Remember, Leather Stretches

Shoemakers can do a lot to help you decide which size is right for you. They can feel in which places your foot is hard against the edge. They can judge the clearance at the instep by how far the laces tighten. And they can look for any slippage of your heel. In the case of Lodger, they can even scan your foot to compare the fit with different lasts electronically.

But in the end, the true arbiter of fit is you. Only you know where it squeezes, where it is loose and where it hurts.

So you need to understand how leather changes. As it is a skin, it will stretch under pressure and reform. To a certain extent it will shape to your foot. This is reduced the more seams there are – leather stretches, seams don’t. So a full brogue will adapt much less than a whole-cut.

As a general rule, then, it is worth getting the size of shoe that is a little bit small, rather than a little bit big.

I had this choice when trying on a pair of shoes recently. The size 8.5 was very comfortable, but it laced all the way up with no gap at all between the facings. So over time, I knew that the shoe would become a little loose. And the right (smaller) foot already had a very small amount of slippage at the heel. I’ve solved this problem in the past with tongue pads (see post here). But that is obviously less than ideal.

The size 8 had greater room to lace up, but was tight across the ball of the foot. Not painful, but a little uncomfortable. So what to do?

Well, fortunately I have two pairs of shoes to compare to: two Edward Greens (rebranded as Ralph Lauren), one a full brogue and one a monk strap, one in an 8.5 and one in an 9. The 8.5 took a fair amount of wearing in; it was uncomfortable for months. But it now fits perfectly and will last for decades. The 9, on the other hand, was incredibly comfortable from the start but is now a little large – it required an extra hole in the strap.

The choice, really, is yours. Sometimes a shoe will fit perfectly, but often one will be a little bit big and one a little bit small. Then you have to choose: fit now or fit later.

It is also a question of personal preference to an extent – don’t forget that. Some people prefer their shoes a little loose all the time. Think back over previous experience and try and work out which you prefer. And bear in mind that leather will stretch.

Shoes Matter

‘If only’ are two of the saddest words in the English language. We are always more indulgently wistful in contemplating opportunities lost than we are in celebrating realised gains. The land-of-might-have-been is one of perfection and happiness in which there is no call for such regretful hand-wringing for, as Novello sang, it is simply “far more mercifully planned than the cruel place we know.” I am not often as sanguine about my own situation as I would hope, but I like to think that I plan for the best. I really feel that life, characteristically disappointing as it is, is there to be throttled and dealt with; no point in doing things half-cock or pursuing things halfway.

Such was my contemplative thought on seeing a well-dressed young gentleman on Fleet Street in a tidy two-button grey suit; the tie was a tasteful knot, the shirt appropriate for the suit and even a folded square of linen poked out from the breast pocket but disastrously, the footwear he had decided upon, dragged his estimable effort down considerably: untidy, lumpy brick-shaped shoes of a dull, cheap-looking black leather, they looked borrowed or found so out of place were they in this outfit. Only a strong sense of propriety and respect for the privacy of citizens prevented me from telling him to rid himself of such hideous footwear and head, promptly, in the direction of Jermyn Street. Instead I raised my eyebrows, tutted to myself and muttered ruefully; ‘If only!’

Since this disappointing sighting I have noted that footwear seems to rank very low on the list of sartorial importance for gentlemen in the metropolis. Suits, while often awful, are sometimes very appealing, even exquisite; ties are, again, a let down generally but there are signs of improvement in pattern choice and knots. Shirts are often the most pleasing part of the London working man’s wardrobe – considering the number of ‘discount’ Jermyn Street traders manufacturing well structured, suit-friendly shirts this is perhaps unsurprising. It is the footwear; the lumpy, grossly inelegant chunks of leather that people choose to wear on a business day that most surprises me. Invariably black, the shoes are of questionable shape, quality and durability. Why is this the case? Why are gentlemen inclined to provide significant financial outlay on brilliant threads but scrimp on decent leather?

One theory of mine tends to lead to the conclusion that most gentlemen believe that footwear simply doesn’t matter, as if we still had to tread the mud-caked streets of old; they may believe that a beautiful suit, constituting such a large area of the human body, needs representative investment. Shoes, those sadly necessary fixtures enveloping our feet, are rather small; ‘No one’ll notice’ shrugs our hypothetical proponent. The other theory is that the gentleman considers shoes are most certainly significant but has little understanding or education as to what an attractive shoe actually is. Some might scoff that attractive shoes should be simply self-evident but I believe our hypothetical gentleman in this category relies far more on price, branding and ubiquity as his guides for what footwear he should purchase. Most of the square-toed, badly shaped carbuncles masquerading as shoes in our shops are ugly and unflattering. Shoes are noticeable (to some more than anything else) and they can finish a look perfectly, or they can let you down horrendously.

It may sound like a cliché but the old, English shoemakers – not quite in the Lobb league – are the best. Church’s, Crockett & Jones, Trickers and Edward Green all make wonderful shoes that last a heck of a long time, crafted in designs that age very little. New & Lingwood, though not a Northampton name, is also an established and highly regarded shoemaker. To the average buyer the shoes are certainly expensive; many would choke at the hushed price on their way to the door, but this is more a consequence of our existing in such a capricious, throwaway society than anything to do with any ‘overcharging.’ Many friends of mine I have recommended to the shoe shops of Jermyn Street frequently reported back on the ‘incredible’ prices. I personally think it’s incredible that design of this kind can be so ignored; that a design should look as elegant in 2009 as on its introduction in the early half of the last century is surely the real marvel.

The other thing to do, once you have found the shoe-mine of your dreams, is to make sure the shoe wardrobe is reasonably well stocked and topped-up; variety is a friend of shoes. I feel desperately sorry for a pair of Oxfords worn every day. Selecting a pair of plain Oxfords and alternating with a pair of punchcaps, brogues or perhaps some rakish wholecuts is an option, as is the adoption of brown shoes which can look fabulous with blue and grey suits. Always make sure shoes are looked after (re-soled, protectively polished) to ensure years of happy use.

Why Your Gucci Doesn’t Fit

Ever wondered why your Dolce & Gabbana jacket fits you so well but the Gucci just isn’t right? Well, it’s Antonio Bracciani’s fault.

Bracciani is not a designer, a marketer or a manager. He is a fit model. And most of the clothes in the retail collections of Gucci, Prada, Burberry, Z Zegna and Calvin Klein Collection have been made to fit his body. Not yours, not mine, but his.

So if you happen to be 72″ tall with a 33″ waist, have a 39″ chest and 38″ hips, and exactly 18.5″ shoulders with a 15.7″ collar, everything will fit you. (184cm tall with an 84cm waist, 100cm chest and 98cm hips, 47cm shoulders and a 40cm collar.) Otherwise it will always be a little bit off.

These proportions are scaled up to the various chest and waist sizes used to classify jackets and trousers. So the precise measurements are less important than the ratios – if you are that little bit bigger than Antonio in every area, the suit might still fit you perfectly.

Antonio has kept the same figure he had when he was 18, through a steady diet and exercise regime. He spends most of his working days standing very still, having clothes fitted on him for hours on end. A slightly unusual occupation, but one that leaves plenty of time for planning his future – setting up an agency for fit models and other unsung jobs in the industry, like pattern cutters. Because you’re not going to stay the same size forever. (Although Armani’s current fit model is 55-years old – Antonio is only 32.)

Antonio is interviewed in the Spring/Summer 2009 edition of Fantastic Man, which has the best quality of writing of any of the men’s quarterly/bi-annual titles. Unfortunately, little of it is about style, but at least the journalism is good. And the piece in question was by Charlie Porter, probably the most consistently worth reading of British style writers.

The Seasonals section at the back of the magazine, however, deserves mention for other reasons. It is normally an insightful look at the various clothes and accessories that could make up an outfit for the season. This time the model wears tight, mid-thigh denim shorts, with a skin-coloured vest tucked in. Over the top is a cream sweater with a slashed neck and hemline that stops way short of the belly button. Finish it off with a white, shapeless Mac. Apparently.

Rare Moment: Check Jacket

Odd jackets might have fallen from favour in recent years, but there have been encouraging signs of their return. Gone are the days of the stroller – odd jackets and trousers are strictly casual nowadays – and close to disappearing are the classic brass buttoned blazers, but thanks to recent trends the concept of wearing a jacket, similar in cut and design to a suit jacket, with an odd pair of trousers is still very much alive. As ghastly and inappropriate as some of the choices may be, the practice itself is pleasing. The presence of odd jackets in a gentleman’s wardrobe increases his range of presentable ensembles; the more odd jackets, the wider the range. Pairing them with patterned trousers, coloured trousers and even denim is a realisation of their potential; even the least sartorially aware of my acquaintance still possess an odd jacket.

Tweed and plain, dark jackets are without doubt the most popular odd jackets; the former with the older generation, the latter with the younger. The usual tweed tends to be a classic Harris the colour of stale Weetabix, if patterned very subtly and the plain darks worn by young people tend to be suit orphans or poly-mix creations from River Island. Both are a badge of the clothing conservatism of the wearers. They are not exactly anonymous, but they have none of the outré explosiveness of the odd check jacket: a jacket which, in my experience, is rarely seen. For it is without question a risky choice.

Amongst the Weetabix and the poly-mix it looks rather exaggerated; one of the lonely eccentricities that receive tongue-in-cheek pleasantries. It’s different, yes and challenging, certainly but once it has been mastered will prove one of the most valuable items in the wardrobe. An odd check jacket has effervescence, lashings of character and, importantly, youth – even before you have stuffed a square of silk or matched a waistcoat. A check jacket seems always to be worn by those accustomed to smiling. It is the coat of a chuckler, a back slapper and a generous friend. About it there is a delightful, Pickwickian naivety. It is perpetually happy.

Controlling the overall volume of your attire is rather like legislating for a raucous party guest by inviting a hatful of dullards; plainness is the best partner for pattern. Depending on the colour variation in the check jacket, plain shirts of almost any colour will work well, particularly mid blues and white. Checks will also work, but prior experimentation may be required. Wearing stripes can produce a pattern clash, which can be occasionally brilliant, but they are generally too lacking in harmony; width of check and stripe would need to be taken into consideration. Wide stripes would look better with a small check, and vice versa.

The other advantage of a check jacket being the ‘loudest sailor at the bar’ is that the others in attendance, items of individual eccentricity, begin to look rather ordinary. The red trousers, the bow tie and the patterned shirt recede in significance. Therefore, items that get few outings because of their ‘oddness’ suddenly seem more civilised and more adaptable.

My 50-Year-Old Black Tie

I had heard ‘stories’ about treasures found in second-hand shops before. The way it goes, one day the author is browsing through the racks while his girlfriend tries on shoes, and all of a sudden he discovers an Anderson & Sheppard suit in exactly the right size.

It seemed a little unlikely.

Nevertheless, whenever I happened to be in any vintage shop (as second-hand has rebranded itself) I usually skimmed through the suit racks. For the sake of speed, I simply ignored any jacket where I could see a label, as a Savile Row suit will only ever have its label on the inside of the pocket.

A few years of (half-hearted) searching had turned up nothing. So my heart leapt when I was doing the normal skim in a vintage shop in York and found a tuxedo without a visible label. An exploration of the inside pocket found a tag bearing the name Lesley and Roberts, of Hanover Square. I’d never heard of them and passed on.

That evening, some research online discovered Lesley and Roberts listed with the address 20 Savile Row. Turns out the firm was bought up by Welsh and Jeffries (famously of that address) in 1999. I should have known that really. And Lesley and Roberts has a sterling reputation – tailor to Bing Crosby and much of the UK entertainment business in the forties and fifties.

Two quick calls followed. One to the shop (Priestley’s, which I have written about before) to reserve the suit and ask what name was written on the label. Then a second to Welsh and Jeffries, to confirm the Lesley and Roberts heritage and, as excitingly, to inquire whether the firm had ever made suits for UK film director Michael Powell.

For that was the name on the tag – made for Michael Powell, Esq. in March 1955. Given that only a precious few could afford Savile Row bespoke in those days (a smaller proportion than today, which may surprise some) and the firm’s heritage with the entertainment industry, it was worth asking. And yes, Michael Powell was a client. Welsh and Jeffries couldn’t confirm that he was the only client by that name, because the full book wasn’t inherited with the takeover. But close enough.

(For those readers not familiar with British film, Powell is one of the most famous English directors, authoring a series of films with Emeric Pressburger that included A Matter of Life and Death, Black Narcissus and The Red Shoes. Unfortunately, though, it turns out this suit was made after he appeared at the Oscars, in 1943 and 1949.)

So, the suit. The first thing you notice is the weight of the cloth. Heavier than even my winter flannels or tweeds. Then you notice the facings on the lapels of the jacket and waistcoat: silk rather than satin, which actually seems rather matte compared to modern suits but has greater texture and depth to it.

The trousers are very wide with a very high rise. With a fishtail back, they are designed to sit on your natural waist (around the belly button if not above) and be worn with braces. Once you put them on with the waistcoat, you realise the real point of pleats. Four elegant pleats enable the trousers to get up over the hip bone and come to a very narrow waist – you just couldn’t do that with flat fronts.

Combining that silhouette with a short, cropped waistcoat creates a very exaggerated shape (indeed, in Brideshead Revisited the heroes have suits from Lesley and Roberts with a “wasp waist”). As the natural waist is the narrowest part of most people’s bodies, having your trousers there produces the biggest contrast with the width of the shoulders.

It doesn’t half make you feel buttoned up when you wear it though. The trousers are all-encompassing and my shirt has a strip of elastic to button into them. Plus, the tailor that altered them for me (Graham Browne) added another strip of elastic behind the waistcoat to button into the trousers, to make sure no white shirt ever peaked between the two.

Oh, and of course you have to take your jacket and waistcoat off in order to go to the bathroom, as the braces are hidden beneath both.

Quite a palaver. But then £150 for a bespoke-quality suit (plus alteration costs) is pretty impressive value. The hand detailing is impressive, particularly around details like the buttonhole. Sewing a neat buttonhole in corded silk is not easy, particularly when the slit is not parallel to the cords. Indeed, that is one reason many tailors do not put them in today.

The only thing I would change is the lapels, which are notch rather than peak. Having emphasised to a reader named Paul last week how the peak harks back to the tradition of tails, this feels like a failure. But I’ll just have to swallow my pride and accept that fashions come and go, even on Savile Row.