I’m Trying to Watch a Film Here!

Spicer is thrown to the floor as the mob closes in. His nervous twitch accelerates as panic grips him. Pinkie grins with that frozen, demonic grin that Richard Attenborough did so well.

Is that a belted suit?

Suddenly, a cut-throat razor slashes across his cheek. With the innocence of a child, Pinkie clutches his cheek as blood oozes between his fingers.

That tie clip looks good.

A whistle rings out. As the cops fight through the watching crowd the mob scatters. Pinkie ducks under an arm and escapes. Spicer is left on the floor, presumed (at least by Pinkie) dead.

Those three buttons are only about an inch apart!

I’m sure it’s happened to you, if you are the sort of person that reads this blog. At some point during a classic film, you realise you’ve been thinking about what the actors are wearing, and not the plot. In this case the film was Brighton Rock, the 1947 dramatisation of Graham Greene’s famous novel, directed by John Boulting and with an unforgettable Richard Attenborough in the starring role, as the sociopath Pinkie Brown.

Like so many films of the time, it is fast-paced. After an hour it feels like you’ve already watched a whole novel. But I couldn’t stop looking at the suits Pinkie’s mob wears. They are broad-shouldered, with wide, sweeping lapels. The waists are so tight there are stretch marks across the back.

Some of the jackets have a belt detail that doesn’t tie – it is just sewn in for effect – but emphasises the waist still further. All of them have one button or, as mentioned above, have three buttons that are about an inch apart. Again, the single fastening emphasises that wide, deep V across the chest.

It’s obvious what the style was aiming for. Strength and vigour suggested through breadth. It’s noticeable that Spicer, the weakest member of the gang, and Fred Hale, the traitor whose murder starts the film, wear more conservative suits. They look ragged, the jackets are undone and the ties are loosened. Pinkie’s tie is pinned by a tie clip almost ridiculously high, giving him a tight, jutting knot. Broad and neat = power.

If you manage to watch the film, keep an eye out for Pinkie’s jacket as well. I’ve seen sports jackets with “bi-swing” styles around the shoulder before – they are pleats built into the join where the shoulder meets the back of the jacket. They allow greater stretch by bellowing out when the arm is extended, but lying hidden when the arm is straight. They were designed in an era when men actually used sports jackets for playing sport. But Pinkie’s jacket has three, not one. Three bellows on either side! Surely fashion rather than function.

The pictures shown here do it some justice, but I also recommend watching the film. It’s a cracking plot, when you can concentrate on it.

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Why English Want to Be Italian (and Vice Versa)

In style, the grass often seems that little bit shinier and slinkier on the other side of the fence. As the proverb suggests, however, that is merely because you happen to live on one side.

The English want to be Italian. To them the Italian knows more, spends more and fits better into his clothes. It’s been a long time since brands proudly displayed on their labels that something was Made in Korea or Made in Taiwan. Now the location of production is hidden on an inside label unless, of course, it has been made in Italy.

Marks & Spencer has its Italian range, with the location of production proudly displayed on labels and advertising, and all against a deep red that suggests sophistication. Unfortunately for Marks, this wasn’t always true. The chain was successfully sued a few years ago when it emerged that pieces it claimed were made in Italy were actually manufactured in India and Egypt. Now the claim is that the pieces are of Italian design.

But while the English want to be Italian, Italians often want to be English. Or, at the least, English clothes and shoes inspire an idea of history and longevity, tradition and excellence. It wasn’t until I was on honeymoon in Italy that I realised how true this is. One chain called Sir Winston I found in Turin, Florence and Milan, and stocked every English brand I could think of from Edward Green to Barbour, Church’s to Mulberry.

It proudly claimed that all its shoes were made in Northampton. But to people with only a passing interest in clothes (probably those that shop at M&S) Northampton is not synonymous with fine English shoemaking. It’s just another northern town. Just like being made in Italy doesn’t necessarily mean quality, or sophistication, to an Italian.

Of course Americans want to be Italian and English, and few Italians or English want to be American. But there are brands that create a unique appeal to those on the other side of the Atlantic.

One of these is Ralph Lauren, and this brings me onto my second point about grass and its greenness. To a certain extent, foreign buyers are immune to the dilution of a brand that goes on at home. I am a big fan of Ralph Lauren here, but I’m sure if I lived in the US, and everyone I knew wore large, shapeless pony-branded polo shirts, that enthusiasm would be dampened.

Plus Ralph Lauren is sub-branded into so many categories in the US that the impression of quality suffers – alongside the Polo, Purple and Black labels there is Polo Jeans, Lauren by Ralph Lauren and even I believe Ralph by Ralph Lauren. Recently they launched another at the bottom of the scale, entitled Rugby. Unlike other brand divisions, such as Old Navy/Gap/Banana Republic, or Bershka/Zara/Massimo Dutti, the spread between Ralph Lauren’s top and bottom end is now so big that it’s hard for your opinion of the top end not to suffer.

So I am saved by my limited exposure to RL, only witnessing it in the beautiful Bond Street store.

The English equivalent may be Paul Smith, which while I am a big fan of, has an association with chavviness or laddishness in the UK (for readers in the US, this is the bottom end of the market). It has this association because of its sub-branding into Paul Smith, Paul Smith London, PS and Paul Smith Jeans. The brightly coloured t-shirts at one of the scale can’t help but affect your impression of the suits at the other.

Abroad, however, I know Paul Smith is very popular, and escapes this association. So the message should be, enjoy your view of the greener, slinkier grass on the other side. If you lived there it may well lose its luster.

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A Hole in the Made-to-Measure Market

The problem with made-to-measure suits in most of Europe is that they are an afterthought.

Most of the high-street brands offer made-to-measure, where a tailor takes somewhere between eight and twenty measurements and creates a block for the factory to make your suit by. Hackett offers it, Austin Reed offers it. So do Aquascutum and foreign chains such as Massimo Dutti, or American chains such as Brooks Brothers.

But they are all afterthoughts – a desk and book of swatches lies at the back of the store, waiting without much anticipation for that customer who wants something a little more personal.

And that is how it is often sold, as the opportunity to customise your suit or shirt. Pick your lining, pick your buttons, have your initials sown into the cuff. Well if that’s all you want, it would be a lot easier to take your shirts to a tailor willing to sow something onto them for you. Or even to replace the lining.

The real selling point of made-to-measure (one that is rarely used in these high street stores – as they rarely try to sell the service at all) is that the suit actually fits. Few people can pick up a suit which is measured by one thing – your chest size – and have it fit them well. Even if you pay for a few alterations here and there.

As the subject of my last posting, Hardy Amies has it: “Normal figure: There is no such animal. You may be ‘stock’ size so far as chest and leg measurements are concerned, but it is 99% certain that you will have some idiosyncrasy of figure that makes you not abnormal but simply individual.”

Everyone should buy made-to-measure if they can. And they may be able to, thanks to the launch of Suit Supply in the UK. This Dutch brand launched on December 12 last year, setting up shop at 9 Vigo Street – at the head of Savile Row. It offers made-to-measure from £300 for its English wools and £600 for the Italians.

It can be that cheap because everything is geared to economies of scale. It has its own factory. It can mass-order fabrics. It offers the three most popular colours (mid-grey, charcoal, navy) at the cheapest price, because these are ordered in the greatest volume. As made-to-measure is its main business, there is someone on the shop floor dedicated to that service.

A computerised ordering system tells the factory immediately whether your stance is stooped or straight, whether your right arm is a little shorter than your left, and how high up you like the waist of your trousers. It is made-to-measure, made efficient.

(Have a look at www.suitsupply.co.uk. The website is pretty fun as well – try dragging the pictures around! Those in the US, you may have to wait a while for this to come your way. It’s only Belgium, the Netherlands and the UK so far.)

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The Future of Style, as Told by Hardy Amies

The previous Permanent Style posting described how Hardy Amies, resident of Savile Row and men’s style legend, saw fashion in the sixties.

In his book ABC of Men’s Fashion he described the narrow, high-buttoning suit of the period and his belief that, for practical reasons, that style would remain the norm. Another interesting aspect of this is that he believed future trends would follow this line, only to a greater extreme.

He was wrong, of course. By the end of that decade all clothes were looser, baggier, freer. The seventies would see such a profusion of wide lapels and flared trousers in suits that commentators at that time again felt confident in predicting that the new style was here to stay.

Amies described the style of sixties most succinctly in a caption to one of his illustrations at the centre of the book. It reads: “The complete man-present: forward-looking hat, high tab-collared shirt, high-buttoning suit, slim boots with raised heels.” The picture shows a man in a pale-grey, checked suit, with only the top two buttons of his four-button suit done up. The trousers are narrow and a little short, the boots shiny and black. His dark, knitted tie is matched by a dark pocket square (though as the photo is in black and white the precise colour cannot be discerned).

Opposite is the future, as Amies sees it. The caption reads: “The complete man-future: slim bow tie balancing the vertical line of the suit, high-buttoning cutaway jacket, extra narrow trousers tucked into calf-length boots.” The gentleman pictured wears a dark, pin-striped suit, with only the top two buttons of his five-button jacket done up. The bowtie is matched by a dark silk handkerchief. And, amazingly, he indeed has his suit trousers tucked into calf-length black boots in what appears to be suede.

(My apologies that I don’t have any reproductions of these pictures. If anyone has any suggestions as to wear I can get these to illustrate this posting, please tell me.)

Did Amies really believe that the future of formal wear was suits tucked into suede boots? Can you imagine businessmen today sitting in the boardroom, their suit trousers tucked into Ugg Boots? Admittedly Uggs would be too chunky for Amies, but it seems no less ridiculous.

The fact is fashions oscillate around a figure of Permanent Style, with the sixties narrow form at one extreme and the seventies flair at the other. One swing is followed by another in the opposite direction. (By this I mean long-term swings, those that last decades not years. Skinny jeans, for example, do not qualify. They are a seasonal fad, like cowboy boots or peasant skirts.)

Once enough men today have bought one-button suits, expect to see three or four-button versions on the catwalk. Designers have to come up with something that’s different, after all. And when those inventions seem to chime with the times, as boots did in the sixties and flares did in the seventies, they’ll become a decade-long swing.

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Sixties Style, as Told by Hardy Amies

The Victoria & Albert Museum – London’s best if you are interested in style and decoration – is running an exhibition on the Golden Age of Couture, 1947-1957. The exhibits of vintage Dior, Balenciaga and Balmain gowns are fascinating: the relentless tightening of waists, the details of how dresses were cut and the style culture of Paris.

But the discovery of the exhibition for me was in the gift shop: a new print of Hardy Amies’s ABC of Men’s Fashion. First published in 1964, it contains a staggering number of sayings about men’s fashion that have remained in circulation. The most famous of course is: “A man should look as if he had bought his clothes with intelligence, put them on with care and then forgotten all about them.”

There are also little gems such as “Cummerbund. ‘Anglo-Saxon 1616. A sash or girdle worn around the waist’. Need I say more?” And “Fancy waistcoat. Fancy is a suitably unpleasant word for a rather nasty article.” Although Amies does go on to say “I should exclude from this fancy waistcoats worn with a morning coat. Here a touch of dandyism seems to be desirable.”

For the purposes of Permanent Style, however, the most interesting aspect of Amies’s book is his declarations about the fashion of the sixties, and his confidence in its practicality and longevity.

The sixties ideal is long and slim, with very narrow trousers, a four-buttoned suit and ankle boots. His tie is thin and he wears a trilby pushed forward on the head. Everything is about length and height, all buttoned-up and tight. His guidelines are:

Trousers: “Trousers follow the natural contours of the leg as closely as comfort and the fall of the cloth permit.”

Jacket: “The line is accentuated by the use of three buttons as fastening rather than two or one. Four are better still.”

Revers: “These higher fastenings automatically shorten the length of the revers and it is natural that they should also become narrow.”

Sleeves: “Sleeves should be as narrow as comfort permits, and at the wrist should just encompass the cuff of the shirt.”

Waist: “A four-button fastening looks well with a jacket cut rather straight at the sides. This looser, straighter jacket has for some time been liked by the young. It looks casual. The older find it comfortable.”

Headwear: “Given the slightest chance, young people rush to put on a hat. They are designed to be worn well forward on the head, thus enhancing the forward lines of the rest of the costume.”

Footwear: “Elastic-sided boots are more comfortable to wear, easier to put on, nicer to look at, and better integrated with the rest of one’s clothes than the lace-up kind. They seem to have just about everything in their favour.”

I find it fascinating that someone so revered now and then had such confidence that style was changing. It is an illustrative lesson in assumptions about so-called classic style or indeed permanent style.

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