Brand Review: Bromleys

The last time I visited Bromleys website, I saw something on there which caused me great puzzlement. It was an utterly anachronistic product being offered for sale; not even the most adventurous imagination could conjure a tenuous connection with the traditional wares of this retailer and this absurdly random inclusion. For amongst the tie pins, silk cravats, shirt stiffeners, detachable collars, Christy’s hats and other assorted paraphernalia of accessories for gentlemen was a listing for ‘traditional hand carving.’ Expecting a pair of wooden shoe trees, I nearly fell of my chair when I saw that the hand carving Bromleys had referred to was actually of an equine variety. That’s right folks, when shopping for a wing collar and a paisley tie, you can also purchase a handsome hand carved Victorian style dapple grey rocking horse for your young ones.

Aside from this bizarre interlude, browsing on Bromleys very modest, utilitarian website is a pleasurable experience. Boasting a large selection of goods, it is a one-stop-shop for the acquisitive accessorizer. Shirt sleeves too long for a suit? Bromleys sells arm bands (in gold plate and nickel); want a rare collar pin shirt? Bromleys has them (and offers replacement pins in silver and gold too); how about some of those sock suspenders you’ve seen in film noir? Yes, Bromleys can help.

For such rare items, as well as a very wide selection of Albert Thurston braces, Bromleys cannot be bettered. In a very charming way, they are a fine retailer of goods that people no longer need, selling goods from such esteemed manufacturers as Budd of Piccadilly, Hilditch & Key and the aforementioned Christys and Thurston. Ironically, the items that one would not consider to be accessories, such as the trousers, shirts and shoes, are comparatively small in range and dubious in standard; it’s as if Bromleys believes in the mantra that accessories are everything and that everything else is accessory.

I have bought a few items from Bromleys in the past, mostly collar studs for my boiled-front evening shirt, and the delivery and quality of packaging has been faultless. The prices are very reasonable too, if a little frustratingly ‘accurate’. A silk tie or cravat is a fraction less than £40 and a Christys panama a fraction over £50. The site is very plain and simple to use and the white background means that the products are easy to see. There is an amiable honesty to retailers of such simplicity; in a world where deception, overcharging and dishonesty are rife in trade, a quiet little webshop like Bromleys is quite the tonic. The utterly bizarre listing of the rocking horses is merely the cherries on Bromleys giant cake of affable naïveté. I wish there were more like them.

The Way We Wear Denim

It’s rather uncanny that the garment in a gentleman’s wardrobe that reveals the most about his style progress is the ubiquitous denim jean. As a teen youth, he may have worn them wild and ripped; covered in beer spilled from plastic cups at one of the many gigs he attended. As a young early-twenty-something, he may have ‘upgraded’ to the bootcut style, with the carelessly frayed bottoms, to be worn with his overcoat when at university. He may have discarded the unkempt look entirely by his mid twenties and realised that dishevelled denim was for poor students and protestors and was not the sort of thing a trainee accountant should be wearing as he advances towards the psychologically important age of thirty years of age. His weekend look might be something like a straight-leg, dark denim, ever so slightly washed, worn high, just kissing the tassels of his oxblood loafers.

I once looked through the ghastly graveyard of my denim collection and was shocked by the number and style of the purged; it’s humbling how following fashion so closely can result in such a quantity of uselessness. Like that moment experienced by most young people when they think over folly, realising that their parents had been right all along.

Beyond the straight-leg dark denim of our hypothetical trainee accountant, it is considered that there is no denim of appropriate elegance for our gentleman of style. The ferociously anti-denim forum writers and followers of dandy purism often refuse to acknowledge denim as clothing; indeed there may be many readers of these columns who deem jeans to be beneath a gentleman’s consideration. There is something compelling in their argument that simply because a garment happens to be popular, it does not mean that a man of singular and self-determined style need be troubled with it. However, I find it difficult to reject denim entirely. And it has nothing to do with denim’s dominance in the market of casual clothing.

It has a work-a-day quality that contrasts with the finesse of tailoring, which I like. It is hard wearing and, though its comfort is overrated, in denim you do not feel particularly precious in the midst of some of the more sartorially unfriendly activities of modern life. Linen is comparable to it in this respect.

The problem for a gentleman who is cultivating a wardrobe of waistcoats, blazers, bow ties and smart shoes is finding the right denim to complement such elegance. It seems to me there are two routes to take; the gentleman in question could approach the denim question in search of an exaggerated contrast or, he could opt for a denim of classic camouflage.

I use both approaches. Sometimes I will wear a pair of washed skinny jeans with some loafers, an odd jacket and a shirt and tie – I like the aesthetic contrast between the materials; my lower half is exaggeratedly contemporary whereas my upper half is arguably inter-war. On other occasions, I will slip on a pair of straight leg dark and unwashed (non-raw) jeans that masquerade as blue trousers. This look forms a more classic silhouette that is recommended for lovers of the classical. The reason why this look works is because of the way denim works as a fabric; a slight bunching or creasing around the knees is not unwanted or unattractive, whereas on a pair of cotton or wool trousers it would be. Trousers are required to be crisply pressed whereas denim looks far better when it is un-ironed. It is for this reason that denim is such an excellent lifestyle material.

Sartorial Love/Hate: The Red Trouser

“Oooh! Seasonal!” they cooed on a frosty December morning in the office. Despite the fact that I was wearing about five or six items that could be labelled as ‘seasonal’ – including a sensible scarf and a warm hat - it was somehow predictable that my colleagues eyes should be drawn to my Santa-red trousers that poked out from the hem of my checked overcoat. Further comments about St Nicholas, grimly expected and consequently lacking in any hilarity, ensued with the more polite of the dissenters explaining in a painfully sympathetic way that my trousers were ‘rather bright.’

I turned a corner and suddenly the condemnation ceased; “I love your trousers!” shrilled someone excitedly, another walked past grinning “They’re so fun. I wish I could wear something like that.” The wheels in the head whirred, thoughts and ideas fizzed around my little grey cells as I realised, encouraging a knowing smile to my lips, that this was another clear case of sartorial love/hate.

Whereas others might question why one should hate before one questions why one should love, I will tackle the latter first. For I am a proud wearer of bright red trousers; not one of those who wears a more discreet shade of burgundy to avoid stares. And though proud, I am not one who has searched for a reason or an excuse for the attire; my red shod legs are an act of folly. And so, I pose myself the question now; why love?

Firstly, it is clear that I, and many others, adore the colour red. Strongly associated with fire and energy, red is a colour of emotion and passion. And whereas a bright red suit is somewhat comical, a red pair of trousers thrown into a conservative ensemble adds an acceptable amount of ‘spice.’ Red trousers are jolly and mischievous, like the grin of a co-responding bounder as he hops into his motor car. They are also eye-catching and add a little tasteful circus eccentricity to a gentleman, particularly in a sea of navy and grey.

The unfortunate thing about the ‘jolly’ aspect of red trousers is that many people, true to their 20th century upbringing, associate the richer red with Santa Claus – and virtually nothing else. A red scarf is a ‘Santa scarf.’ A red jumper is a ‘Santa jumper.’ And, perhaps the most virulent example of all, red trousers are sniggered at as ‘Santa trousers.’ Coca-Cola must be laughing their heads off because the crimson incarnation of St Nicholas is almost entirely their doing. The saddest thing about this association is that Santa, splendid chap that he is, is scarcely the best model on the circuit.

It also seems to be true that many of the ‘haters’ of red trousers hate them for the same reason I adore them; they are daring and it requires courage to wear them.

I have rarely seen them worn incorrectly; most gentlemen of sufficient sartorial bravery have long since educated themselves in the ways of a well-cut trouser. They look wonderful with brown and tan shoes, blue blazers and also tweed jackets. Sky blue, white, navy and mid-grey are magnificent partner colours.

My Favourite Things: Materials

I have always been fascinated by material. It has consistently amazed me how many variations of texture, weave and tactility can be conjured from tiny strands of fabric; not only how one weave might be superior to another, or one construction stronger than another but also how those fabrics, like all good things designed for practical purposes, can be so different in effect. I like many fabrics but there are some that I simply adore for their aesthetic quality; certain materials are like art – they can summon the same feeling that a painting or a sculpture can, they can provoke reactions and approvals similar to a fine piece of music or a touching moment in literature. For me, material is the poetry of an ensemble.

Well-worn linen

Linen is one of those materials that acquires a beautiful character as it is worn and ages through use. Unlike other materials, which are arguably at their best when new, linen can often look too raw and naïve when fresh; a little wrinkling and wear, particularly on the sleeves of a linen jacket or around the knees of a pair of linen trousers, add to the aesthetic appeal of the fabric.

The most important point about the texture of linen is that it should gain an ever so slightly oily patina, like an old canvas as it ages. I once had the privilege of viewing some vintage 1930s biscuit coloured linen suits that had been collected for a student play; though a little frayed at the sleeve and hem, the character of the linen was remarkable. I am looking forward to seeing my own linen suit advance in character this summer.

Wool flannel

Is there is a more elegant or subtle fabric for a suit? Wool flannel, the favourite of Astaire, has a discreet grace that gives a gentleman an air of undeniable sophistication. The matt texture, mellow reflective quality and warm touch also make it one of the more friendly fabrics; pleasant to touch as well as to behold. When crisply pressed, and worn with a brilliant white shirt, the wool flannel lords it. The slight flecks of wool, detectable in the light, add a pleasant imperfection that saves the fabric from appearing anything other than natural. In a sea of shiny suits, the wool flannel stands out as a distinguished choice.

Cotton seersucker

Like well worn linen, cotton seersucker looks splendid when it has been, as they say, ‘around the blocks a few times.’ The beauty of it is that it is so casual a fabric that almost nothing added to it can make an ensemble look overdone; silk handkerchiefs, bow ties or waistcoats, the ‘bumpy’ seersucker, though certainly not a scruffy material, manages to downplay any attempt at overdressing. The bunching together of the threads, which causes the rippled texture, has an aesthetic as well as a practical value. It roughens the overall texture of the cloth, eradicating any ‘sheen’ the cloth might have. This means that seersucker has a dull, almost dishcloth texture; while this sounds dreadful, it is actually a positive thing, providing the perfect foil for silk ties and fine weave shirts in the summer heat.

Knitted silk

When I was a lad, I used to think the fabric for my father’s knitted silk ties came from some kind of gruff, rough-haired wild animal – the last fabric I would have suggested would have been silk; a fabric I generally knew, from my mother’s scarves and hair ribbons, to be a smooth and glossy material that I loved to press my cheek to. The beauty of knitted silk is precisely that; that it doesn’t look like silk a lot of the time. When it is an especially bright day, and the little strands of silk are caught in the light, it is unmistakable but I prefer it for it’s slightly coarse and naïve construction, particularly when patterned, that contrasts wonderfully with smooth jackets and creamy shirts.

Shoe Stereotypes

The Sanders buck shoe

The Sanders buck shoe man was quietly insistent that his daughter inform her class that her father was not, as she had previously speculated, a ‘ship builder’ but a ‘yacht designer.’ He flicked open his Macbook Air and explained to her, in an insipidly patronising tone of voice, that ‘daddy doesn’t bang nails; daddy draws aft cabins.’ His daily life is one of constant exposure to the world of the have-mores; as such his own lowly existence, though relatively civilised and fortunate, is a point of constant chagrin. One of his first clients commented that his Sanders bucks looked very much at home on his 150 foot long teak decks which inspired him to purchase three more pairs; in green, blue and grey. The clean, sporty style of the model and their lack of chintz appealed to the minimalist in him although his blue pair particularly, with the orangey-red sole and the substantial blue ‘hull’, brought to mind of some of the larger commissions he had the misfortune to miss out on.

The Church’s Tenby

The Church’s Tenby man, an irritable antiques dealer, was one of the original ‘Walnut Mafia’ who once occupied a choice position on the Fulham Road and sold, at great profit, Queen Anne and Georgian lowboys, armchairs and bureaux to City moneymen for their mansions in the Boltons. Times have hit the Church’s Tenby man hard however, and he is now selling from a smaller address in Ladbroke Grove. The money men have wised up and now send droves of experts and fearsome bidders to the auction rooms to pick up the sort of thing the CT man would rely upon flogging in order to purchase his tailored suits and his Church’s shoes. Hand burnished, his Tenby’s are starting to look a little worn but he gives them as much attention and skill as his highly priced antiques and buffs them to an incredible shine on a Sunday afternoon, where he can be found in his sitting room with an ale, his semi-brogues and the Antiques Roadshow which he enjoys by guffawing at the ‘small fry,’ exacting his snobbery with great delight.

The N&L Russia calf

The N&L Russia calf man is an effete Upper East Sider who collects purple cashmere socks and summers on The Vineyard. This dealer-turned-collector made a fortune selling his collection of Picasso sketches, mostly pornographic, to a Picasso-mad Bermudan billionaire for nearly eight times their market value. Ever since, he has been able to skip down Fifth Avenue from his co-op apartment, fancy-free at every 10.30am, to enjoy his favourite meal; champagne eggs Benedict. Being an incurable Anglophile, the Russian calf man makes regular and unnecessarily fabulous (large suites at the Ritz with a purple Rolls Phantom from the airport) sojourns to the English capital for, he says, the ‘art culture, the dynamism and…just the quirkiness of it all.’ Insiders say he goes for the suits, the shoes and the hunky Brit bartenders.

The John Lobb monkstrap

The John Lobb monkstrap man is a Milanese banker, terrified of being taken for: a Milanese banker. Unfortunately for him his flowing locks, pronunciation (‘Jon-a-Lawwb’) and continental minimalism give the game away within a minute of introduction. Ever since the ‘Bail of PIIGS’ issue, he has played down his Italian connections and has made efforts to convince colleagues that he is essentially European and does not hold the same views as some of the amusing politicians in his home country. He recently married an English rose ten years his junior who, again rather unfortunately, loves all things Italian as much as he does himself and often has to beg to be taken to Zafferano on a Friday night. His John Lobb shoes were an effort to make himself appear more English; his wife pointed out that they made him look more like Sartorialist favourite, and classic Milanese, Lino Ieluzzi.