Leather Elegance?

When I was a lad, my parents would take me travelling. We would venture near and far, as a family, and I have many adventures I can still clearly remember from those days. The most exciting time was around March when the holiday catalogues would arrive; I would read them, late at night before going to sleep, wondering which of the splendid locations I had been reading of my parents would choose. I was invariably inaccurate in my predictions. Nonetheless, I was never disappointed. Indeed, one of the most unlikely pleasures was travelling around the ‘cowboy’ states of America more than 12 years ago.

A great deal of time was spent in Dallas, visiting friends of my father. I remember the peculiarly large flags flapping on the highway, the massive glassy hotels, the car dealerships and the smell of meat and ‘bar-be-kew sawss.’ The first hotel we checked into was rather dull and resembled an office. It was named ‘Wilson’s World’ – a singularly American, if not slightly comic and optimistic name for a vast collection of dreary rooms and suites on the highway. As naïve (and pretentious) as we were, we took such a dislike to the dim, seemingly endless corridors, the beige furniture and the cold, dated corporate style of the joint that we came up with a semi-amusing song;

“We went to Wilson’s World, to stay for the night, night, night

When we got to the bar, the Coke did not taste right, right, right

When we went to the restaurant, we saw a bloke in his leathers

And dad said ‘How about checking out altogether?’”

This was oft repeated, nay chanted, throughout the holiday and it still manages to draw a smile today but the one thing that occurred to me recently when reminiscing was how we, as children, had decided that a leather jacket was somehow a humorous and unsightly mark of the commonplace. It was not a brattish observation. There was something rather unseemly about a cold-but-smart hotel restaurant providing custom to a leather clad man. I was recently speaking to someone who collects leather jackets, of differing styles, and who, regardless of weather, will always be seen wearing something constructed of hide.

It struck me that leather is rarely, if at all, a material of elegance. Leather trousers are of course, an abomination but even the oh-so-acceptable leather jacket is difficult to place. For a man who normally dresses casually, it’s a remarkably versatile garment; warm, practical and durable it will look and feel better than almost anything else. If however you are a man who likes adornment, wears ties, bow ties and shuns denim, a leather jacket is anathema. Frankly, if you’re a man of a very classic persuasion, it’s difficult to see where a lumpy, graceless leather jacket would fit into the wardrobe – amongst the mohair suits, cashmere trousers and French collar shirts.

However, after considering the problem, I came to the conclusion that elegance, at least a kind of elegance, is possible with leather – it simply means a) careful selection of the jacket itself b) considered pairings and c) an attitude adjustment.

For the first issue – the jacket selection – it is important that the jacket does not drown the man. Long sleeves and bulky shoulders are unacceptable. Though the jacket should never look ‘tailored’, it should not represent a ‘style retreat.’ Black is the classic colour for a leather jacket but brown is more chic and always remember that quality of leather should be paramount; designer ‘names’ are a secondary consideration.

Zips are more common on leather jackets but buttons are quite elegant; remember not to go for a jacket ‘imitation-in-leather.’ In other words, avoid leather jackets that have lapels and breast pockets. Of the styles available, the bomber or biker style are probably the best. Leather macs will make you look like a Nazi and leather blazers belong in a Spandau Ballet video.

For the second consideration, avoid trying to shove a square peg into a round hole and accept that your leather jacket has a certain ‘look’; it is undoubtedly more casual. Adding leather jackets to suit-like ensembles will make you look like a third rate Mafioso. It’s a weekend jacket. It needs to be respected as one. Denim is fine, if a little cliché; corduroy is better – imagine, for example, a nutty brown bomber with purple cords and loafers. Despite the casual shift, never wear trainers with a leather jacket.

Some of the best looks involve crisp open neck shirts, or perhaps a charcoal cashmere rollneck, some dark denim and slip ons; some of the worst involve Nike Air Max, baggy stonewashed jeans and ill-fitting polo shirts. The leather jacket is no friend to ill-fitting clothes. It will accentuate, and not disguise, how bad they actually are.

For the final consideration, keep in mind that your leather jacket is not your double breasted blazer. It is more knockabout, more carefree. It is tougher and simpler and does not mix well with primping.

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Sample Sales

London is not what you would call a ‘cheap’ city. If you wander down a typical West End street, evidence of the forbidding expense of the capital is everywhere. There are a lot of gloomy, disappointed faces that squint up at the towering, glittering emporia; a lot of sweaty, fidgeting grasps of the price tag and a low murmur of economic caution. Apart from the generic chain stores, the odd discount week and the Jermyn Street shirt sales, value for money is hard to come by.

If you live in the city, you become accustomed to it. You shop around, rule out certain streets and get to know the quieter times of day. If you visit for a day, hoping that you’ll find something more worthy than in your humble local town, you are often disappointed, not to mention exhausted. The scene is sometimes so pitiful it verges on the Dante-esque: people so tired, worn and dishevelled they resemble human litter, queues so long and winding they are physically painful to even contemplate – and at the end of it, a right old black-eye beating for your credit card.

It’s not pleasant and, temporary though the sweat, swollen feet and zoo-like atmosphere may be; the damage to the finances is permanent. I was offered a remedy for this last malady; a visit to a Hackett sample sale. Sample sales of legend were to me the very image of barbarity: a seething mass of desperate and despondent shoppers, grabbing and snatching their fix as cheaply, and as abundantly, as they could find it. The reality was not far off but as unpleasant and inelegant a shopping experience it was, the result – the day’s hoard – was well worth the effort.

It took place at the Old Truman Brewery on Brick Lane in East London. Not, it is safe to say, an area strongly associated with the sort of ‘settled’ image that Hackett attempts to portray but an atmospheric and spacious enough venue that had character and, mercifully, opened doors and high ceilings. At the door, an entrance fee of £2 was paid and black bin bags were made available for ‘collecting.’ The swag bag was barely useful for my meagre haul but others had reason to upgrade to large cardboard boxes. They then proceeded to kick them along the gritty, tiled floor in their search for more booty.

As it was the last of the sample sale days – there had been Thursday, Friday and Saturday openings – I was not expecting to find anything at all and, instead of contemplating a satisfactory treasure of pocket squares and ties, had expected to leave empty handed. Indeed, were it not for the deep and much disturbed boxes of ties, pocket squares, bow ties, cummerbunds, scarves and socks at the front of the Boiler House, I would have done.

Laughably late for the suits, jackets and trousers, I still had time for a futile browse. Other items – jumpers, chinos, outerwear and shoes – were of less interest and, ironically, in great supply. Never have I cursed my childlike frame so intensely than when I found 40R pinstripe suits and tweed check jackets at 2 for £50; never have I wanted bulk so badly than when I saw linen double breasted waistcoats in 46R – for £5. Shirts were another bargain area – 5 for £50, purchasing multiple polos and rugby shirts offered the same value for money and even my area of interest, accessories, offered a ‘buy more pay less’ value; 5 ties or hankies for £15.

Admittedly, though it was a successful day, it was not a particularly enjoyable shopping experience. Corpulent organisers shouted inaudible commands through megaphones; people pushed, grabbed, chucked and plundered; cashmere trousers that once were folded and hung on polished Jermyn Street hangers lay trampled and dirty on the floor of an East End industrial ghost. It was a surreal and slightly sickening experience, even before the mighty serpent queue had grown to its full and torturous size. Wilde’s words came to me as those around me piled more and more into their bags and boxes; “There are many things that they would throw away” I thought “if they were not afraid that others might pick them up.” Though certainly an exercise in achieving true value, this was turning into another example of the inescapability of greed.

Despite this grim ending, I was somewhat cheered by the sympathetic words of the make-shift till duo; “You’ve been waiting in that queue?” they frowned “for five ties?” In actual fact, it was for three ties and two pocket squares but yes, I had been waiting. Somehow, I had managed to conceal any indignation. And out of the vast industrial space I stumbled – from the manic, soup-kitchen atmosphere of bargain shopping – into the evening sunlight. My companion commented “I think we’ve just been through one of the great Circles of Hell.” I nodded. It was worth it.

For information on upcoming sample sales in London, go to http://www.samplesaleslondon.co.uk/

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A Question Of Attraction

The way in which we dress invariably has an impact on the way we are perceived by members of the attracting sex. From my perspective, a woman I perceive to be well-dressed would naturally attract more attention, even though she may not be the most attractive woman in the room; being ‘well-dressed’ is unusual. It is a sign of self-assuredness and quality of mind. However, I often wonder how important it is for my contemporaries to exaggerate or understate their own personal style in order to retain the attraction of those they wish to attract.

If I were to ask certain friends of mine whether this was a serious consideration when shopping for clothes, there would be a mixture of responses. One response would ridicule the idea of shopping to please another person. This scoff would be further qualified with suggestions that men should identify first and foremost with themselves – if the women aren’t interested, are shocked or put off, so be it.

Another response would carry a certain caution; that some of my friends are not willing to appear ridiculous, though they would dearly love to express themselves in the clothing they dream of. There is in these respondents an itching desire to be free from the convention of the day but it is a tiny flame, easily doused by the waves of insecurity. They also confess to a strange comfort in anonymity.

Then there are those who would respond, quite honestly, that they often plead with girls, generally ones they are not attracted to, to go shopping with them in order that they do not select items which would compromise the image they wish to project. They are not always shy in nature. They are simply cautious. They tend to enjoy being single, have a varied social circle and, most importantly, consider sexual attraction the most important pastime in their lives.

Some of them have no interest in clothing at all. The majority however have come to recognise the importance of ‘standing out’ when playing the field. However, there are many things they just will not do. One of my friends asked me why I wear bow ties. I informed him it was because I liked wearing them. He responded that he could never wear one unless it was part of his evening wear. Vaguely intrigued by his commonplace response I asked him why: “Because” he said “I’d look like a tit!”

Looking as ‘different’ as that is generally considered by men to be a non-starter in the attraction department, especially for heterosexual men. Indeed, even women can be rather scornful and abusive about men who they accuse of ‘trying too hard.’ Though they may quietly applaud the bravery of a man of idiosyncratic style, they generally have an asexual response to extraordinarily well-dressed men.

When I proffered photographic examples to some women (three in their twenties, two in their forties) recently for their opinions on the approachability and attractiveness of the gentlemen concerned, the immaculately and idiosyncratically dressed men – aside from Johnny Depp - received very low responses for reasons of ‘stiffness’ and ‘utter absence of sexual appeal.’ The moderately well-dressed gentlemen – jacket, trousers/jeans, no tie, no pocket square or other accessories – received the highest response. The reasons given were ‘ease of dress’, ‘avoidance of fuss’ and consequently, ‘strong sexual connection.’ The badly dressed men didn’t score as well on the whole but they often scored far higher than the immaculately dressed men, even amongst the older women, for reasons of ‘brazen sexuality’ and ‘gruff masculinity.’

When I suggested to these female respondents that it was preposterous of women to moan about badly dressed men when they themselves credited them far higher than those who practice clothing perfection, they agreed: it is preposterous, they said, and it makes absolutely no sense that somehow their sexual mind should prefer scruff over splendour. However, they suggested it has far more to do with current perceptions of fashion and style – not to mention the fact that they are but a tiny sample “I bet loads of girls” one of them said “would think a guy in a bow tie was hot as hell…” – and that there are likely to be perfect partners for every category of gentlemen presented. Lastly, I asked them to state, in their experience, taking into account all the possible views of their sex what they considered the ‘safest’ route to take to secure attractions. Without hesitation, they all selected the moderately well-dressed gentlemen.

The irony of all this is that gentlemen who fall into the category of the ‘immaculate’ might very well tone down their more eccentric ensembles when consorting with single women – and, when fully ensconced in a warm and loving relationship, take the first opportunity to express who they really are; “Honey! I’m breaking out the bow tie…”

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The Striped Suit

“Oh yea, pinstripe suits are the best!” grinned the giggly girl in the café as her male companion reluctantly twirled around in a shiny two-piece. Notched lapels, two buttons, wide white stripes – more chalk than pin – and a garishly blue sheen, it was a spectacle suit; not exactly to my taste but still challenging and rather outrageous. My companion, a fellow eavesdropper, remarked with approval and asked for my opinion, which was, I informed him, that the stripes were a little too wide and white for my taste and that the distance between them too great.

On our wander around the neighbourhood, we passed a mannequined window displaying more than one example of striped suits. One was a double breasted example, classically chalked creamy stripe on a dark grey background, medium gauge – the sort of thing Jay Gatsby might have worn. The other was a very narrow gauge grey pinstripe on a navy background. Single breasted with ubiquitous notched lapels it looked decidedly modern. My companion remarked that a ‘blind buy’ of a striped suit was evidently impossible; you’ll never be quite sure of what you are getting.

Rather reactionary and hasty fashion writers have written off striped suits as twentieth century relics. The followers of such folly have agreed to the reasoning that they are only appropriate for the now terribly unfashionable City banker or the East End-born Capone wannabe, neither of which are characters sufficiently savoury for fashion leadership.

I myself scoff at such myopic analysis; the stripe is foremost an expression of style, not position or social class. The stripe knows no century or decade in which it must be imprisoned. The manacled confinement in which it finds itself, loathed for its associations and ignored for its aesthetic, is entirely the fault of fashion-centric witch hunters; out to sound the death knell for as many of the 57 varieties as possible. As the gushing young female in the café proved, there are too many admirers of stripes for them to be truly buried and forgotten.

However, the stripe gang has definite leaders. And, though stripes certainly cross social and professional boundaries, there are strong associations with certain types that simply cannot be ignored.

Pins and chalks of a half-inch gauge are the classic. Fabulous in double breasted format, or perhaps single breasted with peaked lapels and a waistcoat, this style of stripe is understated and timeless. A standard tailoring stripe, this is seen on many proponents of the classic English suit. This is the stripe I would prefer.

Stripes of three-quarter inch or full inch gauge are rather more brash and garish; retro gangsters, rappers and wide boys enjoy the punch and the arresting drama of this rather unsubtle choice. They are often worn thickly on black cloth rather than blue or grey which accentuates, somewhat uncomfortably in my view, the dazzling effect.

Stripes that are of a quarter-inch gauge or less are odd but certainly less outrageous and make the suit appear, due to the compression of colour – a result of the narrow gauge – ‘unstriped’ from a distance. This is a style of stripe that is becoming ever more popular.

When selecting striped suits off the rack, make sure the stripes match at the seams. There is something rather saddening about a bright chalk stripe that fails to do so. In terms of shirt and tie choice, plains are the best background for loud stripes – in other words, let your suit do the talking. A little paisley pocket square would always be welcome. Bright colours work very well with striped suits, particularly pink and lilac. As popular as the aggressively contrasting stripe suits are – black with white stripes - I think the most stylish option is light grey stripes on a dark grey background. A sky blue shirt with a burgundy tie, and possibly a white pocket square, completes this traditional look.

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Summer Striped Ties

Summer is upon us. And though this means many gentlemen will be looking to shed clothing, some of the best ways to celebrate summer are by accessorising; belts, pocket squares and ties come to the fore in summer outfits. The candy pink handkerchief that looked so outrageous in January, suddenly looks essential in mid July. The Hermes-orange belt that prompted concerned faces in the winter rain turns admiring heads in the summer sun; letting the bijoux items in your accessories shine adds a special summertime character to otherwise rather regular ensembles. One of the most potent ways of exploiting the gaiety, the frivolity, the champagne-cork-pop levity of summer is by wearing striped ties. Stripes are fun indeed; they are the big top marquee, the straw boater band and the summer dress. And the bolder the better.

Of course, there is the sober, clubby and, if you like, stuffy side to striped ties. The members of the club; the Old School; the Oxbridge college men and the regiment. However, it is partly because of such associations that the striped tie is a sought after fashion accessory at all. It’s de rigeur to wear a striped tie at Henley, even if you think a boat club is a nightspot in St Tropez and, other old ‘season’ events like Wimbledon, Guards polo and the Lords Test Match have men of all ages bumbling along, sipping champagne and clapping ferociously - in a striped tie.

Good stripes vs Bad stripes

However, as my fellow contributor Simon Crompton pointed out in his article on shirt stripes – there are good stripes, and bad stripes. The ‘Islington Media Type’ shirt stripe is utterly passé. And, conveniently enough, so is the tie equivalent. The different width stripe works, but not in this illogical and overdone format. It works when there are fewer stripe colours and variations; there is more order, and it is pleasing, even soothing, to look at so calm a pattern. Some regimental ties have stripes such as this. The ‘Islington’ tie is however, a messy abomination.

Simple colour combinations, simple striping

I am not always a believer in the cliché that simpler is always better but when it comes to striped ties, I rather am. Four colours on a tie really are quite enough. Dark blue, green and red ties are the best backgrounds for paler stripes and the best combinations are navy and white, navy and red, navy and sky blue and navy and green – honest, simple and punchy ties that stand out from a distance.

Horizontal stripes

As always, I am keen on promoting individualism. Most ties are of a diagonal stripe – which would be disastrous on a shirt, but is fine when confined to the narrowness of a tie. However, there are a few horizontally striped ties, with flat ends, that are around. They are generally of a knitted silk and are most often double-coloured. There is something slightly stagey, and even continental about the horizontal stripe tie; it was popular for a while in the 1930s and again in the 1950s and is now making another rather understated reappearance.

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