A Hidden Gem in London: John Rushton Shoes

John Rushton shoes is an oasis of personal and professional service.

At the very least, it seemed like an oasis to me last Saturday. I had spent a hellish three hours in the shoe department of Selfridge’s, in the middle of the January sales. Rack upon rack of shoes was stacked up on the first floor by size, punters crawling around and under each other to see the reduced items. And the chaos meant that many of the sizes were, frustratingly, in the wrong place. I found two size 10s and one size 8 of a brogue in the section labelled 9.

After half an hour I literally stumbled across a Richard James chocolate-brown derby. Half off, an unusual two-eyelet design and, amazingly, size 9.

But that was where my luck ended. I quickly noticed the queue of people standing behind a black rope, as if trying to get into a club. They were waiting to get the matching shoe for their selection from the stock cupboard. And some had been there hours.

I was given a ticket. Number 34. I began to get worried when the first number read out by a member of staff was 11. I got even more worried, an hour later, when the numbers being read out were 45 and 46. A man standing next to me (with number 32) received the bad news that there was in fact no right shoe for the left one in his hand. “I’m terribly sorry,” said the ruffled employee. “Sometimes this does happen in the sales.” I was about to ask how on earth it happened – did someone buy an odd pair? Or three shoes? Or one shoe!? – but she was gone.

I eventually got my shoes after three hours (including half an hour in the queue to pay). When I came out, I remembered a friend’s recommendation for John Rushton shoes, on Wimpole Street. Although just off Oxford Street, it is in the lesser known area (at least to tourists) north of the main road, up towards Marylebone.

There were three men in the shop. All were middle-aged and all, it seemed, knew each other. One it turned out was John, and the other two were long-time customers. The conversation concerned how a particular suede boot had worn through over time, and the best way to have them refurbished or resoled. It showed knowledge of how the boot was put together, the craftsman that would repair it and the customer’s history of purchases.

It was an impressive contrast to the consumerist chaos in Selfridge’s. When I was in the department store I overheard one Japanese man saying he was buying five pairs, which he would try on at home and probably keep two. In John Rushton, the air was of select items bought with consideration and intended to last.

John Rushton stocks only British shoes benchmade in Northampton. The shop features six brands, of which the largest range is in Cheaney and Alfred Sargent. This year sees the launch of designs with John’s particular design and colour treatments. It is located at 93 Wimpole Street, and johnrushtonshoes.com.

I have only been there twice, and have yet to be familiar with John or his team. But I hope to be.

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The Logical Waistcoat Theory (Part Two)

(The first part of this posting (on Wednesday) bemoaned the fact that the suit had become impractical in most offices, with the jacket rarely worn. It is understandable, but a shame.) 

Here’s my solution. It’s logical and practical; though obviously that doesn’t mean anyone will take it up.

The key is the waistcoat. Men don’t wear suit jackets because there’s no need in an air-conditioned office; the waistcoat will not make you too hot. Men don’t wear suit jackets because it can be uncomfortable to work in at a computer; the waistcoat does not restrict you. A man without his suit jacket can look scruffy if his shirt becomes untucked; the waistcoat keeps it hidden. Without his suit jacket a man’s tie can look untidy; the waistcoat keeps it buttoned up and prim. It’s hard to fault the logic.

So basic office attire could be a two-piece suit of waistcoat and trousers. A man can then wear any weight of coat over it when he goes outside. There is no need to put on both a jacket and coat (if cold), or leave the jacket on the back of your chair all day long (if hot).

Wearing waistcoat and trousers is not quite as flattering as a jacket. But it does lengthen the figure in a similar way, maintaining that long line of smart dark wool. Pinstripes can still be employed to add slenderness, in the same way as a suit (it is hard to see this working with trousers and shirt – see previous posting on shirts that look like pyjamas: permanentstyle.blogspot.com).

And for those who like to get involved with their suits, to understand tailoring and aspire to a bespoke lifestyle, waistcoats offer much. Many tailors will tell you that a waistcoat is one of the hardest things to make, a summit of the craft. It needs to both fit snugly to the body and remain flexible. It is probably harder to find a well-fitting waistcoat than a well-fitting jacket off the peg. Plus, Tom Ford loves them.

There are of course other solutions to the dilemma I posed. If your shirt has long enough tails and fits close to your waist it is unlikely to become untucked. Your tie could be prevented from flapping by a tie clip. But I do think the waistcoat solution has advantages, as it retains the smartness of a suit and remains within the menswear tradition.

So, wear a two-piece suit with a difference to work tomorrow. If anyone asks why just point them in the direction of this blog.

I will if you will.

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The Logical Waistcoat Theory (Part One)

Men need a new uniform to adapt to air conditioning. Here’s a suggestion.

Let’s start with history and practicality. Suit jackets were never meant to be taken off. A man, no matter what his place in society, strained to have a clean collar and cuffs in order to appear smart. But these were detachable from the main shirt, which would be reworn for reasons of economy.

The maximum that was ever visible of a man’s shirt was his collar, cuffs and shirt front. For example, in Dickens’s Martin Chuzzlewit, the younger Chuzzlewit observes that many immigrants to America pack their suitcases with detachable shirt fronts – and have no real shirts at all. They maintain an air of respectability by having clean, white shirt fronts. They cannot afford a shirt, but no one will know they are not wearing one, because no one takes off their jacket.

The suit, with the possible addition of a waistcoat, was worn in its whole both for smartness and for warmth. The head-to-toe grey, blue or black was considered proper and smart – only a labourer or someone at particularly heavy work would take off their jacket (hence the association of being ‘in one’s shirtsleeves’ with toil). And only someone who was not afraid to get cold. The absence of central heating and air conditioning meant men wore a three-piece suit in heavy wool merely to keep warm.

Have a look at those old Hollywood films. How often do you see a well-dressed man’s shirt?

So, a suit from head to toe. Probably with long socks – both for warmth and for smartness again, to prevent showing naked leg and break that formal, dark figure. And the collar would be kept together with a tie, tucked into the jacket or waistcoat.

Today, if men wear a suit to the office they almost immediately take off the jacket. It would be too hot and probably uncomfortable to work at a computer with all day long. So they walk around the office in suit trousers, a shirt and possibly a tie. Without anything to tuck into, the tie may flap around unflatteringly. The effect is reinforced if the tie is loosened and the top button of the shirt undone. Plus, unless the shirt is very fitted, it will balloon a little around the waist.

If the man goes outside, it is likely that he will either put on both the jacket and a coat (in winter) or nothing at all (in summer). Either way, the jacket is redundant.

This redux of the classic lounge suit is often unflattering. Gone, for most of the day, is the waist-concealing silhouette of a well-made suit. That most attractive of outfits, which flatters many men like nothing else, is lost.

It is no wonder that many in the US have adopted a casual work outfit. If all you were wearing was suit trousers and a shirt, what’s the difference if you wear chinos and a shirt?

It is no wonder that putting a suit on to meet a client can feel a little artificial, like donning armour. And it is little wonder that many young men feel bored by a suit and prefer not to wear one (unless it is fashionable, as it has been for the past few years). But it is a pity.

(The solution to this modern workwear dilemma will appear in the second part of this posting, on Friday.)

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An Exercise in Etro

Following the last post on Italian house Etro, here is some pictorial analysis of my fascination.

As much as Etro’s originality and quality can inspire, it is often the catwalk combinations that galvanise me. Take the first image above – a pale grey suit with purple waistcoat and coordinating tie, shirt, handkerchief. Now, as a whole this is too much. Some people might be able to get away with it – perhaps Italian eccentrics who happen to be heir to an automobile fortune. I can’t.

But like much that is thrown down the runway, it is not supposed to be copied. It is supposed to inspire. I have a sweater in a dark purple from Reiss. Up till now I have only worn it with navy suits or jackets. Perhaps I will try it with a pale grey – even brown, which this suit seems to tend towards.

Equally, I would have thought the colour too dark to be worn with brown shoes; yet it works well here. And the twist of the yellow belt: perhaps too much, but it does remind me of the contrasting colours (one primary colour’s contrast is the mix of the other two – so, yellow’s is purple).

The handkerchief is too showy and I don’t like the pattern. I don’t particularly like the tie or shirt either, certainly not together. But a similar suit tone with a purple sweater, perhaps over a blue-and-white striped shirt? That could work. And yellow would be good as an accent, in a handkerchief or even a belt as here.

The image and its colours inspire in a way that is rare in menswear.

The second image above points out how well rusty reds work with brown, though I’d never go for that tie or shirt.

The third is all about combinations of pattern. The suit, sweater, shirt, tie and handkerchief all have different patterns. But they work because the wide stripes of the sweater (and its strong outline) separate the suit and shirt/tie. Equally, the tie and shirt are a similar enough density of pattern to fit well together and to slip into the background. The colours (except for that yellow belt again) are not that extraordinary, but the patterns take it to another level. I wouldn’t wear it all, but it inspires.

The next image shows how well bright colours can go together if they are balanced (either the tie or the trousers on their own would stand out too much).

The penultimate combination demonstrates balancing the strong pattern of a suit with plain, background colours elsewhere.

And the yellow sweater just seems to work here. Perhaps it’s the implied yellow in the green-tinge trousers and vest, I’m not sure.

During this same season, Fall 2007, Calvin Klein was displaying grey tonic suits, with the occasional bright yellow. Armani had quilted vests and collarless shirts, but was basically black and blue. Both seem not only dull but unsophisticated compared to the density of colour at an Etro show.

Have a flick through the previous few years’ Fall collections at Etro. Try and ignore 2007’s floppy yellow hat. The rest might just inspire you.

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I Love Etro

About two years ago I walked down a narrow street in London to visit a tailor that had been recommended to me.

I rang a buzzer on the street, which echoed somewhere on the second floor. After a couple of minutes I was buzzed up, out of the drizzle, and was led up a tightly spiralling staircase.

The tailor’s space was unassuming and sparsely furnished. But as I stood there being measured (to have a jacket taken in, having lost a little weight) I noticed a few brilliant suits among the racks of clothes lining the walls.

One Prince-of-Wales suit had a lively yet subtle lime-green stripe through it, with delicate, shell-like buttons. Another in navy had a light blue chalk stripe, wider than average but also fainter.

When I asked the tailor where they were from she came over a little glazed and pointed at a bag in the corner. Over a brown, swirling paisley was emblazoned the Etro logo – on a bright orange background, naturally.

“Oh, such beautiful suits,” she said. “When you have to take them apart every day you see. So beautifully put together.” She brought over a cashmere jacket with a check that reminded one of children’s crayons. “You see? Look at the lining and the canvassing!” I don’t know a lot about the structure of a suit now, and I knew less then. But the enthusiasm in her eyes was enough.

The tailor was Atelier Colpani (15 Avery Row, London W1K 4BF, and recommended), which does all the adjustments for Etro’s London store at 14 Old Bond Street. And that day my fascination with the Italian, family-run label began.

Now, Etro is a little quirky. You probably gathered that from the earlier descriptions of unusual suits. But there are consistently jewels in every collection, and many are conservative enough to suit anyone.

I own and treasure two Etro suits, one of which is that lime-green plaid. The belt I have in their signature paisley is probably my single favourite thing. But Etro can also be wide of the mark. Last year’s summer collection featured a rather unconvincing pirates theme. And a shirt with a pizza printed on the front. This summer’s Etropicalia theme concentrates on unusual weaves with every different material from raffia to straw. It also has too many suits with flowers printed on the back.

But when the Etro family get it right, you realise quite how dull every Armani, Gucci and Boss you’ve ever seen is. Those boring grey tonic suits, or the announcements of a new line from Giorgio with – shock – higher notched lapels.

You wouldn’t wear Etro head to foot. Or I wouldn’t. And you won’t like at least half of the stock. But the pieces you do like will truly be a breath of fresh air.

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