The Washable Boiled Front Shirt from Darcy Clothing

Anyone who owns a traditional starched dress shirt with a ‘boiled front’ will be familiar with the frustrations that it causes. The discomfort when wearing it is bearable, as is the inconvenience of attaching a collar – although dancefloor exertions have led to many a broken shirt stud – but the real disappointment comes the morning after when the discarded pile of clothing is sorted and you realise the shirt needs a good dry clean. As you make your way to the local cleaners in the chilly morning, you envy your soft-shirted colleagues who lie warm in their beds, sleeping off the stupor as their washing machines whirr.

It gets worse when you arrive at the dry cleaners and they inform you that they cannot dry clean the shirt without damaging the product. “You need” they say “to go to a specialist dry cleaner, one who cleans for the movie and costume people.” You head to Jeeves of Belgravia for advice who inform you, calmly, that they do not do it themselves but they can send it away, for a fee, to be cleaned professionally. “It takes about two weeks” they inform you as you reel from the quoted price. A little research then leads you to the Barker Group – to whom most of the world’s dry cleaners send their boiled-front shirts – and you realise that your shirt needs to be posted off to Bournemouth.

Even for a man accustomed to fuss, this process is irritating and scarcely economical. The days when such shirts could be dropped off at street corner launderers are long gone. This is a specialist product requiring specialist cleaners; cleaning the starched front evening shirt is a dying art. If only there was a boiled front shirt which could be cleaned by any old dry cleaning company. Or, better still, if there was a stiff evening shirt that could be thrown in the washing machine as you return to slumber. “Yeah right” you think “that’ll never happen.” And just like that, Darcy Clothing (formerly the Vintage Shirt Company & Co) provide the answer to your prayers; the washable stiff-front evening shirt.

After the success of their washable collars, they have finally produced the tunic to match; no longer will Barker’s excellent but inconvenient services be required. Although not as authentically stiff as the original boiled front shirt, the washable version is all the better for it in terms of comfort. If you are of a nostalgic bent, or simply prefer the aesthetic of the stiff fronted evening shirt but have been frustrated by its inconvenience, this is the thing for you. You can tuck into your consommé in comfort, glide across the floor with gratification, catch a wink in the cab on the way home and toss the thing into the washing machine as you down a raw egg and a Bloody Mary.

The Way You Wear Your Hat: The Bow Tuck

As I was wandering along the platform at a tube station, I noted the remarkable number of men, many of advanced years, with untucked shirt tails. One of these men, a solid looking chap of about fifty years, stood squinting at the dot-matrix, posed in a pair of well-cut jeans, a cord jacket and a red candy striped shirt which was untucked. Everything else in the ensemble was neat; the jacket was a decent length and fit; the jeans slim and tidy and his shoes, polished and of a high quality. It was simply nonsensical that a man with such attire should neglect, or at least contrive to neglect, to tuck his shirt in.

When recounting the story with a friend, he agreed that shirts should be tucked in but suggested that the rule of tucking was an uncertain one as there are many things which should never be tucked in. Among these were the jumper, the waistcoat and the bow and neck tie. On the last two, I disagreed. I think that tucking a tie into a pair of trousers, whilst unusual, is not offensive and have indulged in the practice on many occasions. Tucking in a bow tie is an altogether different proposition and, although very unusual, has an impressive precedence

One of my first recollections of the practice was Hurd Hatfield as Dorian Gray who wore nothing but turn-down collars in the 1944 film version of Oscar Wilde’s novel. However, it wasn’t until I became a young devotee of the Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes series that I noticed the practice was not due to a ‘special’ bow tie but simply a regulation bow which had been tucked inside the collar. Being of an experimental nature, I tried this myself on a couple of occasions. One friend I encountered was so offended by it that he untucked it and claimed it was an affectation.

I must admit that when I caught myself in the mirror, it did not look quite right; rather like a flower without its petals, or a butterfly without its wings. And yet, it still strikes me as a unique and, though certainly affected, serious way to wear an accessory that otherwise lacks seriousness. You can never appear stern in a bow tie; you can never appear silly in a bow tuck. The severity of it is perhaps why it does not appeal to many people, aside from tidy-minded dandies with immaculately ordered armoires and symmetrically arranged furniture.

It is important that to attempt one of the bow tucks, the correct type of bow and the correct size of knot is used. For the ‘bar’ effect, the straight Charvet-style bow, not the bat wing is used. For the correct size of knot, it needs to be large enough to accommodate the space between the collar as Hatfield’s does.

The alternative is to use a bat wing and have it form an arch instead of a bar, as Depp’s does in the photo, affecting a looser, less formal style.

More than Movember

When I had shaved off my Movember moustache on the 30th of last month, I touched my naked upper lip with a sense of relief; as much as I admired the ‘real man’ aesthetic of it, the unusual discomfort it caused my upper lip made me yearn for December. Interestingly, I had received a wittily penned comment from a reader that very afternoon which provoked me to ponder the execution of the shave;

“A moustache should be for life. Not just Movember. Discuss.”

This particular reader had already provided a contribution on the topic to The New Gentleman, arguing that men who had so earnestly taken to a month of growth should “think twice before condemning the creature to the razor’s blade.” The reasoning implied was that fashion had maligned the moustache; it was clear that many men were enthusiastic about the challenge and the aesthetic of upper lip hair, so why did they not shun the female dislike and the current vogue of facial hair and simply keep it going?

There is much to recommend this point of view. Individuality and style is what these pages are (hopefully) all about; we are not preaching fashion codes here. How could we suggest the wearer of a Homburg ignore the ridiculing public and yet support fashion’s control of our grooming? And as much as there is to recommend the principle, there is much to recommend the style.

Aside from punctuating the face with a little hair artistry, the moustache also adds a tidy reminder of masculinity. Back in the 19th century, the clean shaven children of Regency England discovered that in India, the growing of facial hair, at the very least a moustache, was essential to being taken seriously in command. From there, they transported the fashion of the lone ‘tache back to Victorian London and from there, it reached the rest of the world. However, even during its high vogue, views towards the attractions of the ‘tache were divided; women’s views could be extremely positive and downright lustful or they suggested scorn and even fear.

Nowadays, isolated upper lip hair is universally disliked, which explains why ‘endurance’ charity campaigns like Movember are so successful; a similar charity based on men achieving a month of short back and sides is hardly likely to raise anything at all. However, the more I think about it the more I understand the attractions of not only the growth but the craft of moustache care. The soup-strainer, like ballrooms, pocket watches and walking canes, is the relic of an era; in my Movember guise, I was compared to Bogart gumshoes, Victorian gamesters and David Niven.

“You look” they said “less like a boy, and more like a man.”

Perhaps I should have kept it going.

A Rather Useful Yule

When someone asked me whether I was going to encourage the classic Yule purchase of small stocking fillers like mother of pearl shirt stiffeners or recommend instead something more serious and thoughtful, I realised how I had neglected the season; this is unusual, as I am anything but a humbug. I also realised how important it was to provide ideas which are not easy wins, as they are plentiful and receive recommendations far and wide, but rather ideas which require a more considerable financial outlay and thought for the needs of the recipient.

These suggestions reflect my thoughts on the sometimes neglected needs of those with advanced sartorial interests.

The Cufflink Box

When browsing the excellent collection of links on offer at Selfridges, it occurred to me that it is all very well to purchase these cuff-baubles of silver and gold, onyx, enamel and pearl but what will they do for a home? Are they to sit in their boxes, piled in a drawer? Are they to be kept inside a large container, causing unnecessary frustration when only one of the damned things can be found? Or are they, as I believe, to be given a plush, red velvet bed inside a substantial black lacquered box, kept under lock and key? If your thoughts align with mine, you may wish to consider the Ercolano Italian-made cufflink box sold by Penhaligon’s. With twelve layers of lacquer, the boxes are incredibly smart; if your cufflinks could talk, they would thank you.

The Umbrella Stand

I do not know how many homes I have been to where the wet umbrellas of the household are left lying on the floor or squashed into a cupboard. The really great shame of this is that many of these poor umbrellas are of fine manufacture and therefore deserve a decent place to rest after the exertions of protecting you from the downpour. An umbrella stand with a drip tray is the ideal place to store umbrellas for drying without soaking the floor or causing unpleasant damp smells in the canopy and the cupboard into which they are stuffed. Those of an exotic bent may wish to take a look at Linley’s umbrella stands in embossed leather with brass interiors.

The Magnified Shaving Mirror

When I once saw a friend shaving in the reflection of a glass shower door, I informed him he was simply asking for a face covered in cuts. Speaking as someone who has been forced to shave without actually being able to see my face, and the horror show that resulted from it, I know the importance of having a clear view of the process of dragging a blade across your skin. There is nothing better for this than an adjustable shaving mirror with magnification from Samuel Heath. The close-up image of your mug may be rather unsettling, but there is no superior way to achieve a closer shave in the comfort of your own home; tilt it to see under your chin, magnify it to trim your facial hair.

The Cocktail Hour

One of my acquaintances recently asked me for advice on what to wear to a luxury hotel’s cocktail bar for an evening of martinis and mushy conversation with his new girlfriend; “I am going to go home from work and change” he said “what should I change into?” My first suggestion would have been to save himself the hassle of returning home to change, were it not for the fact that he was discussing a Friday; a day which has become, in his firm, a strict ‘dress down’ day. My second suggestion was simply to dress as if he would for a day at the office and then, as the barman peels the proverbial into the glass, add a ‘twist.’

There is no doubt that a luxury hotel’s cocktail bar, particularly for a date with a pleasant and well-dressed young lady, requires a smartness of dress. I cannot count the number of times I have seen a radiant, elegantly attired lady sweep into a gilded, marbled £12-a-pop bar only to be followed by a cowering slob in a faded polo shirt and pale jeans, who having ignored his female companion’s lead in consideration of the occasion, glumly peruses the menu, complains about the prices and fiddles with his Blackberry.

This is about romance, elegance, twinkling lights and flashing smiles; whiffs of perfume, lipsticked glasses, high heels, cufflinks and gleaming ties. A suit is perfectly adequate for this environment and will serve as well as almost anything else but I like to wear something slightly different, something upbeat and individual; whenever I know I’m off to down a martini or two in smart company, I slip into an ensemble that I refer to as ‘The Cocktail Hour.’

If the sensible, sombre suit is the drink, the Cocktail Hour is the twist. I nearly always employ contrasting trousers as part of these ensembles to remove any lingering connotations with ‘the office’ – a vulgar term in the dreamlike atmosphere of a festooned and frilled cocktail bar – and usually add a riskier pocket square and tie, whilst keeping the shirt relatively conservative. One recent jaunt began with me dressing to Count Basie – providing dollops of inspiration – picking out a plain white shirt, navy tie with substantial white stripes, a mid-blue double breasted jacket, chestnut brown trousers and chocolate coloured Oxfords and, to finish, a multi-coloured silk square carelessly stuffed into the pocket.