Versace Loves H&M

There was something rather sad about the way Donatella Versace introduced the latest designer collaboration with the high street giant H&M. Normally, these collaborations are mutually beneficial affairs; the Giant sprinkles a little designer magic on their wares and rubs their hands gleefully as the queues form around the block; the Designer stands by their side counting the cash from the brief marriage, monitoring the crowds of fashionistas paying homage to their spring-up temples.

This time, there was something peculiar about the Designer’s place at the party. Though, again, this collaboration appears to be an unmitigated financial success, the hints of desperation in Donatella Versace’s words, and the state of Versace itself, have dulled the effect of the magic. On a grey and gloomy day, the daughter of Gianni Versace stumbled into the London flagship of the world’s second mightiest clothing retailer and muttered lines about the “new generation” of people opening up to Versace, selling to “different markets” and, bizarrely, posing for pictures with patient shoppers and informal eBay retailers.

The men’s collection is typically extravagant and gloriously tasteless; you shouldn’t expect any less from Versace. Pink suits, Greek key, sunbursts, leopard print; it was Gianni Versace’s greatest hits. Though Versace may be satisfied that legions of men turned out for the London opening, they should be wary; this was not a sign of mass appeal. As well as the thousands who were sent to collect or help girlfriends and wives with the 10 minute hauls, many were eBay merchants looking to spin a profit on that most cherished condition of retail; ‘Sold Out.’ There were certainly likely to be male fans true to the aesthetic and experimental label enthusiasts willing to give it a go, but these were few and far between.

Versace is looking ever more like the loud drunk at the party who refuses to go home. It hasn’t changed its stripes – literally – and even Donatella herself made wistful references to the glory of the 1990s, when excess and Versace were riding a high wave. Re-introducing the masses to the sort of clobber that looks like the aesthetic visualisation of the fall of the Roman Empire is apposite and yet extremely ill-timed. It is true that a lot of people like to have their “little bit of designer”, something H&M uses to maximum effect. In fact, many people buy things they don’t even like, particularly when they only have 10 minutes to make up their mind. However, the only long term beneficiary can be the Giant, and not because associations with a cheap, high street brand affect the Designer’s standing in the rarefied world of high fashion, but because the frenzied joy on purchasing ‘designer’ wares is short lived, soon forgotten and often regretted.

The Daily Mail’s headline, “Donatella Versace greets desperate shoppers” was wrong. It was the other way around.

Sartorial Love/Hate: Crocodile Shoes

It is always an entertainment when I observe the reactions of my less sartorially inclined friends to the prices of bespoke and designer clothing. Their responses are usually a loud and rather alarming repetition of my answer, with an added note of incredulity, and, if the cost is severe, this is followed by another, louder repetition and sometimes a generous helping of expletives, eye-rolling and head-shaking.

One of my old friends - a man who is ill acquainted with clean underwear, let alone a top-stitched lapel – was stunned into uncharacteristic silence when I told him that if he wanted a bespoke suit for his wedding, it would cost him, at the very least, the better part of £1000.

When I told a friend that the pair of crocodile shoes in the shop window, at £1,100, were peanuts in comparison to the £3,000-4,000 they would cost bespoke, he started so suddenly and with such an apprehension of violence that I thought I would be thrown through the glass. “What the HELL?! Four THOUSAND pounds?! For a pair of SHOES?!” His astonishment, though sudden, was hardly unexpected. You are talking about, I informed him, the Krug of shoes; the Beluga of bespoke. A pair of rare, animal skin shoes that will last you years and will probably be the most comfortable thing you own. “They are really” I whispered, as we trundled on “the king of shoes.”

His opinion could not have been more contrary. Such a large sum of money was a ludicrous amount to spend on any shoes, but crocodile shoes were, to him, unattractive. “I can understand” he began, as he calmed himself “why those Berluti shoes were so expensive, they were like art, but those crocodile things?! They were awful!”

It did not take me long to establish that not even a price of £70 would persuade my friend to plump for the pleasure of wearing out a pair of crocs. The sheer cost of the raw material and the craftsmanship in creating the shoes was irrelevant; they were ugly and his snap judgment was that gentlemen only bought them to “show how much money they could spend.” I ventured that though this may be true for a number, there were many gentlemen who wanted the fascinating aesthetic of croc skin shoes, which was, unsurprisingly, met with derision.

“In any case” my friend concluded “it’s not exactly fair is it? Killing an animal like a crocodile for a pair of shoes.” This last point I did not venture to contradict; no matter where the skin is sourced, how the animal is killed, or whether the skin is simply a byproduct, many people will object to the killing of such an animal for the vanity of fashion.

I personally rather like crocodile skin shoes and not for the dubious ‘high status’ they afford the wearer, but because they have a unique character and exoticism that is unusual in footwear; a world in which a two-tone dye on calf skin is usually as ‘different’ as it gets. The legendary Francis Bown bought his bespoke crocodile shoes at Cleverley as it was “a question of beauty…these shoes constitute one blow against the scruffiness of the age.” And yet, to me, they do seem to have a slight scruffiness, a raw, animal, natural aesthetic that is quiet unlike the austere refinement of calf leather. It is probably this quality, as well as the extravagant price tag, that tends to divide observers into those who adore, and those who despise.

Why the Fuss? SuperDry

Vigo Street was once one of my favourite thoroughfares; snaking from my favoured shopping boulevard, Regent Street, brushing the southern tip of Savile Row and turning into Burlington Gardens. It is a shortcut from the hushed luxury of Old Bond Street to the buzz of Soho; a walkway that takes in Ede & Ravenscroft, Gieves & Hawkes, Reiss and Austin Reed, as well as a delightfully empty Starbucks that looked down Sackville Street; perfect for a recuperating cupper on a weekend afternoon.

Now the Starbucks is no longer a secret, having been discovered by hordes of Abercrombie & Fitch disciples who crowd the narrow pavements outside, traipse carelessly in the path of beeping taxis and sit on the pavement in large groups at the back entrance to the Royal Academy. The access this street once provided was a soothing relief to the worsening bustle of the capital’s grandest high street; now, it is but a tributary of the same river of humanity.

I was dismayed to learn earlier on this year, not only that Abercrombie & Fitch have decided to prolong their incongruous imposition on Burlington Gardens, but that another brand of questionable value and inestimable hype were taking over Austin Reed’s lease at 103-113 Regent Street.

SuperDry is the most notable brand of the FTSE 250 listed SuperGroup plc, founded in the mid 1980s by entrepreneur Julian Dunkerton. SuperDry itself is a Noughties creation. Once a small, Covent Garden shop, it mushroomed into a wildly popular cult clothing brand when celebrities such as David Beckham were considered fans of the merchandise. Now, it is barging in on one of the ultra-prime spots on Regent Street into a building that has housed smart clothing for gentlemen since 1911; when the Ottoman Sultans were still on the throne and the doomed RMS Titanic was awaiting sea trials.

Like Abercrombie, SuperDry is representative of this new era; an era of cult and television-fuelled celebrity, of relentless ‘brand shopping’ and emblazoned logos; an era when the fashion of youth prevails, turning the age old story of ‘dressing like your father’ on its head.

Though SuperDry affects to connect itself to Japan through the use of the abbreviation JPN and the inclusion of Japanese characters in the logo, it has nothing to do with the country at all, except in ‘design’. In fact, it has even been suggested that the characters themselves are nonsensical; “…a bad attempt at translating ‘Do SuperDry’ into Japanese – presumably achieved with the help of a dictionary rather than by anyone with knowledge of the language…their customer base [didn’t] notice that they were essentially gibberish.”

To be fair, this is no different to the hogwash that is written across a lot of clothing - ‘authentic’ and ‘genuine’ are two of the most common examples – and the offenders are legion; Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren, Abercrombie & Fitch to name but a few.

However I am not that certain that with SuperDry, the shopper is necessarily buying into a particular aesthetic; with Ralph Lauren it is luxe Americana and English classics; with Tommy Hilfiger it is American preppy and Abercrombie sell the aesthetic, however unappealing, of collegiate casual. SuperDry are a hotchpotch, as the website states, of “…Japanese design influences and vintage Americana style which has won over fans from all over the world and a growing celebrity following.”

What is SuperDry’s aesthetic? A teenager’s bedroom floor? As far as I can see, this ‘design’ consists of bland windcheaters, nylon rainjackets, hoodies, sweatshirts and jeans; the only product difference between SuperDry and H&M’s Divided brand and, the dreck end of Inditex, ‘Pull and Bear’, is the retail price. SuperDry have managed to retain the glitter and gilt that the patronage of celebrity titans such as Leonardo DiCaprio affords.

People love these brands because they allow them to live their lives vicariously; a little bit of SuperDry is like having a fraction of a celebrity lifestyle. They have the cheap clothing too but they need a little bit of a brand that people fuss about to make themselves feel good. SuperDry is riding this wave and right now, the water is warm and frothy and tastes like The X Factor. But how long will it be before the water turns cold? Before the curtain is lifted and the Red Bull-style brilliance of its branding fails? Austin Reed lasted nearly a century at 103-113; I wonder how long SuperDry will last.

Links: Movember, Sweats, Black Tie…

• Winston is growing a ‘tache for Movember. (venividivrai.blogspot.com)

• Grown-up way to wear sweats, or is it? (thestyleblogger.com)

• A thought or two on black tie. (thefineyounggentleman.com)

• Check out the check options. (savilerow-style.com)

• Personal style: Paul Weller. (gq-magazine.co.uk)

• On business shirts. (admiralcod.blogspot.com)

• The necktie: brief history. (kingpinchic.com)

A Turn around Italy: A Thought or Two

I’ve just returned from another wonderful trip to Italy, sampling the delights of Florence, Sienna and the Tuscan countryside. They say travel broadens the mind, and I’m sure it does. It can also be ever so slightly depressing.

If you occasionally cross the ether and visit BespokeMe you’ll know that my major preoccupation is locating London’s independent menswear labels and retailers. It is, I’m sorry to say, a less than easy task; dominated as the landscape is by invidious chain retailers – and increasingly greedy landlords.

This is all a far cry from my experiences in Italy. Indeed, for a man like me who is product and experience focused, when it comes to clothing Italy is my Mecca. For whether it is Rome, Florence, Sienna or any of the smaller towns the independent retailer is the norm not the exception. And it makes such a difference to your outlook and enjoyment of clothing. It makes turning each and every corner of these beautiful cities a world of possibility.

For whatever you’re looking for there will be some small family run outlet ready to provide it, from shoes and cashmere ties, to gloves and pyjamas - and everything in between. The shops are small, intimate even, and it’s all about engaging with the shop owner and experiencing the goods. They want to show you their wares, tell you about them, you’re expected to look, to feel and engage. This attention can be a bit unnerving at first, particularly for an Englishman. But once you get used to it shopping becomes a collaborative and enjoyable experience, not something to be endured.

I remember when I was in Rome last walking down one particular street near my hotel. It seemed entirely populated by sock and underwear retailers. As I was looking for some fine Italian hosiery I went into one of the shops. Aside from a dazzling array of socks I also found a man, his wife and the shop assistant deep in discussion over the merits of various pairs of briefs. Each one was being tugged, pulled and assessed in quite extraordinary detail – I can only imagine what they were actually saying.

I had a very similar experience in Florence when looking for gloves. Again this was a little specialist business that did nothing but gloves. Having picked out the colour of glove I wanted a velvet cushion was then placed on the counter on to which I was instructed to place my elbow with my arm and hand pointing vertically. The charming female shop assistant then proceeded to place the glove on my hand, fitting and checking each finger as she went to ensure I had the perfect size. In London not even Picketts in the Burlington Arcade shows this much dedication and pride.

The funny thing is that such an environment entirely alters your attitude to clothing and that male Kryptonite, shopping! The very act of acquiring clothes in Italy is a pleasure. Little wonder then that so many men in that country take such care and pride in their appearance.

Pound for pound Italians are the world’s best dressed men. One cannot help but wonder whether Anglo Saxon men might not find clothes, style, dress and shopping more enjoyable pursuits if they too lived in such an environment.

When travelling it’s often the little differences that leave the most profound impression.