Fin’s: A Solution To A Bugbear

I have a bugbear about driving shoes. I hate the ridge, bobbles or gommini that all brands put on the back of their shoes, as well as the sole. Originally, I presume this was to retain grip on the floor of the car, seeing as your foot would be pivoting on its heel as it caressed the accelerator.

But no one wears driving shoes to drive today, and the rubber bits on the back mean that one’s trousers bunch up at the back, sitting on the rubber rather than flowing smoothly down to the heel. This is a particular issue with bankers that wear driving shoes with suits. The way the trousers bunch up makes them look like pyjamas.

So the first thing I noticed about Fin’s shoes is that they don’t have any bobbles on the back. Just smooth suede or leather.

Fin’s is a young shoe company run by a friend of a friend, Alexandra Finlay. Always interested in entrepreneurs of any type, and shoes in particular, I gave her “simple, fuss-free and fun” shoes a try. And bearing in mind my rather slight bias and connection to the company, I have to say they are remarkably comfortable.

I only owned one pair of driving shoes previously, from Massimo Dutti, and Fin’s are a big improvement on those. At first blush they also seem more comfortable than Tod’s or Bally, though having only tried on those brands I can make no direct comparison.

The shoes are made by a family-run factory in Portugal and are partly hand-stitched (the long moccasin stitch joining the vamp to the upper). Says Fin: “Portugal is renowned for providing fantastic quality at great value. In creating a brand that centred around the ethos of affordable luxury I knew that the balance Portugal offered would be ideal for Fin’s.

“The factory is entirely dedicated to making shoes; their set up is amazing, a cavernous room with the shoe-making process operating from start to finish in an anti-clockwise arrangement. The process starts with a man cutting the patterns, and works its way around to another man wrapping the finished shoes in tissue paper and boxing them up. Visiting the factory at production time is one of my favourite things to do. It makes you appreciate the finished product so much better when you see the work and craftsmanship.”

The construction and padded insole is remarkably comfy, although I must admit that part of that insole cover is coming away in my pair, which I have been wearing daily for two weeks. The insoles are removable though, which should aid any repairs and also helps air out sweaty feet a bit better.

It’s hard to argue with Fin’s philosophy of comfortable, simple shoes, easily ordered (next-day delivery) and in more colours than you could possibly want. I wouldn’t necessarily recommend wearing them with suits though.

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Turn Back Your (Cotton) Cuffs

OK, so this is how I came to the earth-shattering style insight alluded to in the title:

• most of my ready-to-wear jackets have sleeves that are slightly too long;

• most of those jackets are casual as my suit jackets are mostly bespoke;

• because they are casual they tend to be of rougher material (cotton, linen);

• they are also cheaper jackets for that reason;

• so I’ve never paid to have the sleeves shortened (because they are casual and because they are cheaper);

• so I end up turning back the ends of the sleeves by an inch or so.

Do you like the quasi-logical approach to this style analysis? Essentially, I realised that I like turning over the end of my sleeves on casual jackets. I like it as a small style quirk, as a little casual but personal touch. But I think it only works with casual jackets because the roughness of the material matches the casual nature of the gesture.

A business suit is usually made of smooth worsted wool because smoother, sleeker clothes are smarter. Smooth cloth goes with crisp creases, high-shine shoes and sharply angled handkerchiefs. Can you feel the aesthetic?

By contrast, linen is rough and ready, goes with crumpled lines and soft woollen ties, faded madder dyes and heavy, seamed shoes (Derbys, brogues, double soles). So turning back your cuffs can work.

If you wanted turned back cuffs on a smoother cloth, they would have to be precisely turned and stitched down – like the cuffs you get on velvet jackets and some overcoats. That is the only turned back cuff that will work because it is exacting, fine and firm.

Of course, you need to be able to physically turn back the cuffs for this theory of mine to apply. So a tweed or heavy wool jacket will not work. This is the exception to the rule, though the rule remains – casual touches will work best with these heavy, rougher jackets. So if you need to do some more manual labour (and the cuffs unfasten) roll back those sleeves and get down to it. It’s what working cuffs were designed for, after all. Makes it easier to clean your hands afterwards as well.

(Interesting how times have changed though. John Hitchcock, managing director at Anderson & Sheppard, confirmed to me recently that the firm used to refuse to make working cuffs. They were the sign of a labouring man. And today they are a sign of quality that even A&S is happy to provide. As John put it, “we’ve always liked to be a little bit different.”)

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Do You Know What You’re Selling?

One of the luxuries of shopping at tailors and other high-end menswear stores is the knowledge of staff. OK so if you’re a real shoe geek you might know more than the sales assistant – few people care what a rand is, even if they love shoes. But that assistant will at least be able to explain the different lasts on offer, give you decent advice about sizing and know the difference between an Oxford and a Derby. In short, they will know their stock.

What a shock it is to return to the high street. Inspired by a recent post by my friend Steven Taffel, owner of Leffot shoe store in New York, I went in to Uniqlo yesterday to try its jeans.

If I could help it, I’d rather not pay too much for jeans. As long as they are reasonably well made and won’t fall apart, the only thing I care about is fit. And Steven’s seemed to fit pretty well.

As regular readers will be bored of hearing by now, I have large thighs and a small waist, so buying trousers off-the-peg has always been hard. I recently realised, though, that my tailor can take in jeans at the waist – as long as I’m not that bothered if the thread doesn’t match exactly.

So, all I needed were jeans that fitted in a straight, narrow line and could make it over my thighs. The waist was irrelevant. The good news is, Uniqlo had some. The bad news: it took me half an hour to find them.

Having tried on both slim and regular fits in a few sizes, I was puzzled that the width of the leg (at least below the knee) didn’t vary between styles. I asked one of the sales staff. Blank look. Are the regular jeans more tapered below the knee? Nothing.

OK, this was probably expecting a little too much. These guys didn’t design the jeans after all, they’re just selling them. So I asked whether the blue selvedge jeans (there were two colours, blue and black) only came in slim fit, which appeared to be the case from the table display. No response. “Are these just in slim fit?” I asked. That produced the worst possible response – the assistant started looking at the labels.

If you have to check your own stock to work out what’s there, what use are you? You’re just doing what I’ve been doing for the past 10 minutes. But slower, and with less enthusiasm.

So I took a logical approach, taking two sizes in each of the two styles in three different ranges. Twelve pairs of jeans.

Next time you’re in Uniqlo I recommend asking a fellow shopper for help rather than a sales assistant. They’re likely to know more and be more inclined to help.

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A Step Further In Suit Alterations

One true hallmark of a bespoke suit is the size of its armholes. Most armholes in ready-to-wear suits (and made-to-measure patterns, to a certain extent) cater for men with larger arms and shoulders, in order to be on the safe side. As with so many other areas of menswear, no one notices when they’re too big, but everyone would notice if they were too small. Smaller armholes are also just harder to make.

As bespoke is cut uniquely for you, the armholes can be as small as you want. And the biggest advantage of small armholes is that the arms can move independently of the body of the jacket, without dragging its chest and back all over the place.

Lift up your arms and see how far the waist button rises (when the jacket is done-up). With a bespoke suit, that movement is vastly reduced. So your collar stays on the back of your neck, your upper body is more consistently shaped by the jacket’s cut, and if you’re Fred Astaire you can dance and wave your arms around while still looking good. (Modern equivalent: it’s much easier to work at a computer for long periods, arms stretched forward.)

This effect is accentuated when a larger sleevehead is eased by hand into that small armhole, as accentuated by tailors such as Anderson & Sheppard and ready-to-wear by brands such as Kiton.

It would be great if a ready-to-wear suit could be altered to have smaller armholes. Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. A smaller armhole means extra material under the sleeve and in the body of the jacket – and most suits don’t supply any extra here.

There is, however, a cheat. If you get your tailor to insert a thin extra shoulder pad into each side of the jacket, it lifts up the armholes and effectively makes them smaller – as the pad at the top is taking up some of that armhole space.

The downside is that you have bigger shoulders. But I don’t mind this. As I have sloping shoulders anyway, I tend to ask tailors to build in a slightly heavier shoulder pad. And increasing the padding in a ready-to-wear suit also lifts up the drape of the jacket, removing the folds that collect next to my sleeves in the back (due to those sloping shoulders). So it suits me both ways.

The effect is not the same as a genuinely smaller armhole, of course. The circumference is still the same. But it gets partway there and is certainly an improvement. I wouldn’t recommend it for men with large or square shoulders, and the insert should always be pretty slim, but if you happen to have a similar body type to me, I recommend trying it.

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Spotting Quality In A Tie, With Drake’s

It’s not easy to spot a high-quality tie. Most of the signs that people tell you to look for, such as the loop being sewn in between the folds rather than tacked across, have no real practical benefit. They are just signs that a little more effort has been used (it takes longer, so it’s more expensive to make, so they must have spent money elsewhere).

There are some genuine signs. The slip-stitch down the back must be done by hand – but then that’s the case with many ties these days. Equally, there should be a loop of thread left over at the thin end of the tie, allowing it to stretch and wear along its length over time.

But the real problem is most men can’t assess the quality of silk (probably the most important thing in a tie). It’s also hard to tell whether the silk has been cut on a perfect 45-degree angle. And they can’t even see the interlining – let alone know whether the stitching has joined the lining all the way down, rather than leaving it floating.

All these things will only show themselves in a few years, when a man’s tie twists, curls or the label comes off.

So it’s rather reassuring to see your tie actually being made. This week Michael Drake, of Drake’s in London, was kind enough to take me round the factory and explain each of these manufacturing steps, as well as which ones make a difference to quality and which ones are just aesthetic.

Sewing the loop (on the back of the front blade) in between the folds is aesthetic. So is the size or prominence of the first stitch in the slip stitch down the back. But sewing anything by hand makes a difference to quality – with the slip stitch, for example, it allows flexibility and movement along the tie. That stitch also has to perfectly catch the two sides of the tie, one folded, and connect them to the interlining – never catching the front of the tie. It’s not easy, yet the lovely ladies at Drake’s did it unerringly quickly.

The only parts of a Drake’s tie that are sewn by machine are the joins between the three parts of the body (front, neck and rear) and the tipping. In these cases, sewing by hand would hardly add anything in strength or durability.

Printing is part way between the two. All Drake’s ties are hand-printed using the traditional English method of dye and discharge. This means that the ground colour is discharged into the silk first, creating a background that the pattern is printed on. So the background may be dyed navy and then red spots, say, discharged onto the silk. As the pattern has to discharge through the silk, it is a tricky process – too heavy and it will soak through, too light and it won’t sit in the material.

The alternative, Italian method is sometimes called ‘print-on’. Here the pattern is always printed on a white background. So the navy is printed as a pattern that leaves spaces for the spots; then the red spots are printed in those spaces separately. It is cleaner and easier.

The resulting pattern is sharper and brighter. Think of a classic Ferragamo tie, or an Hermes print – those are done with the Italian method and are generally sharper than English ties.

This is all practical and objective. What is less objective is which looks nicer. Michael describes the English method as “more traditional, classier, antiquey, classical”. And it is certainly what I prefer (though that’s probably because I’ve never been able to stand the ‘irreverent’ animal prints that are Hermes’s signature).

More importantly, this English look is what Drake’s international clients want. The company was started as an export business and that is essentially what it still is. (Incidentially, it also started as a scarf business, and would still make as much money out of scarves were the former not so seasonal). So French and Italian clients want ties that have a traditional English look, which requires dye and discharge.

Indeed, there is an irony here. Many of the Drake’s designs are done with foreign clients in mind. One I particularly liked was a deep orange with alternating blue and brown flowers. Great with a grey suit and brown shoes, not to mention a strong tan. Not so good on a pasty Englishman that tends to avoid strong colour. English printing, Italian patterns.

One reason export has always been so strong for Drake’s is that both France and Italy have a large, conservative establishment that is very international and takes an interest in clothes. England, despite its wonderful history in clothing, tends to either be naff or very fashionable.

It explains why Englishmen uphold the Italians as such good dressers, but many that visit complain that all Italians dress the same. To me, the quirks of Paul Smith are just gimmicks; to others, they are the wonderful individuality of the British male.

The Drake’s Autumn/Winter 2009 collection goes on sale on Wednesday next week. Check it out. (www.drakes-london.com)

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