men not using shoe horns, stamping down on the collar and gradually destroying its structure. The thread that runs around the inside of the collar will often split as well.

Edward Green replaces the sock and insole, resoles the shoe and repairs anything like the broken collar. Everything but the upper, which retains its personalised contours, looks just like new. Not bad for £180.

My thanks to Euan, John, Hilary and everyone at Edward Green for making me feel so welcome.

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