Hong Kong Trend: Winter Cardigan

It isn’t very cold in Hong Kong, or at least not for long. Even in January the temperature ranges between 13 and 18 degrees Celsius (55 to 64 Fahrenheit). Right now, it’s a spring-like 20 degrees, and feels decidedly balmy to the Brit abroad.

But as far as the locals are concerned, it’s cold. When your summer regularly climbs above 30 degrees, accompanied by high humidity, 20 is cold.

The formal cardigan

The businessman in Hong Kong, young or old, typically resorts to a cardigan in this climate. The cardigan is dark, a blue or a black, occasionally a grey, is buttoned up and for the large part remains beneath the jacket. In this combination it looks smart, the rough wool of the cardigan contrasting nicely with the smooth worsted suit.

(A decent rule of thumb here as regards texture – a silk tie was traditionally smart as it contrasted with the heavy flannels worn by most men. As today’s suits tend to be worsted and ever-smoother, a woollen or knitted silk tie may achieve the same function.)

The cardigan has become such an object of fashion in the past few years that seeing men wear it as an everyday, smart item of clothing is a revelation. This cardigan is not brightly coloured, striped or ill-fitting. Unlike a fashion cardigan it is not too tight, as it is when worn by the punkish and presumably trendy. Nor is it loose and slouched, done up by one button if at all.

It is like a waistcoat, only a little more relaxed; a little less tailored, a little less formal. More apt, perhaps, for wearing with an odd jacket. And like a waistcoat, the cardigan in this ensemble is best when it is not fancy. Dark and buttoned, with the bottom button possibly undone, depending on the cut. Like the waistcoat it can also work well to keep a tie in order, though again this item should be conservative – what you add in number of pieces, take away in colour and pattern.

Until you are jacketless

The only disadvantage to a cardigan is that it inevitably looks scruffier when you take your jacket off. This is true of waistcoats to a certain extent – they are obviously designed to be worn with a jacket, avoiding the exposure of one’s shirtsleeves – but even more so of a cardigan, which can rumple and bunch more easily.

If you tend to take your jacket off as soon as you get into the office and rarely wear it again, I recommend you avoid a tie with such cardigans and opt for the slightly tighter fit to keep them close to the body.

The Hong Kong man, being a traditionalist, has none of these problems. And it’s bloody freezing – 20 degrees! So they wouldn’t want to go jacketless anyway.

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Hello from Hong Kong: The Final Suit

As I walk along Queen’s Road Central, I have an odd feeling. There appears to be a constant pressure across my back, from shoulder to shoulder. Something is resting on each part of it equally.

It is, of course, my new suit, and such is the feeling of having something that is actually made for you that it is odd to feel consistency of pressure; to feel that this stretch of cloth has been made to fit across this stretch of skin.

It’s quite a pleasurable feeling, as is glancing down and seeing my trouser cuffs rest just so on the top of my shoes, or checking the time and finding exactly an inch of cuff between my suit sleeve and watch.

(An additional benefit of bespoke clothing here – the shirt I had made has a left cuff ever-so-slightly bigger than its right, as I tend to wear a large watch. This was a suggestion of my own – again, research is the key, these tailors will only change something you tell them to change.)

Overall, a very satisfactory outcome. I find it hard to see why I would ever buy a suit or shirt off the rack again. Of course, there are little things that you immediately want to change. I spotted one when I went to pick up the suit: the jacket waist was a little wider than I like. This was changed for the next day (useful to have the time to do this if you can manage it). But even when I picked it up finally there were little things I noticed within an hour of wearing it.

The trousers, though flat-fronted, had the deep pockets and roominess of pleats – so there was perhaps a little more material around the trouser front than I would have liked. And though the waist of the trousers fitted perfectly, I regretted asking for no belt loops or any other adjustment mechanisms – side pulls of the type I have on other trousers might have been more practical in case I lose or gain a little weight over the coming months.

But these are small things. Things that can be changed and things that were largely my fault for not mentioning. For every one of these niggles in a bespoke suit there are 10 off the rack.

Over time, as I plan to go back when I return to Hong Kong in November (the mind already plays over the possibilities – overcoat, tweed suit, Prince-of-Wales check?) these additional adjustments will become second nature. I haven’t had suits made for me for very long. And, importantly, as Mr Tam now has my paper patterns in his files I don’t have to remember anything I previously specified, just the little improvements.

My thanks to Edward for his efforts. If anyone would like his contact details they are more than welcome. I’m sure he is not the best tailor in Hong Kong, but he comes recommended by me in a city where they are 10 a penny.

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The Unmade Suit

If I stand side-on to the mirror, it almost looks like a real suit. Of course, it only has one arm and the front and back panels are covered in stitching. But you can’t see that from the side.

I can’t stand like that for long, as Edward Tam is hovering with intent. I’m having my first fitting for a double-breasted suit in Hong Kong, and he thinks there is a little too much give up the back. Quick as a flash, he pins up a half inch, pinching it in a long dorsal fin.

I’m trying to remember all the fit points I should mention. And writing them down in advance is my top tip to you. I was arrogant and thought I wouldn’t forget any. I did. Most of the important ones came to mind, however – the break of the trousers (to my taste, so there is no break in the back line, just the front), the length of the jacket (my taste is a little shorter than normal, about in line with the middle of my thumb when my hands are at my sides) and the length of the sleeves (again, I like it a little shorter, with half and inch of shirt showing with my arms at my sides, over an inch when the arm is at my chest).

Interestingly, Mr Tam and his colleague were sceptical about the sleeve length. In Asia they tend to be rather longer, apparently. But they were happy with my demands and didn’t seem too unimpressed with the result. It is probably as important to be confident in your demands as it is to know they are correct.

Aside from not quibbling over sleeves, the best way Mr Tam showed his quality to me as a tailor was picking up on aspects of my body shape that I was already aware of. For example, I have wide but sloping shoulders. In many off-the-peg suits this has the annoying effect of letting the shoulders of the jacket droop a little, creating folds under the arm. Edward picked up on this when we discussed the “natural” curve of the unmade suit I had on – if the shoulder were any more unpadded, he pointed out, it would reveal my sloping figure and be uncomplimentary.

Edward got a mental tick in my head for picking up on that. And it is probably worth you bearing something similar in mind were you to go through this experience. Go into any high-end suit shop and ask the oldest member of staff for his advice on how a jacket fits. If he knows his stuff he will list all your pluses and minuses, making you fully equipped to rate your tailor.

The suit should be ready this afternoon. I’m rather nervous about it – particularly as the half-made suit I tried on didn’t have its deep purple lining. It might look awful.

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Hello from Hong Kong: Tailor Report

When you leave the underground at Tsim Sha Tsui, it’s not immediately obvious where the Regal Kowloon Hotel might be. Street signs are infrequent and not always translated into English, and the sheer profusion of Chinese symbols, hoardings and tower blocks is apt to confuse.

Fortunately, the locals are friendly and a quick inquiry directs you down Mody Road. In the marble-floored mezzanine, hiding around a corner, is the office of Edward Tam, director of E.Italian tailors.

There are too many tailors in Hong Kong to tell which are of any quality. And even if you get a recommendation from a friend, his positive experience doesn’t guarantee one for you. Many of the staff in our office out here have had suits made on the recommendation of a colleague, only to be disappointed. Indeed, our resident journalist in Hong Kong had a suit made at Sam the Tailor, who comes recommended by Tony Blair and Jude Law. The suit had very square shoulders and too-wide trousers. The trousers, of course, could be altered, but the shoulders are harder to do.

But then Edward Tam has been making suits for my father for three years, and he has yet to be disappointed. The key is to know what you want, including getting the best materials.

As Mr Tam measured me for a suit this morning, a list of requirements and specifications ran through my head. These are important to remember, as a tailor won’t necessarily ask you for all of them.

For example, how wide do you like your trouser legs? Unless you specify this, the tailor is likely to give you what he considers to be the standard. In Asia, this is rather wider than in Europe. How about the width of your lapels? You may not think these are that important, but there’s always a chance a tailor will make them a little broader than you like. As with the trouser legs, I recommend measuring a suit you like at home, just so you know in advance.

So that’s fit. It’s also worth going for the best materials. The one thing you can guarantee with a luxury brand suit is that the material will be very good. It might not fit you, it might not be made by hand, and it may not even be canvassed, but the wool will be of decent quality.

At the tailor, the best way to identify the materials is if any of them are textures or names you know. If it looks like the worsted or flannel on something you already own, you’re halfway there. If it looks like an odd, slightly shiny weave, there’s a chance there will be some manmade material mixed in, which won’t last so well. And look out for the big names in wool – Ermenegildo Zegna and Loro Piana, as the biggest and best of Italian woolmakers, are a good sign.

Mr Tam had a selection of both, as well as some infuriatingly tempting cashmeres. All at once, I was considering a navy blue, cashmere overcoat. What an extravagance that would be.

First fitting for a double-breasted, grey flannel suit and mid-blue shirt is tomorrow. I will report back on whether either the fit or the material disappoint.

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Fit, Colour and Fashion

It has been a week of threes, so here’s another.

The first three was a way to compare high-street and designer purchases: analyse your feelings and rank the item for design, quality and branding. The order should help you make your decision. The last should probably be closely followed by one of the others to make it worth it, unless you feel like a guilty brand buy-in.

The second three was the aesthetic that unites casual and formalwear: the harmony of cut, colour and pattern is the same whatever an outfit’s intention. Both modern and traditional outfits have stand-out (“pop”) pieces, an intrinsic balance, and cuts that express personality.

The next tripartite analysis combines parts of both predecessors. It concerns shopping decisions, and ranks fit, colour and style.

It’s an old saying someone passed on to me years ago – when you’re buying a piece of clothing only buy it if it fits well. Then consider whether the colour suits you. And only then consider whether it is fashionable/stylish/inspiring.

This is a piece of advice that is hard to disagree with, but also hard to stick to.

A piece of clothing flatters you most when it fits you well. The classic silhouette of a suit is classic because it flatters a man more than almost anything else. Even women that eschew formal wear – and therefore suits – for their men, find they prefer t-shirts, jeans, sweaters that fit well. If a t-shirt is skin-tight, has no waist or has a collar that covers your Adam’s apple, it will look unattractive.

Conversely, if something fits you badly it is always the first thing anyone notices. Colour and style will be ignored, will be blinded if your suit jacket strains against your mid-riff, tell-tale lines radiating from the waist button.

Colour, next, can smother style. (It’s a little like paper-rock-scissors this, except that style doesn’t trump fit – you’d be an idiot to pick style.) No matter how stylish that orange shirt, anyone’s first reaction will be revulsion. Conversely, there’s a good chance they will notice if it fits you perfectly.

There are as many points of advice on colour as there are on fit – bright colours with black look cheap; brown rather than black with blue; reds and greens for those with ruddy complexions; stronger colours for those with darker skin; white makes you look tanned unless you are already too white. These are fairly instinctive but take some deliberate thought, after analysing the fit that is.

A good maxim, but as one hard to stick by. I can’t count the clothes I have that were not bought with fit in mind. Or with fit ignored.

Colour is subtler but gnaws at you. Unsuitable shades create vague irritation rather than specific frustration.

So this triplet is certainly worth bearing in mind. And once you’ve decided it suits you, you can turn to design/quality/branding to decide whether it’s worth the money.

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