Driving Shoes

If you are a man who is resigned to the idea that you are unlikely to stop buying shoes, referring to a shoe collection in terms of completeness might be misrepresentative; I myself view my shoe pile in terms of progression, an evolution of sorts. It changes and grows as I learn and adapt; it’s not a question of simply adding further choice but adjusting to changing needs.

The warm season can be an awkward time for footwear. Though winter presents the difficulties of precipitation – lining wet shoes with paper, rubbing olive oil into salt marks – summer, though generally shoe-friendly, can be rather beastly for one’s poor feet. Wearing the stiff, dark brown lace ups that felt so warm and secure in November feels rather odd in summer’s warm glow; imprisoning one’s feet in such a manner is psychologically, as well as physically, suffocating. Lighter colours are of course an excellent idea as well as wearing more supple, softer leathers; espadrilles are very good for casual occasions but for the occasions of semi-formality (many of the social invitations I receive stipulate the rather dull code of semi-formal), another choice of shoe is needed; something youthful, practical and kind to swelling summer feet.

The driving shoe is a rather remarkable shoe sensation; remarkable that a shoe directed at such a small proportion of potential customers – persons who buy shoes especially for motoring – has inspired such mass appeal. Though in their current state it would be hard to argue that brands such as Car Shoe, Tod’s and Prada direct their products towards drivers only, the heritage of motoring is an attractive tool of marketing that adds purpose, though dubious, to the peculiarities of such footwear. Tod’s, long marketed as the “shoes with knobs on”, are considered to be at the top of the driving shoe tree – thanks to their extensive and lavish advertising campaigns, celebrity endorsements and ubiquity. Car Shoe, though owned by Prada, is a relative minnow; no Madison Avenue store, no Gwyneth Paltrow campaigns; just a couple of Italian showrooms and an attractive website. However, despite this apparent anonymity, Car Shoe products remain some of the most counterfeited shoe designs in the world.

Driving shoes are also appearing on the high street, with Massimo Dutti offering some of the best in design and value. The profile is rather simple, if a little crude; a moccasin with rubber studs for a sole. Some consider they look rather like slippers, and they are certainly as comfortable. Some are manufactured with leather laces, others without; those who prefer their loafers with tassels may appreciate the decoration of a little chestnut bow.

The best way to wear them is with shorts or with shorter trousers – when I see them paired with sloppy bootcut jeans, full chinos or baggy linen they look very lost. Bizarrely, though they are an easygoing shoe, pairing them with the aforementioned ‘easy going items’ is a mismatch. The ankle, or at least a little of it, should be on display and bigger trousers tend to exaggerate the informality of the design. Straight and slim fits are far more appropriate partners.

The Boating Blazer

No matter how much I, or others, write about versatility; about the sensible purchases of high-quality multi-purpose garments, do not let it fool you into believing that each and every garment has to be one of year long utility. The ‘special’ garments are often the most fun to purchase and indeed wear and they are often items that you confine to a specific season, or a particular event. They are gratifying items to own, largely because they make the gentleman’s wardrobe more complete; many men would contend they could ‘do’ without owning tails or a top hat, but should the space and the budget allow, the very fact of ownership is immensely satisfying. There is a strangely indulgent and addictive luxuriance in being prepared for every occasion, however remote.

Henley Regatta comes but once a year. It lasts for a few summer weeks, although the weather in those weeks is notoriously unreliable; one friend told me when he dreamt of his getting drenched at the Regatta, he had ‘fantasised more of champagne than acid rain.’ It’s rowdy too. What was once a potentially boisterous but scarcely threatening social occasion has recently turned into a succession of dangerous routs; the last Saturday fireworks have had to be banned from this year’s events due to the ‘drunken…behaviour, culminating last year with the stabbing of one of [the] competitors on Regatta land.’ The probability is that I won’t be attending this year – a lack of fireworks and the boorish manners of socially inept heavies who always manage to invite themselves to events at which they have no purpose, place or welcome make for a dismal combination.

However, I can still keep the spirit of Henley alive. I recently purchased an inexpensive mock-boating blazer; creamy white with blue piping. It’s uncrested (unless you have a club affiliation, regiment or family crest don’t bother), simple and perfectly suited for one thing, and one thing alone: a sunny summer’s day. Considering my residence in England, this whittles down the probability of wear even further. However, despite my eagerness to wear it and consequent disappointment in being unable to, I am glad of ownership of such a singularly impractical jacket. I generally have no qualms about adopting many of my sporting or country looks into metropolitan wear but this jacket is very much an oddity. However, it will be a grand day when it is finally called into action.

For the more boaty and sporty of you, there will surely be further occasions for wear. Nautical naughtiness in the summertime, drinks on the dock, tennis on the lawn, not to mention the odd yacht party. The problem, it seems to me, is that boating blazers are frequently badly fitting and rather bulky. They can look boxy and overly long because of their garishness and are often paired with inappropriate trousers and shirts and accessories. In the picture, the model in the blue jacket is wearing the jacket correctly but the trousers, in my view, look far too full; this has the effect of making the jacket look shrunken when in actual fact, its boyish size is altogether appealing. The model in the white jacket is wearing trousers that are more appropriately slim. I would favour a much thinner trouser, with a slightly shorter leg to accentuate the schoolboy charm of such a garment.

Sartorial Love/Hate: Buttoned Up Collars

One of the curiosities of modern times is that purposeless adornment needs explanation. Buildings with even the slightest hint of ‘decoration’ – nowhere near the gauche cherubs and unicorns of mish-mashed Neo-Classical – are considered too haberdashed, the wearing of bow ties and buttonholes prompts questions of ‘What’s the occasion?’ It seems any extravagance of design, any fanciful curlicues need an excuse superior to the ancient patrician partiality to prettiness; in fact, even for the heirs of the world’s gilded dynasties, ornamentation is rapidly losing its lustre. The feverishly maximalist Victorians may well be chuckling from their celestial heights should they be witnessing such an extraordinary about-turn; apartments of ‘luxury’ are nevertheless plain: no pictures hang from walls, no objects line the mantelpiece and ‘deluxe’ retreats are little more than native huts with plumbing.

In all this shedding of embellishment, some gentlemen have seen it fit to discard their ties. The most popular adjustment that occurs in this case involves an unbuttoning of one or two of the upper shirt buttons; the most important button being the collar button itself. However, some are not as willing to unbutton and prefer all shirt buttons to be fastened whether wearing a tie or not. My grandfather, quite oblivious to the trend, has recently taken to this practice; slender, luxe-beatnik chaps – a successful cross between a John Steinbeck and Marc Jacobs – employ it as their trademark. It has a certain ‘geek chic’ appeal, in the right context, and it takes a rare élan to make it work properly. However, it is not an aesthetic that has universal approval.

I remember a university friend remarking on a strangely violent anger that brewed inside him on seeing an innocent model of this particular look on the High street, an ‘indescribable and incongruous feeling of hatred.’ Another gentleman I met at a party shook his head in disbelief at the presence of the trend in our midst; ‘Why do they feel the need to do it?’ Some remark that it ‘just looks wrong’, that it is a case of irritating indecision;‘…either you wear a tie, or you don’t.’ Others suggest that it stems from a peculiar desire to alienate ties entirely; the argument being that an unbuttoned shirt is simply a shirt without a tie, whereas a buttoned shirt without a tie is a rejection of the modern purpose of the tie – to upgrade a shirt from casual to formal status, that far from being apparently conformist, the buttoned-up-shirt-without-tie is actually rebellious.

The truth is, and the pun must be excused, that comprehensive buttoning reveals nothing; the traditional charge of recently relaxed times might be that one who buttons all is a prim puritan. However, convention has little to do with why young men of the skinny denim persuasion feel the need to button up. It’s a quirk, and in some cases rather charming. It’s odd, which is probably why to those that employ it, it is so appealing. The norm is now to unbutton, whatever the climate and whatever the occasion. Not so long ago, men who considered themselves gentlemen wouldn’t have ventured out without some form of necktie. Unbuttoned collars, in the early part of the century, were rather uncivilized and only permissible when indulging in physical exertions – land work and sporting actitivies. Not the sort of thing we now like to pair with suits at evening soirees and matrimonial occasions. As improper as the buttoned collar may be to a contemporary eye, and as uncomfortable as it might be for the wearer, there is a sweet obedience to the practice. Unbuttoning is, frankly, quite lazy.

Style Event: Smirnoff Black Promotion

I don’t pretend to know an awful lot about vodka, but I long believed I had an elementary understanding of the types available, a basic appreciation of the varying quality and a rough idea of the different brands; the Russian, the Polish, Swedish, French and Finnish. Though I am yet to Wiki for an insight into the types, number and reasons for distillations, I never suspected I was devoid of useful vodka-intelligence. To my considerable surprise, I was invited to a communications event for Smirnoff Black, a sub-brand of the mightily ubiquitous (and ubiquitously mighty) vodka manufacturer owned by the BWS (beer, wine, and spirits) giant Diageo. The purpose of this event was to promote the Black brand; the small-batch premium vodka of the Smirnoff family that aims to compete with the famous (Grey Goose) the lauded (Snow Queen) and the ridiculous (Roberto Cavalli).

It was not so much the promotion of the product as the method of promotion that caught my attention. The Smirnoff Black Modern Gentleman Masterclasses were designed to acquaint those unaware of the product with the product itself and in an arena of refinement and finery – a ploy that ensures all who attend will in future associate this black labelled spirit with tailored suits, soothing barbers towels and tips from the pages of Debrett’s. For at this event were representatives from A Suit That Fits, Sharps Barbers, expert cocktail mixologist Tristan Stephenson and delightful hosts and hostesses that ensured canapé, cocktail and conversation continuity.

The package of the evening had the effect, from the conversations I engaged in, of promoting well the idea of elegance and discernment for gentlemen – a promotion I applaud heartily. There were conversational currents of etiquette and rules, but there was also discussion of individuality and eccentricity. Mr Bennett from A Suit That Fits embodying the indulgence of the former and the latter in a striking suit that I noted should be named the ‘Wolverine’ for the quite intentional triple ‘slash’ marks beneath the armpits; such thoughtful marketing, as Mr Bennett concurred, introduces sartorial excellence to men more interested in Marvel comics than Chap magazine – the style marketing of the Google generation.

Perhaps because the age of austerity looms, or perhaps because we are bored and now repulsed by excess, but it quickly became clear that the mood of the evening was a balance of taste between luxury and sustained value. A Suit That Fits promoted well the idea of affordable tailoring and were keen to champion the return of the ordinary man to the made-to-measure suit; Sharps had some interesting and practical advice on redness from shaving that did not, interestingly, involve large orders from their product inventory and even the mixologist avoided the fantastical in favour of the sensible; “To be honest, this cocktail is too complicated, and too expensive, to make at home…this one is definitely better for you.” It wasn’t advertised as ‘elegance for the crunched’ but it was remarkably restrained considering the premise; to promote by association. I would have been keen to see another sartorial retailer there – perhaps a famous and affordable shoe manufacturer – to really push the clichéd but effective ‘James Bond’ notion of the event but branding was the last thing to take away from this soiree. This was an occasion to confirm that brands are merely the necessary evil of successful enterprise; that the real value is in creation, experimentation and longevity.

Images credit ‘Courtesy of Splendid Communications.’

Style Event: Prohibition Party

Not everyone likes costume parties. For some, they mean hours of unwanted searching in thrift and discount stores, endless peer consultation and extraordinary preparation rites that defy the purpose of such an occasion: to have fun. Others, like myself, relish the sartorial opportunity to ‘measure up.’ For such souls, the research is half the joy, the preparation exciting and rewarding and the result an astonishingly convincing subject for conversational introductions.

I was recently invited by a friend to attend the Prohibition Party that was taking place at ‘a secret venue in West London.’ Gin cocktails were to be served in porcelain tea cups; poker tables would surround the dancefloor and live swing music would be performed. Rather than the badly lit, greasy speakeasy of legend, this ‘secret venue’ offered glamour. A Dionysian occasion of whimsy and frolic in the shadow of grand, established households.  It reminded me not of Harlem bootlegging, but of a soiree organised by The Bright Young People.

The sartorial effort was considerable. Very few had neglected to dress up for the occasion and some efforts were so remarkably convincing, so authentic and subtle, that I remarked to my friend on the ‘ghosts’ in our midst. One girl, looking remarkably like Mary Pickford, wearing a headscarf on her bobbed hair, toyed with her pearls as she shared confidences with a companion on the dancefloor; one of the DJs, who appeared to be wearing a vintage 1930s three button suit, skipped around the dance floor like Fred Astaire; a fashionably late arrival, dressed in an eclectic combination of skinny emerald jeans, tailcoat, wing collar and spectator shoes was the evening’s Stephen Tennant and a photographer, the very wraith of Elizabeth Ponsonby, teetered around in full length lace. It was not so much that these results evidenced intricate research, it was that it was so gloriously clear that such exquisite encapsulation of a period and style was simply part of who they were; there was no mockery with such people, no ‘that’s-how-I’ve-seen-them-do-it.’ They were young, unafraid and extraordinarily connected with the Jazz Age aesthetic.

One of the most baffling issues of the evening for me was the preponderance of black shirts with white ties. Few photographs from the period exhibit this slightly alarming coordination (although as Barima correctly pointed out, a search for “1920s gangster” on Google images results in thousands of such ‘examples’) and it is not, from my point of view, a style that actually favours or flatters any wearer. The tie is invariably inordinately fat and this has the effect, in the dim of the dancefloor, of making the wearer look like a chap with a daub of double cream on his torso. There were a good number of Twenties clothing clichés – feather boas, pinstripes, spats and drawn-on moustaches – but generally speaking, for the available resources, all who attended did remarkably well. Trilbies may well have been more trend than tradition and were of the pork pie variety – more popular later on in the twentieth century – but at least they were worn, and in considerable numbers. However, as valiant as some efforts were the results were decidedly mixed. As I remarked to my friend Barima, there is a challenge levelled at dandies that many of them are simply playing ‘dressing up’ – the implication being that with a fashion history book open, anyone can match such a style. Fancy dress parties of this ilk are the presentation ground for such arguments, to see the results you would have to attend one yourself.

Photos by Barima Nyantekyi at Style Time (http://barimavox.blogspot.com)