An Englishman in New York

Why does anyone in New York buy ties fully priced? I’ve been here a good seven or eight times in my working life, but the discounts at Century 21 and to a lesser extent Filene’s Basement never cease to amaze me.

The ties are carefully arranged into price categories, from around $30 to $60. It compares to full prices of around $70 to $180. At one end Van Heusen and a few names I haven’t heard of; at the other Ferragamo, Louis Vuitton and Ralph Lauren Purple Label. All are reduced by somewhere between 60% and 80%.

It must harm your impression of a brand that its most luxurious items are being sold at a very heavy discount, all year round. Why would you then go to the Ralph Lauren block of stores uptown and not balk at paying near to 100 pounds for a tie?

This discounting does happen in the UK. But it is largely in out-of-town shopping centres like the York or Bicester designer outlets. Somehow it’s almost acceptable if the discount stores aren’t in the same city. Plus, they are all still separated by brand, surrounded by their usual furnishings, shop furniture and advertising.

This could serve to undermine the brand even further – as it is exactly the same kind of shop you would buy fully priced items from. But instead it seems to make the experience more special, unique. The racks and racks (sometimes piles) of closely stuffed clothes in Century 21, on the other hand, just seem to cheapen the whole experience, to lower Purple Label and Vuitton down to the level of the cheapest high-street store.

This level of discounting often happens with women’s clothing out of season – in the increasing number of designer vintage shops, for example, and online. But women care far more about how up to date their clothes are. Fashion and its fickle seasons mean one would never buy a trendy piece from two years ago – it would look like it was two years old, and you haven’t bought anything since.

Even men’s clothes could be seen as going in and out of season. Polo shirts and cardigans, bright colours and drainpipe jeans, all will probably find their way into discount stores after a while, unwanted and so pushed off by labels more interested in the new season, only concerned with cutting their losses on the old stock.

But men’s ties? Apart from a slight variation in width, how on earth do these go out of fashion? Besides, you can get super wide Purple Label ties and super narrow Black Label ties on the same rack – everything is covered. The same discounts apply to handkerchiefs, socks, underwear, cufflinks.

So I’m sure I’ll be buying a few. Less because I want them. More because it seems too good to be true – there’s nothing like this in London and I have a slight suspicion someone might realise what’s going on at any minute and close the place down.

Silhouette and Fit: Know the Difference

A suit with massive shoulders, tiny waist or short trousers does not necessarily fit badly. It just has a bad silhouette. It is important to understand the difference.

The shoulders of your suit, for example, may end exactly at the edge of your actual shoulders, continuing in one smooth line down the rest of the sleeve. They may, alternatively, extend an extra half an inch to an inch. The line of the shoulders may be square and straight; they may be concave, curving down from the collar and then rising toward the outer edge; they may even be slightly convex.

Any of these styles may fit perfectly. If the shoulders are to extend slightly beyond your actual shoulders, and have a square, boxy line, they will require extra padding and support. If they are to curve naturally and with a slightly concave line, they will need to be carefully aligned with the line of your own shoulders, lest these ruin that line.

The point is, these variations create a different silhouette. They do not necessarily fit better or worse than the alternatives. Silhouette is more akin to colour or pattern – it is a personal choice, but one that can still be made badly (or, to be more generous, unsuitably).

The relationship between these two continues around the rest of the suit. The waist, for example, may be designed to be more or less pinched, creating a more or less defined skirt. If the suit is designed to have a generous waist, but you buy a smaller size to try and achieve a pinched waist, the wool will ripple with complaint when you button up the jacket. You have confused fit and silhouette – in trying to achieve the latter, you have failed in the former.

It is also likely to fit worse elsewhere, as you are deliberately buying a size too small. Your shoulders will press against the sleevehead. The back will feel constricting.

If the suit were designed to have a pinched waist, the wool would be darted, with slivers of material taken out and sewn back up again. The shoulders and back would fit fine and you would have achieved your desired look.

Silhouette is about what a suit is designed to look like. Fit is about whether a particular size of that design fits to your body. Don’t confuse the two. Be aware of what the suit and its designer are trying to do. Then judge its fit.

- As an addendum, a few quotes from Nicholas Antongiavanni about silhouettes: “Designer suits may be gargantuan or minimalist. With these it is not so much their level of comfort that fails you but their lack of harmony. A jacket that fits perfectly but is ridiculous in silhouette is useless, even more so than a jacket tasteful and sophisticated in silhouette that does not fit; for in the latter case in may be altered whereas the former is always harmful.

“When he said to me that the Americans do not understand fit, I replied to him that the French do not understand the silhouette, because if they understood they would not wear such square-shouldered, box-hipped, skin-tight jackets. The greatness of the English and the Italians as dressers is caused by their silhouettes, and France’s ruin caused by theirs. And because of Americans’ obsession with fashion, many of these have spread to our shores.”

Reader’s Question: The Deck Shoe

Tom, Hong Kong: Simon, where do you stand on deck shoes? I’ve seen them around and think they’d be a nice compromise between scruffy converse and brogues when wearing jeans or casual trousers. I grew up detesting them for being too boaty but quite like the look of them now.

I know exactly why you have that inherent distrust of the deck shoe, Tom. I have it too.

I don’t know whether this caricature will be familiar to those in the US, but in the UK the deck shoe is synonymous with a certain floppy-haired, rugby-playing, scruffy bloke of wealth. Whether that wealth be inherited or due to “Daddy doing quite well in the city”, the uniform is the same: rugby/polo shirt, oversized sweater, worn jeans and deck shoes. Battered deck shoes. With the laces perpetually undone.

As I have little knowledge of how exactly the term ‘preppy’ is used in the US, I shy away from saying that this character is necessarily that. He certainly wears Ralph Lauren (polo shirt with collar turned up) but there is nothing forward-looking about the style – it is lazy and, essentially, a mimic of everything he sees his peers wearing (as well as his Dad).

This man has no interest in clothes, and this turns me off the idea of a scuffed, maltreated deck shoe.

That prejudice stated, I also dislike the shoe because it seems lazy in itself. The thickness of the rubber sole, the inelegance of its waist and – especially – that thick stitching around the toe. It looks as though someone has wrapped two pieces of leather around your foot and then roughly cobbled them together (no pun intended).

As a result, I tend to like a slip-on shoe more the smoother its toe. I have nothing against the humble penny loafer. It is smoother than some and has done a great many Americans a service. But it tends to be worn by men with little interest in shoes. Not all are, by any means. But most. Worn by men that just don’t like lace-ups, and probably don’t really like shoes.

Driving shoes have thicker stitching, but they can work well as house shoes, as casual shoes – to pop down the road in. I have a pair from Massimo Dutti that serve well in this regard. But the slip-on I favour is smoother – the Harrow shoe pictured is obviously a well-made shoe. The tan Gieves & Hawkes slip-on is even better. I’m not a big fan of tassles, but it is obviously a lovely shoe. Berluti ones are beautiful.

I have a blue suede pair of slip-ons of this type that I bought in Bologna. And they work best sockless, with summer trousers, as many men in Italy are apt to wear them.

As you can see, Tom, this is largely a personal opinion rather than a reasoned argument. But if you want something between Converse and a brogue I would recommend either a smooth slip-on of this type or a driving shoe – Tod’s does some lovely ones in bright colours for summer. And given the weather in Hong Kong you will probably have far more opportunities for wearing them like this than I do.

How Not to Relaunch a Product: Belstaff Jacket

Belstaff famously makes motorcycle jackets. The brand has been reinvigorated in the past few years. This is good for awareness, but not necessarily good for integrity.

Steve McQueen famously stayed home one night rather than go out with his movie-star girlfriend in order to wax his Belstaff. This is not a euphemism. He was such a fan of the motorcycle jacket, traditionally constructed from waxed cotton, that he wore the Trialmaster series throughout his life, including at the Enduro off-road motorbike race in Europe, where he represented the US.

I knew part of this from reading of McQueen’s passion for the jacket in a magazine. I was also aware of seeing people wearing the occasional beaten up Belstaff jacket, its Union Jack proudly displayed under a front pocket. But I hadn’t really been aware of where these jackets were bought or what was so good about them.

Advertising changed that. More money pumped into marketing meant adverts in all the usual magazines, an upgrade of the London store on Conduit Street and the accompanying editorial that employing a good PR agency gets you.

So last month, with a little money to spare and searching for inspiration, I visited the Conduit Street store. It was slick – minimalist white decoration, industrial-chic storage at the back, smiling employees. But it was empty, and the staff showed an alarming ignorance of their product.

The men’s department is downstairs, which seems odd, given that I have yet to see a woman wearing a Belstaff jacket and nearly all the advertising features men. I’m aware that brands often put the women’s section on the ground floor, as they tend to be less prepared to walk flights and tend to spend more. But here it’s odd given the clientele.

More disturbing were the sales staff. Looking at two jackets, the Redford and the Belford, I asked one (female) member of staff what the difference was between the two. All I could see was one extra pocket on the Redford, for £50 more. When I asked, she picked up the jacket and had a look at it. This is never a good sign. Then she told me, that, as far as she could work out, the difference was one extra pocket and £50.

This ignorance, the distinct lack of stock, the refusal to do any refunds and the fact that so much money had obviously been spent on marketing (which is warning to anyone looking to get value for money – oh, and they obviously paid Ewan McGregor to wear one while he rode around Africa, which is not money well spent) did not stop me buying one – the Belford.

It didn’t stop me because the quality of the jacket was fantastic. From the suede lining that almost made you want to wear nothing underneath, to the durable and high quality fastenings; from the instructions on how to look after it over decades, to the odd-school paisley sleeve lining; it was impossible to resist.

The product is faultless and will find a great audience, if only they learnt a little more about pitching this to the right market with the right people. This is an old-fashioned, high quality British product. It should be sold to older, slightly style-conscious men who will appreciate it. And it should be sold by people who know what they’re selling.

How to Dress in the Foreign Office

Continuing the theme of dressing as costume, the constraints of one’s job can often make one into a stereotype, especially if one works in the more traditional industries or political offices of older institutions.

A lovely example is found in the autobiography by Donald Hawley, a long-standing member of the British Foreign Office who was Head of Chancery in Cairo during the Nasser epoch and in Lagos when Nigeria fell apart following the coup in 1966.

While discussing the messengers that channelled information from one department to another, (one character called Archie was “not only a wholesale purveyor of unsolicited information on when Chelsea would play at home but also apt to reduce girls momentarily to tears by a bizarre proposal of marriage”) he lays out the requirements of dress in the Foreign Office:

“Dress was formal and the majority of men wore pinstripe trousers and black jackets rather than dark suits, though both were permissible. Everyone wore a stiff collar and outdoors a bowler or Homburg hat and rolled umbrella were de rigueur.” It’s easy to see how the foreigner’s stereotype of the smart, conservative Englishman was built up isn’t it? In fact, the impact of that stereotype is explained in the next sentence:

“I always wore a bowler until 1975 when an American in St James’s Park asked me as a ‘real Englishman’ [as if there were lots of impostors walking around trying to fool tourists!] to pose for a photograph. Balking at becoming a tourist attraction I gave it up.”

The same paragraph gives some correction to the style historians that claim differing parts of the same outfit would never be worn together:

“Half the staff of every department worked on Saturday mornings but everyone wore a country suit on that day of the week. Wearing this and a bowler hat we looked like Army officers and were often saluted smartly by confused sentries if we happened to walk through the Horse Guards Arch [being the entrance to the Horse Guards building close to Buckingham Palace, where the Household Cavalry amongst other are housed].”

So while you might be mistaken for an officer by parading around in your tweed suit and bowler hat, it certainly wasn’t considered bad form to accompany it with a bowler hat, even in the tradition-riddled Foreign Office. Style isn’t ever as constricted as students of it believe. The rules are never quite as simple as one thinks.