The Overlooked Gem: Gravati Shoes

Amidst a pantheon of high end men’s shoes, Gravati is one brand that often gets overlooked. Yet, anyone who owns a pair will tell you that Gravati is the most comfortable shoe in their collection.

Gravati was founded in 1909 in Milan, Italy. While the brand maintains a cult following in Europe, Gravati was relatively unknown in the United States until the late 1990s when it began raising brand awareness by hosting trunk shows. These attempts, however, never caught on with the stateside shoe loving crowd largely due to uninspiring designs and relatively high prices. Truth be told, Gravati collection examined as a whole leaves much to be desired. While on the eclectic side, Gravati is not as interesting when compared to other Italian shoemakers like Sutor Mantellassi or Santoni. Some models, however, look quite nice and are incredibly comfortable as I recently discovered.

My introduction to Gravati came in November 2007, while shopping with my mother in one of her favorite shoe stores. While I knew nothing about the brand, two shoes really caught my eye. After trying on both pairs, the shoes looked and felt impeccable, and for the price – a little over $200 each – they became an easy purchase (I bought another pair since then).

The tan wingtip is called “Bolet”. It is made out of betis leather, which in the words of a fellow sartorialist “is an aniline calfskin that has been treated with alcohol to disrupt the finish and then had neutral polish worked in with a buffing wheel to effect the antiquing.” As seen from the photos, the shoes are heavily brogued and could pass for a model out of a Sutor Mantellassi catalog. I wear them with a summer tan suit, but they could also work well with jeans or slacks. The black wholecut is called “Sera”. It is made out of Nappa leather, and is a versatile pair of dress shoes that can be worn to any formal occasion. Both shoes are blake constructed and have a leather outsole. A heel toplift if made from rubber with a stamped Gravati logo – a Gravati trademark for leather soles. It adds support on slippery surfaces.

When trying on a Gravati shoe, one cannot help but notice how supple the leather is. Hence, my main concern before the purchase was how much wear they could take. Yet, almost nine months later, both pairs look as new (I must add, however, that I only wear each pair three to four times a month). While I am not familiar with Gravati lasts, the shoes fit true to size. In addition, wearing Gravati is an experience all in itself as they hug your feet and give you great comfort and support unlike any other high end pair of shoes I own.

The three retailers that carry the largest selection of Gravati shoes in the United States are: Wilkes Bashford in San Francisco, Harolds in the Heights in Houston, and Zappos.com. These retailers’ prices, however, are a bit on a steep side, as Gravati can often be found on eBay or in a number of independent retailers for almost half the amount as the brand is still relatively unknown. Thus, if found in the $200 price range, Gravati is a great investment, as the leather quality and the overall comfort will leave one a very happy customer.

In Praise of Sartorial Individuality

In a particular movie scene, a Victorian gentleman makes his way into a particularly dubious establishment, something in the manner of an old coaching inn; full of rose cheeked, merry groups of drinkers, smiling and scowling in equal number. His magnificent formal evening dress, white tie, top hat and tails, shines in the dim light with a near celestial luminescence. The owner of the establishment, a portly man with a pompous ensemble of his own, stands in salute, instructs the entertainments to cease and announces with pride; “The Two Turtles is honoured by the visit of a gentleman.”

Such deference, though artificially portrayed, was not uncommon. Smartly dressed gentlemen were clearly identifiable among the rank masses, particularly in areas of town unfamiliar to the silk top hat and patent shoe. They were fawned over and bothered for their charity but generally, they were left rather well alone. Certainly they might have been the object of an optimistic theft in a dark alley on a gloomy evening, or the reason for a knowing nod, nervous glance or a hushed word, but generally whatever animosity there might have been to the educated and well-dressed, it was apparently well disguised.

These days, chastisement of chaps for the way they dress is, in my experience, commonplace. If you happen to be among certain groups of people in certain areas of cities, you come across certain persons I refer to as ‘spoilers’; spoilers, not because of the picnic-table fibreglass they attach to the back of their vehicles but because they often try and spoil the fun of dressing well. I remember walking past a growling trio who, rather startled by my advancing form, gave me the ‘once over’ and muttered ‘Poof!’ as I passed. I am little concerned by such antics. I don’t dress to attract attention or seek approval. Therefore, such appraisal is easily forgotten. But such events do cause ripples of thought; what would the world be like if everyone dressed the same?

If everyone dressed in a way one particular person, or one group of people, approved of the events of fashion conflict would surely never arise. Everyone would approve of one another, differences in such matters would be minute and inconsequential and you would have a uniformity of attire, similar to a day at Ascot or an ambassadorial dinner. However, if everyone dressed in glorious morning dress it would cease to be special and ceremonial; no one would be admired for their particular fashion or style. Clothing itself would cease to be important as, the natural progress of conflict is to cause discussion; and discussion which can divide as well as unite.

Looking at the glowing pictures of catalogue models, all perfectly groomed and attired, enjoying impossibly beautiful afternoons on Cambridge punts, elegant dinners on Tuscan terrazzas and glorious sunsets in Maine, it is difficult not to conclude that fashion’s message is clearly: ‘Dress like this… and the world will be beautiful.’ Of course, if more people took more interest in clothing and cultivated attractive personal styles, it would be an exotic occasion indeed, to walk down the street, oohing and ahhing at the cornucopia of elegance on show. I have been to several locations where I have relished and celebrated the sartorial artistry of those that surrounded me and the knee jerk reaction is quite naturally; ‘If only more people dressed like that!’ A famous writer I had the pleasure to meet and ask for an autograph remarked upon hearing my first name; ‘Ahh, Winston. More people should be called Winston…although if there were too many, it’d be rather terrible.’

There is nothing that cheapens quite like popularity, or I should say, over popularity. The fashionistas of my acquaintance, as fickle as they are, are loyal to one ideal; as soon as a garment appears in Primark, in the eyes of fashion, it is dead. Although such slavish devotion makes me chuckle heartedly, I empathise with such thinking. Men of style and flair who visit these pages, looking for advice or seeking to provide their own valued input, are in a minority. I for one am happy that, as a minority, it remains; stylish gentlemen are jewels to be enjoyed on occasion and for their charming individuality and expression of sartorial understanding. As they are, they shine as precious stones; treasured or ridiculed, berated or applauded, either is preferable to the idea of an oppressively numb uniform world.

How to Look After Your Suits

Many people look after their suits badly. This may seem obvious. After all men hang their suits on pegs, leave them on the floor after a day’s wear and occasionally bundle them into bags. For the most expensive piece of clothing a man owns, it is generally not treated well. But the biggest mistake he makes is dry cleaning his suits too often.

The chemicals in the dry cleaning process damage natural fibres of wool or cotton, thinning and weakening them. Over time the material at stress points such as the crotch and elbows will wear down. Dry cleaning is still the most effective, indeed really the only effective way to get dirt out of these materials. But often the suits simply aren’t dirty.

Any dirt that does accumulate during a day’s wear can easily be brushed off in the evening. Simply hang up your jacket and trousers and brush them a few times with a soft-bristled brush. This removes the specks of dirt before they can get ground into the material through wearing or pressing.

Suits brushed this way after use should only need to be dry-cleaned twice a year. Some enthusiasts recommend only dry cleaning your suit before it is stored away for the season – so once a year – but this rather suggests that they own more suits than the average man, meaning few uses of the suit each week, and only wear a suit for six months of the year, again suggesting less use.

Dry cleaning twice a year should be sufficient for a suit worn once or twice a week. If you wear a suit more often than that, its lifetime is going to be considerably shortened anyway.

Hang your suit up every night and always leave it for a day before wearing again, to let it recover and drape out its wrinkles naturally. Heavier materials and linen should be left for at least two days.

Many recommend steaming your suit in the morning to remove any last wrinkles. This is often impractical, but it is worth doing occasionally. Buy a portable steamer, or use the steam setting on your iron to puff steam into the material while it is hanging up (make sure it is on a low heat as well). You will sometimes see staff in shops doing this to suits on display, to make them appear crisp and fresh.

If the crease on your trousers also softens over a few weeks, this can be steamed back in with an iron, but again make sure it is on a low heat.

That’s pretty much all you need to do. Store the suits with plenty of space between them in a closet, preferably in cloth suit bags to keep moths away (the brushing out of dirt should also make the material less attractive to the little bleeders). And if you are the kind of man that stores seasonal suits away for six months, make sure they are clean and wrinkle-free before you do so.

A Sliding Scale of Formality: Shoes/Trousers

You see quite a few bankers around this part of London wearing driving shoes with their suits. They presumably think they’ve stumbled onto a great thing – like loafers, but different, and in a huge range of colours.

But then they can’t see their suit trousers piled up on the rubber nubbins that driving shoes often have on their heels. To those walking behind them, it looks just as bad as wearing chunky trainers with a suit.

Driving shoes and worsted wool (the smooth wool of most suits) are just too far apart on the formality scale. This is why they look wrong together; why suddenly the shoes make suit trousers look flimsy and insubstantial, a little like pyjamas.

Here is my approximation of the sliding scale of formality:

Shoes Trousers

Wholecut Oxfords Worsted wool

Toecap Oxfords (quarter brogues) Worsted wool/linen or cotton

Monk-front shoes Worsted wool

Half-brogues Worsted wool/linen or cotton

Derbys (Bluchers) Flannel/worsted/cords or khakis

Smart slip-ons (Norwegian split-toe) Worsted/cords or khakis

Full brogues (wingtips) Flannel/cords

Suede/Nubuck Anything but worsted

Deck shoes Cords or khakis/jeans

Driving shoes Khakis/jeans

[Notes: This list does not include boots, extending above the ankle makes any of these types a notch more casual; neither does it include shorts, as I think they can look good with anything but the top three types of shoe; double soles also make any of these a notch more casual, particularly monk-fronts; patent leather should be reserved for formalwear; cotton is the most versatile material and can be hard to pin down, as jeans can go with all but a few of these shoes, as can khakis arguably.]

These, to me, are the types of shoe (beginning with the most formal and ending at the bottom with the most casual) that most suit a material of trouser.

The more formal and elegant a piece of clothing the more delicate its materials and textures are likely to be. Worsted wool needs shoes with sleek shapes, slim soles and clean designs. Heavier wools need heavier shapes, most obviously flannel with brogues. The rough seams and rubber ridges of driving shoes are more suited to jeans or more casual trousers.

Within this range, combinations can work by going up or down one notch, possibly even two. But the problem of wearing driving shoes with worsted is demonstrated – the two are just too far apart.

Suede Shoes: Should I?

When I was a young lad my parents, ever practically minded, used to consider that the tricky problem of buying clothes could be mitigated by purchasing garments that were rather too large for me but that could be temporarily altered. The sad fact of the matter was mine was an adolescent body not capable of achieving the ideals of growth that my parents had envisaged. However, I am grateful to my parents for their input. Such practical thinking is admirable, and as they were intent on buying me items of very high quality, it was also rather necessary; I would soon have outgrown a perfectly fitted trouser at the age of 15.

Thinking practically about your wardrobe can save you money. I think a good number of people prefer to devote their time to other activities and expect their clothing results to be as instantaneous as their Starbucks coffee; walk in to shop, find needed black shoes, pay, walk out. The devil is that the product that has been made so readily available to our purchaser, like the Starbucks coffee, is probably overpriced. To get the right results from clothes shopping a good deal of research is needed. It’s preposterous to expect that the average retailer on the high street can be trusted to provide a product that offers, as well as style, long term value for money.

It’s perhaps ironic then that the more practically minded purchaser is apt to make impractical purchases. One such purchase might be a pair of suede shoes.
In the proper hands, suede shoes can be an excellent addition to a gentleman’s footwear collection. However, unlike full grain leather, which possesses the protective ‘skin layer’, suede is only from the soft underside of the animal’s skin; making it softer but also far less durable. Suede also has a tendency to absorb liquid very quickly, making suede products unsuitable for wear in wet periods. And no matter how cautious I have been with it in the past, it has always ended up looking tired, worn and dirty far too soon after the purchase.

“This” I was told by a charming and multi-lingual cobbler in Rome “does not always have to be so.” He informed me of protective sprays, brushing techniques and new suedes, all of which I was previously aware, that had been created for what he termed “the lazy people.” I surmised that lazy people are unlikely to purchase suede shoes because they are more decorative than practical. When new, they look gorgeous; the subtle matte finish is the footwear equivalent of a chocolate truffle. However, taking the decision to buy a pair is momentous. Suede shoes are the difficult child, the young offender and the family puppy; they require a great deal of care and attention. They should really be worn infrequently and never when it is raining. There are shoe care guides aplenty that offer ‘solutions’ for worn, wet or dirty suede but the unhappy fact of the matter is, your suede will never quite be the same again once it has shown the ugly evidence of use.

Lifting the napp on worn areas with a brush will not restore your shoes to their former glory, and dirt marks on light suede are unlikely to be completely lifted even after hours of attempt with a putty rubber. This is not to dissuade (please, excuse the pun) the reader from considering shoes in such a material. I myself have longed for a pair of black suede Stemar lace-ups that slipped through my fingers several seasons ago and despite my consideration that, though splendid, they would soon be irretrievably damaged by the persistent dirt and wet of London’s streets, I would still fall to my knees, irrationally and theatrically, and beg them to be mine.