The Great Debate: Umbrellas

Of all the great inventions, for the man of style the umbrella ranks as one of the most important. It protects him and his treasured clothes from all forms of beastly precipitation; from the dreary drizzle of the British Isles to the torrential downpours in the subtropical metropolis. The umbrella is the most crucial ally of the stylish boulevardier. I remember some absurd commentary in a free and rather poorly compiled newspaper criticising the ‘wimpy blokes’ who ‘hide’ under these ‘feminine contraptions’ for, as they confidently stated, ‘it’s only water – you’ll dry eventually.’ I don’t really know exactly what sort of reaction this commentator was hoping for but I would imagine they’d wished for a revolution of some sort and would have been rather excited to see perfectly usable umbrellas dumped and burned, their former owners standing in the rain, heads turned to the heavens grinning beatifically in their ‘release.’

Unfortunately, this plea fell on deaf ears. Umbrellas are still in use. From the minnow foldaways to the giant golf umbrellas which are nearly always carried by rather superior looking middle aged gentlemen and which, on the narrow pavements of the city, look rather ridiculous; like a whale attempting to navigate the Avon. However, the clear advantage of the larger brolly is that more of your person is protected from the rain; the larger the canopy, the greater the guard. Despite their rather bloated and inconvenient size, this makes such umbrellas appealing. The small, collapsible umbrella, while seemingly ingenious (‘Look, it fits right into my briefcase!’) is only a friend to the head and shoulders. Since most rain does not fall with perfect verticality, a small canopy will only protect your upper torso.

Many I meet whilst in possession of my whangee handled stick brolly look at it in paternalistic amusement; they mumble something about the risk of leaving it somewhere and mention, with a degree of self-satisfaction, that they just have a ‘bag brolly.’ I tell those who insist on continued examination that I have possessed the same umbrella for a number of years and that as I walk a great deal around the metropolis, I require a strong mechanism with a large canopy. From their responses, I often elicit a smugness that suggests that they feel rather sorry for me in carrying such an inconvenient object whenever the leaden skies suggest rain; the reason being that their inconvenience is comparatively small – and, importantly, concealed when not in use.

Despite these evident concerns, my style of umbrella – commonly referred to as the City umbrella – is the only form of umbrella I would carry. It is no wonder that smarter versions of it are named ‘Gents Umbrella’ or ‘Diplomat’ as it is certainly more polite than the rather anti-social golf umbrella, and undoubtedly more protective of one’s sartorial elegance than the foldaway. It is larger, yes, and you cannot carry it in a bag, but is that really so awful? I like having to carry it by the bamboo crook on my amblings around town. It’s a piece to be proud of and contrary to popular belief, I think it is easier to mislay a smaller, less significant umbrella; after walks in the rain, I leave it unfastened, dripping on the back of a chair. No matter how many ales I imbibe, it’s still evident to me as I rise to leave. In contrast, the little bag brolly, which still requires drip-time and cannot be placed back into one’s bag until completely dry, is so insignificant and so diminutive it is unsurprising that so many are found under tables, on train seats and in the bulging lost property hold of public transport offices.

Sartorial Alchemy In Practice Part 1

Many moons ago I wrote, somewhat verbosely, of my admiration for style resourcefulness and sartorial alchemy. I am continually impressed by the unpolished gems that some style gurus manage to find in unlikely places; at the bottom of bargain boxes, in a charity shop, on eBay, in their parents attic. Wherever there is value, you will find them. They are extraordinarily patient people who think nothing of spending hours in underground thrift stores with a rather brave hope that they will find something worthwhile. I know a gentleman who trawled through boxes, pushed through crowds and endured hours of disappointed searching in stuffy, poorly kept second-hand emporia only to return to the same search a week later.

Such persistence and tolerance of imperfection deserves praise, but what really amazes me is how a little smattering of imagination can turn the wrinkled garment in the bargain bin into a stand-out piece in an ensemble; one which will prompt continual enquiries of ‘where did you get that?’ I recently took a very cheap, new double-breasted jacket bought on eBay for £5 (including delivery) to Graham Browne in the City to see what they could do with it. I informed the tailor, Russell, of my plans to turn what was an unremarkable and anonymous jacket into an attractive and distinctive item. I would add the creamy white buttons, to create a natty Gatsby-esque number, but his job was to do what he could with the fit.

Armed with pins, Russell asked me to put the jacket on. It was a 34”, as close to my torso measurements as possible, but still depressingly boxy. I had already decided that the jacket waist and shoulders needed to be taken in, and I had pinned the bottom of the jacket up myself in order to give the tailor an idea of how I wanted the item to look. Russell was utterly professional and only assented to chime in with commentary on the very cheaply produced garment in response to my own criticisms of its quality. I informed him of my goal of sartorial alchemy and that it was truly up to his talents as a tailor to make the silhouette of the jacket worthy of gold; “So, I’ve got to make a silk purse…” he began “…out of a sow’s ear!”

The lesson of this will be, hopefully, that despite its rather dull origins, an item should not just be appreciated for what it is, but for what it can be. If you have an unspectacular item that once cost you an insignificant amount of money, you have a choice; with the right imagination and adjustments, you could turn something you might have thrown away into something rather special. The raw materials of even the cheapest, nastiest object of fashion need to be appreciated. For fashion, after all, is merely material that is sewn around the human form. A little patience, and imagination, goes a long way. I hope to see the result of Russell’s alchemy next week when the jacket is ready.

Halloween Costumes

A couple of years ago, I made some suggestions to readers on the subject of Halloween fancy dress. A friend who had read the article told me that he agreed with me on the characters I had suggested but warned me that I was being rather too traditional, and perhaps a little naïve in my suggestions. Apparently, as Halloween parties are now so popular, and passé, in the western world, particularly in the United States of America, the old fashioned practice of appearing as classic gothic or horror associated ‘characters’ is on the wane.

An American friend recently told me that almost anything passes as a Halloween outfit these days, as long as it is recognisable. Characters from generic television dramas, grinning sports personalities and rather harmless looking stars from stage and screen. A favourite outfit for young women; the Playboy bunny. As much fun as joining a room full of unconnected and attractive characters from popular culture is, it’s not really in the interest of the gentleman of style to part completely with custom. Though dressing up as Clark Gable may sound enticing, the style man needs to stand firm with his flag of tradition.

Phantom of the Opera

Gothic horror stories are the bread and butter of Halloween. Gaston Leroux’s tale, a judgment on the cruel superficiality of humankind, bombed as a text but it has become one of the most famous stories of all time thanks to the many film and stage adaptations. Appearing as the Phantom is an excellent choice for a stylish gentleman. It involves little investment beyond a facial mask and perhaps a cape – everything else, he is likely to possess in his own wardrobe. The ideal way to do it is to wear an evening tailcoat, with matching trousers and a wing collar shirt. The waistcoat could be white or black, but should be of a low break and the neckwear could be simple – a white bow tie – or it could be more dramatic; try tying a black silk scarf into a large floppy bow around your neck.

Jack the Ripper

One of the most famous criminals of all time, Jack was the original Ripper. His serial killings mystified Victorian society but it is his status as the greatest murderer who was never caught that has given rise to the conspiracies, the theories, the horror and the legend. Modern thinkers are convinced that the Ripper was an anonymous nutcase of feeble education. More significant to the man of style are the popular representations of the Ripper as a Victorian gentleman like Sir William Gull, the royal physician, or even the heir to the throne himself, Prince Albert Victor, who have ensured that the dark shadow that looms over Whitechapel wears a top hat and an Inverness cape. In addition to these items, white tie with a smattering of wash-off fake blood could be worn (pour the fake blood into a water pistol and squirt from a distance to get the ‘genuine jugular’ look). Carrying a surgeons knife is going a little too far so spook the outfit further by wearing some absinthe-coloured round spectacles.

Dorian Gray

Nothing much needs to be written of Gray. He is everywhere. He is the perfect representation of the vanity of humankind. About him, no words are more apt than these; “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Wilde’s character, as beautiful as he appears, is the embodiment of evil and as such has some of the highest Halloween credentials. The man of style would also be relieved to learn that to appear as Gray requires very little in the way of expensive costume addition. The goal should be to appear as a late Victorian fop; a cravat, wing collar, waistcoat, pocket watch and perhaps a velvet jacket. Placing a rather ancient looking key on a chain and wearing it as a necklace adds a vital prop, aside from that there is very little else to do except to beautify yourself and attempt to look as young and attractive as possible. Another option, to make your character choice more obvious, is to paint one half of your face in rather gruesome decay, leaving the other half quite pure. To make this work properly, you will need a make-up assistant of considerable skill.

The Next Step: The Buttonhole

I recently attended a screening of Oliver Parker’s take on The Picture of Dorian Gray. Parker, having directed two of Wilde’s plays previously, turned his Wilde-loving hand to this notoriously tricky gothic horror with relative ease. Like most of Fitzgerald’s work, Wilde’s only novel is exceedingly difficult to translate to the screen as most of the poetic beauty in the work is only possible with Wilde’s language and observation. What works on the page, and in the mind’s eye of the reader, does not necessarily work on the screen. Nevertheless, it was rather entertaining and artfully conceived – the critics will bay, no doubt, but as Wilde stated in the preface to the novel it matters not: all art is quite useless.

To live for a useless thing would irk most men of a sensible nature. Most people do not like to be told that they have no purpose or that what they do has no value other than decoration. The artist comfortable with the uselessness of his own artistry is a happy fellow, but a rare one. Wilde himself pursued and commented on art and vilified its manifestations as vehemently as he celebrated them; fashion was one of his favourite subjects for attack. While wittily cynical about the artless side of fashion, he was often effusive about its potential for beauty; “A well made buttonhole” he quipped “is the only link between Art and Nature.”

If a well-dressed man is rare, a well-dressed man with a buttonhole is almost unheard of. Men are somewhat terrified of flowers. Even when they procure them for a lady love, they walk with an embarrassed shuffle, horrified that someone would see that they have purchased such extravagant tokens of affection. They hand them over with a puzzled frown as if their gift was possibly radioactive and they gripe with a rueful sneer when the expensive blooms begin to wilt. Men are mercilessly practical; beauty that inevitably dies is scarcely worth the purchase. However, as Dorian Gray teaches us, some beauty is more precious because it fades. “The world is yours; for a Season” spoke Lord Henry.

I rather like that buttonholes, impressively inexpensive from the right florist, are not eternal. I like the fact that they wilt and die. Wilde was right; they are the coming together of Art and Nature. They bloom with the majesty of Michelangelo and wilt with more tragic splendour than the Bard’s finest lines. Their purpose is not at issue; their value is unquantifiable. It’s strange that some men consider they are entirely useless in the context of dress when they themselves adopt silk pocket squares that will almost certainly never be used for the purposes of a cold or even the tears of a shoulder-leaning young lady. There is plenty that is useless about a gentleman’s attire, adding a purely decorative flower will not denigrate the ‘utility’ of the ensemble further. However, if utility is your chief concern in matters of dress these words will mean nothing to you.

The Old Favourite: The Duffel Coat

When I was at university I had already begun to grow into the sort of clothing my parents approved of; wearing shoes instead of trainers, sensible overcoats instead of paper thin fashion jackets. It was an instinctive switch. My life had changed course. I felt that I was suddenly more responsible for my own maturation. I decided to grow up. However, I grew up unilaterally. A girl who had been interested in attaining my affections remarked that I had matured too soon. She said that I would eventually suit the clothing style that I had begun to adopt, but when I was a good deal older. “It’s just not sexy” she once commented, rather inanely. Others conformed to the student wardrobe with greater ease than I. I was never happy in a hoodie. As a result I developed, alone, a confidence in wearing clothing that was seen by many as ‘too old’ for my age.

When I recently expressed an interest in purchasing a duffel coat, a friend of mine remarked that I was probably now a little too old for one. A little maturation, a few years and suddenly no longer am I too young for clothing but, in actual fact, too old. The window for wearing such an item must be remarkably small according to this wisdom. A couple of years at the most? Bizarre.

It’s for certain that the duffel coat is a classic, collegiate item of clothing that seems to belong on wooden pews in dusty libraries beneath dreaming spires rather than draped over an Eames chair in an air-conditioned office boardroom. It has a childlike simplicity. It makes no attempt to conceal its origins as a practical garment for Naval officers; the fastenings and toggles often look like reef knots and it is certainly not an item of refinement.

However, although it is not an item to wear with your pinstripe suits it can surely be a perfect friend on chilly, winter days. The duffel material is a heavy wool and, designed to keep sailors warm in freezing Atlantic winds, provides more than adequate protection for cold, metropolitan Sundays. The toggles themselves, ideally horn, were designed to be fastened and unfastened whilst wearing cumbersome gloves and the hood, perhaps the most ‘juvenile’ feature of the entire garment, provides protection against icy winds. Beyond these practical points, the duffel coat has an undeniably youthful aesthetic. It manages to dress down even the dressiest of accessories – bow ties, silk scarves and waistcoats – and yet does not alienate them. It draws from these items a dishevelled elegance that is interesting and distinctly ‘weekend.’

It actually does make gentlemen look younger. Unlike trainers, hoodies, printed t-shirts and other remainders of a varsity wardrobe - which merely make gentlemen look desperate. Wear it with slim trousers or jeans in blue or khaki. Gloverall, the original military surplus suppliers, are the best producers of quality duffel coats.