Where Style Becomes Costume

Dressing in the full traditions of men’s clothing can make one a caricature. It must be combined with a touch of originality.

There are blogs on men’s style that are fascinating for the depth of knowledge they demonstrate – over the role of a split yoke on a man’s shirt, over the line of a shoe’s waist. They inform many things about what I buy and what I wear. But I am often a little disappointed when I see images of the authors.

This is because they seem to want to be an embodiment of what is – necessarily – historical dress, and become an illustration from an old copy of Esquire. They take every aspect of, for example, early twentieth century English country wear, and they copy it. They wear the cord trousers, the tweed jacket, the checked shirt and the wool tie. They add the flat cap, the brogues and the bright socks. They may add a hunting jacket with leather padding on the shoulder to protect from the impact of a gun’s recoil, or a waxed Barbour jacket with bellow pockets to accommodate shells.

These items are all correct, historically. And the chances are they will be of the highest quality, complement the wearer’s skin tones and fit him perfectly – as he takes great care over these elements as well. But it is just mimicry. He is in costume.

Even Prince Charles, on a hunt around Balmoral, doesn’t follow the traditions of hunt clothing this fastidiously. And he has an excuse for wearing something similar – he is actually hunting, he is actually English and all his forbears wore similar pieces throughout their history.

The style aficionado who copies it is just dressing up. He has none of the creative element that can make dressing so enjoyable, and so personal.

Let me give an officewear example. I like wearing pinstripe suits. I’m a fan of red socks, as well as double-breasted jackets and patterned handkerchiefs. But I know that if I wore all of these pieces in one combination I would look like a caricature. I might as well top it off with a bowler hat, grow a moustache and wander down Fleet Street twirling my umbrella.

So I wear red socks with more understated suits. Perhaps a plan grey flannel and open-necked white shirt. I rarely wear a handkerchief and a tie at the same time, as for me it is probably a little too much. And my double-breasted suits are not navy-blue pinstripe.

It is also fun to add touches of individuality – to experiment with odd waistcoats in formal suits, though there is no tradition of this that I am aware of; to combine smart clean Converse with wool suits, as I like the contrast of smart and casual; to wear darker coloured, wool handkerchiefs in odd jackets when worn casually. This is individuality and creativity. It is what makes dressing fun, rather than study.

I think that men who are very interested in their clothes are part geeky, petty academic and part creative, artistic aesthete. Everyone needs the former to drive them into reading and investigation, to be interested by the history and traditions of men’s attire. But everyone also needs the latter, to have the kind of mind that created these traditions in the first place. (Beau Brummel and the Duke of Windsor are heroes for being precisely the opposite of these geeky facsimiles.)

Unfortunately, when men have too much of the first influence and not enough of the second, they end up looking like an extra in a costume drama.

The Great Bottom Button Mystery

Ooo, there’s another one! A perfectly respectable businessman with only the bottom button of his three-button jacket done up. Just the one. Leaving the rest of the jacket flapping open.

It looks so bizarre. It creates an artificial, rippling belly of negative space, and as result is surely the least flattering way to possibly do up the buttons of a suit. Why on earth do they do it?

At first, I thought it was an aberration. One man walking towards me, his pinstripe ruined by a frankly odd buttoning. I briefly wondered why he had decided to do up just that button, and not the natural waist button, the middle button. Briefly I considered it, and then dismissed it – a mistake, an accident, certainly an exception.

Then a few days later it happened again. Someone else striding purposefully along Fleet Street, briefcase in hand, importantly talking into his mobile phone. With only the bottom button done up. This time the buttoning was so low that his tie had flapped over the fastening, like a bright dead fish.

Why? Don’t you see it when you look in the mirror? Doesn’t it strike you as odd, like doing up the top button of your shirt, and no others? Doesn’t the oddity of the effect suggest that the suit was not designed to do that?

As more examples popped up, I began to give the phenomenon serious thought. Why did you never see men with just the top button fastened? There were always a few with the top and the middle, or the middle and the bottom, but the waist button was always firmly secured.

Did the bottom-fasteners somehow feel that this arrangement gave them a deeper V, a plunging, masculine chest? They could be forgiven for thinking that (though still wrong) if the suit had a natural, soft roll. But modern, worsted business suits are true three buttons – the fastening is stiff and, unlike the flannels of old, there is little natural roll. So the artificial belly is the result.

Finally, a combination of curiosity and anger got the better of me and I asked someone. Embarassing, I know. But it was beginning to dominate every waking thought.

The gentleman in question was puzzled, then a little miffed, perhaps a tad embarrassed. He said he did it because it felt like a natural fit for the jacket, it felt snug. And there’s the rub: the jacket was too big for him, so it didn’t feel like it fitted with the waist button done up. The bottom button on its own felt better.

I’ve since found that some men go for the same odd buttoning if the jacket is too small for their belly – the cut of a jacket can mean that the bottom button fits when the middle doesn’t. It all depends on cut and on physique.

Of course, they’re all wrong. It looks silly and it ignores how the jacket was designed to be worn. Any man who wears his jacket buttoned in this way should be told to have it altered.
Fortunately, I have so far resisted the urge to tell any of them this.

The Double-Breasted Debate

I was always told that a double-breasted suit created breadth. Good for tall, narrow men. Not so good for the short and stout. This belief, though widely held by others, probably originates for me with the insistence of my mother that I would look lovely with a double breast, given that I am tall and could always be broader.

Funny how many opinions of oneself originate with such memories of youth. There’s probably a good case to be made that all one’s fundamental impressions of strength and weakness are formed at that age. When one is more insecure, more vulnerable. I’ve never liked my legs either.

But I digress. The traditional view is that double-breasted makes one broader. Alan Flusser disagrees: he contends that the swooping lapels of a double-breasted jacket, from the tip of a peaked lapel down to two crossed points at the waist, create the illusion of height. This illusion, he argues, more than compensates for the impression of breadth achieved elsewhere.

I can see the sense in his argument, but instinctively disagree. I knew he was wrong, but didn’t know why.

Now I do. Flusser is not wrong in his analysis, just in his conclusion. The answer is spelled out in The Suit by Nicholas Antongiavanni. His chapter Of Diminutive Men agrees that the sweeping lapel of a double-breasted jacket creates height. The double row of buttons and the extra flap of cloth, however, create breadth. Most would argue that the second set of features outweighs the first. But to a certain extent that is a subjective question.

More importantly, there is a solution for the diminutive man. If he wears a single-breasted suit with a low fastening (perhaps even a single button on the waist as preferred by some Savile Row tailors) and peaked lapels, he can achieve some of the slimming effects of a double-breasted jacket. This look, Antongiavanni argues, is rakish. It is unusual and slimming without the conservative or perhaps boxy appearance of the normal double-breasted.

The other solution is to go for a double-breasted suit with just two buttons, as was the model I had made in Hong Kong recently. While I have seen this design around occasionally over the years, it was most recently in the spotlight in Dunhill’s spring/summer campaign. Here a two-button double-breasted suit was used as a separate jacket with dark jeans and dark-brown derbys (not sure I quite agree with this look – a double-breasted looking rather out of place as an odd jacket – but it did seem to work on the fellow in the advert) and as a modern twist on a white linen suit worn by Jude Law.

Getting rid of the double row of buttons helps avoid the boxy look wonderfully. There is, obviously, now a single horizontal line across one’s waist, but it is at least a slim line. It all helps accentuate my breadth and ease those youthful insecurities.

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.

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.