Why Jermyn Trumps The High Street

It has been said, among my friends, that I have become a rather unctuous high-street drum-beater. Even I myself fear that my initial ravings about how good the overlooked menswear departments of high street retailers actually are has turned into a sanctimonious and rather dull eulogy. Shaking my head at the ‘fools’ spending their week’s wages at the perplexingly popular Abercombie & Fitch, tut-tutting at the gross overspend at Bond Street boutiques and generally exhibiting a nauseating, self-satisfied air of aloofness. For this walk of pride always deserves a fall; as good value as the stores I profess to admire are, they are far from perfect and should I be in a position to purchase greater numbers of higher quality garments, I will surely take advantage.

And, testament to the imperfection of the stores which I have so heartily recommended, there are certain items sold in these establishments which are, to put it bluntly, not good enough. I could never again purchase a smart shirt from a ‘true’ high street shop. Zara and H&M are good at what they do – but they are really quite bad indeed at manufacturing proper shirts. Especially when you consider what can be obtained locally for the same price, or even less.

TM Lewin, a favourite shirt shop of mine, does not qualify as a high street shop in my mind, even though the name familiar once only to ‘shirties’ is now a household one. It has a long established history and considerable expertise in manufacturing shirts. It knows cloths, it knows collars, cuffs, plackets, buttons and yokes. The brand might be rather ubiquitous now, especially as it continues to trade on it’s grand, Jermyn Street origins, but the fact of the matter is TM Lewin shirts, for the money, are very good value. £30 doesn’t buy you a lot these days in clothing terms. Many high street manufacturers charge at least £35 for a shirt and Banana Republic has been known to charge a mind-boggling £75. Lewin’s shirts, invariably ‘on sale’, are currently priced at £25 for current season and £19 for end of range shirts. In my mind, if you are a gentleman who is the proud recipient of a new and exciting job and require advice on an inexpensive but reliable shirt manufacturer, I would direct you here first.

Gentlemen are certainly in need of a good selection of shirts. Other Jermyn street oldies, like Turnbull & Asser, Harvie & Hudson, New & Lingwood and Hilditch & Key do sell excellent shirts in their remarkably silent, antiquated berths on ‘The street of shirtmakers’ but though the quality is high, the price is equally so. For a shirt collection of five or more you will have to part with a significant sum. It’s no wonder the doorbell is the most audible sound in Turnbull’s when the economically minded man who requires shirts only for his City career can get 4 for £100 a few minutes down the road. A gentleman would have to be rather serious about shirts, or perhaps merely seriously wealthy, to purchase from these hallowed emporiums.

The sad fact of the matter is that most gentlemen are hardly serious about shirts at all. This is perhaps why the pile-‘em-high merchants on Jermyn are doing so well in comparison to their quieter, perfectionist neighbours. Both Hawes & Curtis and TM Lewin, and to an extent the slightly dearer Thomas Pink, have colonised ground beyond SW1 and though their shirts are produced at far greater volumes, the overall quality has only slipped a little in the past 10 years that I have been wearing them. While they are rather sneered at as being ‘commercial’, ‘common’ and ‘crass’ by their financially overshadowed companions on Jermyn Street, they are without a doubt among the best on offer elsewhere. The collars retain strength wash after wash, the fabric is of a very good quality for the price range and they last for years and years – models I have purchased from Marks & Spencer, Zara and Next have crumpled and faded within a year. I still wear a Lewin’s shirt bought in 1998.

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Surviving Summer

I was once asked my favourite season and responded promptly that although a rather predictable fan of summer, I adored the fact that I could wear more clothes in the colder seasons. As much as I moan about the weather in Blighty, there is invariably a time of year too warm for waistcoats, too sweaty for sweaters and even too toasty for ties; this is the time of year at which even great arbiters of elegance loosen their damp collars, at which trussed up dandies seem to vanish and, in the haze of the boozy weekend afternoons, we all seem to let ourselves go. Ella was right; “It’s too darn hot.”

In the midst of all the shedding, the cacophony of flip-flopping and the positively gruesome slime of sweat that drips onto the summer streets, there is still room for regal rebellion. It all seems rather hopeless on what one might call a ‘belter’ of a day; when the sky, irrepressibly blue, suggests temperatures that make the maximalist wince in premonition of discomfort. Stiff upper lips be damned – no one in their right mind would dress in more than they need on such a day. And why would they? Dressing well is noble, but dressing appropriately is always preferred. Anyone crass enough to brave the beating heat in a woollen suit needs an extraordinary excuse. I myself can feel rather uneasy in seeing a more than adequately clothed gentleman on a blisteringly hot afternoon.

Style, then, makes no attempt on such days? Well, for many, it certainly takes a back seat. However, to depart from style considerations entirely, to beat a complete retreat at such flimsy adversity, is rather disappointing. Real style always finds a way around minor inconveniences like temperature. Simplicity is Style’s aide-de-camp when Summer begins to singe. Material needs very careful consideration; linen and light cotton are lightweight and heat friendly, wool should be avoided. Also, thickly lined jackets and trousers should be set aside – summer scorchers are ideal days to wear unlined jackets (if jackets are desired or necessary).

How to cover the torso (for the torso should always be covered) is a quandary for many men; is a t-shirt enough? Is a polo shirt acceptable? Is a shirt too much? Generally, it depends on personal taste, and the occasion, but I do not believe shirts are any ‘warmer’ than cotton polo shirts. Particularly if the polo shirt is ‘fitted.’ T-shirts are at least more dignified than ghetto ‘tank tops’ but they are hardly fitting for anything other than sports/casual wear at the beach. Polo shirts are much more appropriate for those who seek casual elegance, but shirts – with a maximum of a two buttons undone – are still the best choice for those wishing to retain some sort of style distinction.

I have written on summer shoes before, frequently advocating espadrilles above the irritating and rather revolting flip flop. If foot-ventilation is required, there are some interesting brown and black leather sandals, some of the ‘Jesus’ type, some of the rather Gallic looking basket-weave fashion, that are far better for the man of style. At no point would any man of style wear the horrible Velcro, sports ‘technical’ sandals.

Shorts should not be of the excessively pockety ‘cargo’ variety, as seemingly useful as those pockets may be; they should be above the knee, of the tailored (i.e. smart) style and made of cotton or linen.

To conquer the flair-killing nature of summer heat, gentlemen should adopt colour in place of layering as the style mantra. Bright colours, like banana yellow, fire engine red and apple green, with complementary accessories such as belts, are brave but sophisticated choices when the weather forbids over-layering and trussing.

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Cultural Differences: Black Tie At Weddings

Considering the violent and convincing manner in which the redcoat troops were defeated in the last quarter of the 18th century, with the assistance of French gold and weaponry, the very existence of what is famously termed the ‘special relationship’ seems inconceivable but the similarities between the peoples either side of the Atlantic Ocean are well noted and undeniable. Indeed it could be argued that Britain has now maintained a friendly and understanding relationship with America longer than she has with any other nation. However, the grandiloquent pretences of the 19th century – the dream of America and the Imperial mother nation uniting together in mighty union - have, perhaps fortunately, vanished.

The Old World has been in decline since the ‘disagreements’ of 1781, the New has risen steadily to outmuscle, outshine and outdo the parent but, like all offspring, has slowly developed an appreciation for the Old. In art, architecture, fashion and music there have certainly been examples of American uniqueness; innovations of the continent itself. However, there has been, and still is, a connection and a reverence for the European way of doing things. This is by no means an embarrassment for Americans, nor is it overstatement of the greatness that lingers from a bygone age. Between two continents we have forged what has become to be known by all as ‘The Western World.’

However, there are some peculiar aspects and traditions of modern America perplexing to me. The most popular sports are played little elsewhere in the world; there is a strange arrangement in calendars of months, days and then years and of course, there is a tradition to wear ‘a tux’ at one’s wedding - no matter that it may be a morning ceremony followed by a lunchtime reception. Some American readers may think it terribly old fashioned, and Old World, to question a tradition that most Americans have known for at least a generation. However, it has always seemed to me rather strange when looking at American wedding photos – the bride and groom, extremely neat in appearance; well groomed, coiffed and with gleaming smiles but in contradicting attire.

The bride is invariably wearing what some refer to as the ‘meringue’ – a mound of creamy white that corresponds to the ‘fairytale’ of the wedding ceremony. It is essentially a period design, although what period it directly represents isn’t always clear. The gentleman stands next to his bride in a severe black tuxedo, usually with satin-faced lapels, and wears the white shirt with, typically, a black clip on bow tie. It is usually a case of ‘day meets night’ – it would be correct to wear black tie (or, as it is a formal occasion ‘white tie’) in the evening, after six o’ clock, but usually, the same dress is adopted for morning and afternoon wear. In the shining sun, the ‘tuxedo’ looks odd to this traditionalist European. Commanding and appropriately attired he might be to American eyes; to me he looks more like a Parisian waiter who has lost his tray. It might be that Americans don’t understand the rule of when to wear evening dress, do not care to follow such a rule or even that they are unaware of it being ‘evening dress.’ Someone I know recently wore morning dress to a wedding in the States to be complimented by a local with the words; ‘Nice tux!’ As the ensemble is known simply by this and not the more clear cut ‘evening dress’ or ‘dinner suit’, this may explain why it has somehow become the norm to wear it to one’s wedding.

The other explanation is that Americans adopted black tie at weddings as it was the only formal dress they possessed in their wardrobes. Instead of garbing themselves in something they were unlikely to wear again, they revolutionised the formal attire of weddings and adopted their ‘smart evening clothes’ instead. This is a rather charming explanation but is rather strange coming from a nation that produces television programmes that lecture women on the appropriateness of their clothing choices. “This one” shrills the self-assured host “is much maw an eevnin’ dress hunny. It’s black, that should give you your first clue!”

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Shoes Matter

‘If only’ are two of the saddest words in the English language. We are always more indulgently wistful in contemplating opportunities lost than we are in celebrating realised gains. The land-of-might-have-been is one of perfection and happiness in which there is no call for such regretful hand-wringing for, as Novello sang, it is simply “far more mercifully planned than the cruel place we know.” I am not often as sanguine about my own situation as I would hope, but I like to think that I plan for the best. I really feel that life, characteristically disappointing as it is, is there to be throttled and dealt with; no point in doing things half-cock or pursuing things halfway.

Such was my contemplative thought on seeing a well-dressed young gentleman on Fleet Street in a tidy two-button grey suit; the tie was a tasteful knot, the shirt appropriate for the suit and even a folded square of linen poked out from the breast pocket but disastrously, the footwear he had decided upon, dragged his estimable effort down considerably: untidy, lumpy brick-shaped shoes of a dull, cheap-looking black leather, they looked borrowed or found so out of place were they in this outfit. Only a strong sense of propriety and respect for the privacy of citizens prevented me from telling him to rid himself of such hideous footwear and head, promptly, in the direction of Jermyn Street. Instead I raised my eyebrows, tutted to myself and muttered ruefully; ‘If only!’

Since this disappointing sighting I have noted that footwear seems to rank very low on the list of sartorial importance for gentlemen in the metropolis. Suits, while often awful, are sometimes very appealing, even exquisite; ties are, again, a let down generally but there are signs of improvement in pattern choice and knots. Shirts are often the most pleasing part of the London working man’s wardrobe – considering the number of ‘discount’ Jermyn Street traders manufacturing well structured, suit-friendly shirts this is perhaps unsurprising. It is the footwear; the lumpy, grossly inelegant chunks of leather that people choose to wear on a business day that most surprises me. Invariably black, the shoes are of questionable shape, quality and durability. Why is this the case? Why are gentlemen inclined to provide significant financial outlay on brilliant threads but scrimp on decent leather?

One theory of mine tends to lead to the conclusion that most gentlemen believe that footwear simply doesn’t matter, as if we still had to tread the mud-caked streets of old; they may believe that a beautiful suit, constituting such a large area of the human body, needs representative investment. Shoes, those sadly necessary fixtures enveloping our feet, are rather small; ‘No one’ll notice’ shrugs our hypothetical proponent. The other theory is that the gentleman considers shoes are most certainly significant but has little understanding or education as to what an attractive shoe actually is. Some might scoff that attractive shoes should be simply self-evident but I believe our hypothetical gentleman in this category relies far more on price, branding and ubiquity as his guides for what footwear he should purchase. Most of the square-toed, badly shaped carbuncles masquerading as shoes in our shops are ugly and unflattering. Shoes are noticeable (to some more than anything else) and they can finish a look perfectly, or they can let you down horrendously.

It may sound like a cliché but the old, English shoemakers – not quite in the Lobb league – are the best. Church’s, Crockett & Jones, Trickers and Edward Green all make wonderful shoes that last a heck of a long time, crafted in designs that age very little. New & Lingwood, though not a Northampton name, is also an established and highly regarded shoemaker. To the average buyer the shoes are certainly expensive; many would choke at the hushed price on their way to the door, but this is more a consequence of our existing in such a capricious, throwaway society than anything to do with any ‘overcharging.’ Many friends of mine I have recommended to the shoe shops of Jermyn Street frequently reported back on the ‘incredible’ prices. I personally think it’s incredible that design of this kind can be so ignored; that a design should look as elegant in 2009 as on its introduction in the early half of the last century is surely the real marvel.

The other thing to do, once you have found the shoe-mine of your dreams, is to make sure the shoe wardrobe is reasonably well stocked and topped-up; variety is a friend of shoes. I feel desperately sorry for a pair of Oxfords worn every day. Selecting a pair of plain Oxfords and alternating with a pair of punchcaps, brogues or perhaps some rakish wholecuts is an option, as is the adoption of brown shoes which can look fabulous with blue and grey suits. Always make sure shoes are looked after (re-soled, protectively polished) to ensure years of happy use.

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Rare Moment: Check Jacket

Odd jackets might have fallen from favour in recent years, but there have been encouraging signs of their return. Gone are the days of the stroller – odd jackets and trousers are strictly casual nowadays – and close to disappearing are the classic brass buttoned blazers, but thanks to recent trends the concept of wearing a jacket, similar in cut and design to a suit jacket, with an odd pair of trousers is still very much alive. As ghastly and inappropriate as some of the choices may be, the practice itself is pleasing. The presence of odd jackets in a gentleman’s wardrobe increases his range of presentable ensembles; the more odd jackets, the wider the range. Pairing them with patterned trousers, coloured trousers and even denim is a realisation of their potential; even the least sartorially aware of my acquaintance still possess an odd jacket.

Tweed and plain, dark jackets are without doubt the most popular odd jackets; the former with the older generation, the latter with the younger. The usual tweed tends to be a classic Harris the colour of stale Weetabix, if patterned very subtly and the plain darks worn by young people tend to be suit orphans or poly-mix creations from River Island. Both are a badge of the clothing conservatism of the wearers. They are not exactly anonymous, but they have none of the outré explosiveness of the odd check jacket: a jacket which, in my experience, is rarely seen. For it is without question a risky choice.

Amongst the Weetabix and the poly-mix it looks rather exaggerated; one of the lonely eccentricities that receive tongue-in-cheek pleasantries. It’s different, yes and challenging, certainly but once it has been mastered will prove one of the most valuable items in the wardrobe. An odd check jacket has effervescence, lashings of character and, importantly, youth – even before you have stuffed a square of silk or matched a waistcoat. A check jacket seems always to be worn by those accustomed to smiling. It is the coat of a chuckler, a back slapper and a generous friend. About it there is a delightful, Pickwickian naivety. It is perpetually happy.

Controlling the overall volume of your attire is rather like legislating for a raucous party guest by inviting a hatful of dullards; plainness is the best partner for pattern. Depending on the colour variation in the check jacket, plain shirts of almost any colour will work well, particularly mid blues and white. Checks will also work, but prior experimentation may be required. Wearing stripes can produce a pattern clash, which can be occasionally brilliant, but they are generally too lacking in harmony; width of check and stripe would need to be taken into consideration. Wide stripes would look better with a small check, and vice versa.

The other advantage of a check jacket being the ‘loudest sailor at the bar’ is that the others in attendance, items of individual eccentricity, begin to look rather ordinary. The red trousers, the bow tie and the patterned shirt recede in significance. Therefore, items that get few outings because of their ‘oddness’ suddenly seem more civilised and more adaptable.

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