The Importance of Detail

As infuriatingly cliché as it seems, it is undeniably true; it’s all about the details. You can have the most wonderful ‘blank canvas’ of an ensemble – a beautifully made suit, hand-sewn shoes – but if the details are wrong, or not present at all, the outfit is merely a wasted opportunity. It is not an unexplained wonder. Simplicity is dull. Simplicity sells for a brief period as ‘fashion’ but has so little to offer, and so little to recommend it, that craftsmen inevitably return to what we love in nature, in architecture and in ourselves; details.

In gentlemen’s clothing, the opportunity to ‘detail’ has often been missed; modern men prefer practicality and simplicity above ornament. The mistake in this is thinking that all detail is necessarily superfluous. Is the light touch of violet in an orange flower merely superfluous? Or is it actually the vital element that makes the whole that more alluring?

The most interesting elements of my outfits, those that observers single out or comment on, are rarely the more obvious, substantial elements. The human eye looks and does not cease looking – it looks to detect the unusual, past the expected and into the realm of the rare. It also strikes me, as I react with greater pleasure in such situations, that the more complete visions incorporate greatly satisfying levels of detail.

A suit with no further element can certainly be beautiful, but it does not act as a complete and satisfying object for the eye until the details have been added. The shirt, the handkerchief poking from the breast pocket, the tie, the tie pin, the cuff link – details signify thought and consideration; qualities that in this age of brute selfishness are increasingly rare. The next stage of detailing is observing the details within the details – the pattern of the pocket square, the stripe of the shirt.

Even in outfits that do not rely on the anchor of a suit, details can be the difference between an undistinguished norm and a noticeable and appealing style. Even a simple shirt and trouser combination offers opportunity for detailing; adding a belt in sympathetic tone to the shoes, turning up the bottoms of the trousers or wearing a certain colour of sock will catch the eye of passers by.

One must be careful not to abuse the opportunity of detail by overdoing or ‘fussing’ too much with an outfit that, essentially, a man should feel comfortable in. The key to satisfaction with the level of detail lies with the eyes; adding details is experimental at first but, after a while, a gentleman will know what works.

Mode Rage: Trainers with Suits

In terms of style, I like to believe I am a tolerant, open-minded chap. Individuality and invention are important and splendid; without them, the world would be a dull, uniform place. There are however some curiosities, some bizarre and incongruous trends which I cannot understand and which I cannot help but believe the world would be better off without.

Who on earth first thought of pairing a suit with training shoes? It is an aesthetic so hideous, so irritatingly lazy and childish that I cannot help but lose a sizeable portion of respect for all who indulge in it. I was therefore dismayed, though not entirely surprised, to see Dustin Hoffman photographed in Cannes at the film festival wearing a pinstripe suit with neon-soled running shoes. Whatever possessed Hoffman to display himself in this manner, though he is hardly well-known for any particular sartorial elegance, I do not know. His oddball characters do inspire a kooky aesthetic but there is kooky and there is cuckoo.

And then there is Joshua Jackson, accompanying his elegant, shimmeringly attired girlfriend Diane Kruger to an evening event wearing black tie – and skate-sneakers. An appalling, burger-sauced burp of a choice, Jackson should know it is ungentlemanly to upstage a lady in evening attire but to do it in such a manner is simply pugnacious. Frankly, he doesn’t deserve his invite; his arrogant, idiotic choice of footwear is akin to inappropriate drunkenness, boorish language or talking with your mouth full and is highly embarrassing for his companion who would have been better off pacing the carpet with one of the serving staff instead of her selfish beau. Every time someone attempts to combine the elegant with the never-going-to-be-elegant, it fails; imagine if Kruger had worn Havaianas with such an ensemble, citing the discomfort and impracticality of heels.

Trainers and suits don’t exist in the same universe. Never would it be seemly or sensible to exert oneself in a gymnasium in a wool suit; wearing gym shoes to a premiere is equally mad. My theory is that those who do such things do so because they are pretentious enough to belligerently convey that they ‘just don’t care’ when the unaffected choice would have been to acknowledge the event for what it is; an occasion requiring a certain type of shoe. Some might think this a touch pompous but the real pomposity is to consider your pathetic, non-conformist visual message more important than the person you accompany and the event itself.

The Way You Wear Your Hat: The Messy Bow Tie

“Thank Doctor Who” a friend said scornfully as we wandered around TopMan, slack-jawed at the mass of teenage bow-tie aficionados strutting around the store with their Bieber-fringes, check shirts and turned-up denim. The only problem was that their ‘I don’t give a damn but I am a dandy’ aesthetic was let down by the uniform neatness of their bows; hardly surprising given that all were clip-ons.

Tying a bow tie is an art, not an exact science; the symmetrical ‘perfection’ sought by many, even when achieved through self-tying, is about as appealing as one of those dire photo-realistic paintings. The idea is to achieve expression, not facsimile; ‘perfect’ pre-tied and self-tie bow ties look stiff, clownish and unnatural. Not only would I oppose wearing a pre-tied bow tie – and not for the crude snobbery advocated by some that it shows you ‘went to the wrong school’ or university but because creation is so much more satisfactory than replication – I would also oppose the ‘craft’ of tying a bow tie too carefully, too symmetrically, too artificially.

The ‘messy’ bow tie may sound like a paradox – for why should a decorative effect be untidy? – but the ‘mess’ is simply a descriptive comparison with the uniformity of pre-tied bows. Mess is usually what you end up with when first attempting to tie a bow tie; uneven, lumpy and wonky. However, the great charm of this educational stage is often clouded with frustration; “Why isn’t it PERFECT?!” we scream into the mirror, knowing the happy end-of-the-rainbow glory of symmetrical bow tie bliss is far away, not realising that the grass is greener on this side of the fence.

Winston Churchill, though seldom feted as a style icon, was famous for his bow ties and in his later years, was rarely seen without one. The most famous photos of Churchill usually involve three crucial props; V-for Victory, a cigar and his favourite navy polka dot bow tie. Well worn indeed, but perfect? Symmetrical? Not a bit of it. Though he wore one every day, every day was different; lop sided on Monday, tiny on Tuesday, bulky on Wednesday, approaching the perpendicular on Thursday.

The water-colouring aesthete’s routine of dressing was the very opposite to that of a man like Brummell, who discarded neckties if they were not perfectly tied the first time. Churchill tied it – possibly with a cigar in his mouth – whilst his head gradually filled with the grave concerns of the day; there was no concern of symmetry, or perfection and because of that, the beauty created was natural.

If you are planning on making the step from pre-tied bows to self-tie you will probably be put off by the idea of a bow that looks like it was tied by a pair of pig’s trotters but think on this: a bow in of itself is a decoration, a fancy. It is not ‘natural’ to wear a bow. However, it has been customary to adorn a buttoned collar for hundreds of years with a splash of what is really creative art. There is nothing creative, nothing pleasing about a glued, stiffened replica and nothing appealing about something that has been touched and tweaked to within an inch of its life. Try it, tie it – and be happy with the result. The best way to achieve the small-winged minimalism? Try tying it with as little length as possible.

The Enduring Appeal of Gatsby

When I heard a new screen version of The Great Gatsby was being planned, I rolled my eyes and tutted audibly. As a Fitzgerald flag-waver, I was not only frustrated by the continued avoidance of his other fine works but was also grieved that Baz Luhrmann was at the helm.

As much as I enjoyed his production of Romeo & Juliet and admired his eccentric Moulin Rouge, I loathed Australia and the crucial issue with any production of Fitzgerald’s work is that it requires a subtlety of vision; subtlety is not something I associate with Mr Luhrmann. Add this to the sad fact that the true magic of Fitzgerald’s work – his glorious writing – is impossible to transfer to the screen and the prospect of yet another stab at this seminal work seems to me to be decidedly unwelcome.

However, there is one element of the production that I am looking forward to which no ham-fisted script, error of casting or inappropriate score can destroy; the costume. The last motion picture Gatsby, featuring Robert Redford and Mia Farrow, was famously costumed by Ralph Lauren. While the film itself was relatively weak, it remains a movie of classic style – on more than one occasion, I have enjoyed glimpsing scenes of it in a London bar (muted) behind the bottles of Grey Goose and Laphroaig. As good as Lauren’s costuming was, I expect the work on this version to be even better. Why? For the simple reason that it will be a more accurate representation of the era; it might lack a little of the 1970s pastel palette, but what it loses in floral appeal it will hopefully make up for in authenticity and detail.

Costuming in film has improved so much in the last 30 years; photographic archives are more readily available and more money has been made available, not just for the costumes themselves but for the research and hard work that goes in to developing them. Though many films have a tinge of the eras in which they have been produced, some period dramas are so accurately and beautifully costumed that it is only possible to tell the age of the feature by the age of the lead. Cameras can capture the most subtle texture differences; a silk dupion, a wool flannel, a crisp linen. A well costumed film, now more than ever, promises to be a gorgeous feast for the eyes and the prospect of Gatsby and an ensemble of moneyed, Jazz Age Long Islanders being given the latest touch of the classic ‘Gatsby’ aesthetic is terribly exciting.

So what is this classic ‘Gatsby’ aesthetic? Isn’t it just the preppy way Lauren represented him in the Seventies and continues to plug now? Well, yes and no. Lauren might have made that Gatsby, but that Gatsby also made Lauren. In fact, he always existed; the aloof looking chap in a dusty old photograph with slicked hair, a blue blazer, club stripe tie, white trousers, spectator shoes and horn-rimmed round sunglasses. He was an invention of his era, not of the movie industry. Lauren was simply able to look at the way men used to dress and say; “This is how he should be; this is Gatsby.” As most of it takes place on Long Island sound, I expect some sporty and nautical elements to the costume; plenty of white foundation and red-lipstick for Daisy, plenty of blue and white for Gatsby, some white bucks, spectators, tortoiseshell glasses and a vast array of suits including a loud blue pinstripe with peaked lapels, double breasted waistcoat and turn-ups, pocket watches, fedoras and boaters – they were still very popular in this period - rounded collars and, hopefully, full white-tie.

According to reports, Leonardo DiCaprio is playing the eponymous hero of the piece. There is sufficient precedent (Titanic, The Aviator) to suggest that he will prove to be an excellent Gatsby, if only as a splendid clothes horse.

Sartorial Love/Hate: The Sockless Loafer

One of the most interesting criticisms I received recently was that my practice of wearing loafers without socks was nothing short of “disgusting.” The most amusing point about the delivery was that it was delivered by a friendly gaggle of females who thought nothing of imparting such a critique whilst slipping their own uncovered heels in and out of their ballet pumps.

“You should wear socks” one of them nodded, patronisingly “otherwise your shoes will stink.” Further remarks of surprise came from male acquaintances; “Ooh, and no socks either. Looks very…” “Continental?” I ventured, hopefully. “Yea, I suppose so” came the uncertain reply.

England is a prudish nation. As many polls as there are stating that we are the ‘naughtiest’ nation, the ‘most fetishistic’ or ‘the most adventurous’, we still have reservations when it comes to the unexpected exposure of flesh. Though the strict Victorian standards no longer apply - hems are higher, necklines are lower – we still find flesh curious and even offensive, particularly in relation to footwear: along with the American race, we must be the only nation who believes that the ideal summer ensemble involves wrapping our feet in thick socks and chunky trainers.

Continental Europeans are far more comfortable lolling around sans-socks when it gets warm. I recently admired a louche duo of Italians having a coffee in the shade at Cecconi’s in Mayfair wearing Ray-Bans, linen jackets, chinos and sockless loafers. The look was easy and comfortable; I wander on a hundred yards and encounter an Englishman in socks and sandals. No doubt the Englishman will scoff at the Italian, decrying the sweaty decay of his footwear; the undignified and un-English exposure of ankles; the unsightly and ungentlemanly act of ‘forcing’ his most inelegant bodily feature on the rest of us, in much the same way as my female acquaintances criticised my sockless state.

The worst trait of the British in this critique is that they deny the self-benefit of forbidding the practice and suggest it is for the benefit of the wearer; “But your shoes will smell” they cry, “think of it – sweaty, salty shoes. So disgusting…” “…and uncomfortable…” When comforting critics with assurances that they will never be forced to smell the shoes, this yields little change in their tolerance. It is not perhaps the decay and odour itself as the thought of it, the idea of such an improper act that they really object to.

Harsher critics might even suggest the problem of Britishness itself is to blame; stiff upper lips, repressed sexuality and a hatred of ankles, although there seems to be little objection from anyone, including myself, on the female practice of wearing shoes with unstockinged feet.