A Different Link

“Gentlemen”, so I was once told by a particularly patriarchal and patronising old man, “do not wear jewellery.” When I challenged this assertion with evidence to the contrary – that of smart gentlemen wearing rings and watches – he scoffed that the rings (‘likely to be wedding rings’ he suggested) were more like manacles and that wristwatches were too practical to be ever considered jewellery. Though this gentleman did happen to be one of the fustiest characters I have ever encountered, I did concede that he had a point; male jewellery tends to be hidden (like a necklace), vulgar (like an earring or a bracelet) or functional. We are quite the less decorated sex. Whereas women adorn their necks and wrists with gold, silver and gemstones, men plod along plainly. Not that this should not be so. The bejewelled men of preceding centuries, perfumed powdered and puffed, seem to be awkward and inconsistent representations of masculine style; a man is very easily over ornamented.

This is perhaps why wristwatches have become so significant for the modern man. Being able to tell the time is not something one needs such contraptions for in the modern age; mobile phones and Mp3 players, carried around by many men, not only carry such basic information as the relevant hour and minute but also the day of the month, the average rainfall and the time in Honolulu. Choosing to buy an attractive watch has much more to do with aesthetics and prestige than mere function; over half of those truly vulgar wristwatches covered in diamonds are so glitzed with the gems that it makes it nigh on impossible to read the time. A man could not claim he needed the watch to function as a watch; it’s merely an expensive bracelet that happens to have a watch face.

And so we come to the rub of the issue: functionality - the perfect, and quite necessary, excuse.

A man’s daily clothing offers little in the way of potential bejewellment; shirt studs are strictly for evening shirts only and tie pins, though elegant, are really occasional and not everyday. Tie ‘clips’ or ‘bars’ can smarten up the wear of shirts and ties, particularly when the clip is fastened to highlight a particularly lustrous silk. However, wearing one everyday can be a little repetitive, considering it’s prominence in an outfit.

Cufflinks are the one everyday item that can add what has been referred to as ‘bling’; the merest flick of the wrist and the ‘jewels’ are exposed. The essential factor? They are entirely necessary to keep one’s double cuffs securely fastened. As their function is simple and, once fastened, they can be easily forgotten, a man can afford to decorate as conservatively or as garishly as he wishes.

Buying cufflinks is very much a matter of personal taste. I tend to avoid the twee hot and cold taps, the dire dollar symbols and anything with Playboy insignia. Jan Leslie and Deakin & Francis are excellent, albeit expensive, manufacturers of individual, attractive and tasteful links. Though novelty formats, such as glittering frogs and insects, are not always favoured by very serious gentlemen, they can offer that little touch of humour to an otherwise staid ensemble; even lending a hand to identify, in a harmless and playful way, the identity of the wearer: for example, the charming practice of an Upper East Sider in wearing the delightful ‘wasp’ links from Jan Leslie.

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The Dandy is Back

Dandies, according to the most recent publication of L’Uomo Vogue, are back. In fact, the Italian men’s fashion bible is so confident of their return and their reinstatement at the upper end of fashionable society that they devoted nearly an entire 450 page issue to the dandy renaissance; Robert Downey Jr was pictured larking around in cravats, monocles and top hats, Matthias Schweighöfer in dandific and bizarre ensembles and positions at a verging-on-seedy outdoor location and even Zinedine Zidane managed to look genteel and overtly elegant in a velvet evening jacket with an enormous bow tie.

Dandies fell out of favour in the twentieth century. After the excess of the 1890s, the frightful and catastrophic Great War and the gradual rise of the simply-attired proletariat, sympathy and celebration of dandified men had begun to wane. King Edward VIII, the Duke of Windsor post abdication, was the ‘last gasp’ of the Establishment dandy-world. A century after the demise of one of the most fashion conscious and great spending monarchs, George IV – a man who relied on the sartorial advice of the dandy of dandies, Beau Brummell – it seemed the world had had enough of a style that seemed at odds with the concerns and ideals of the future. Throughout much of the twentieth century, the dandy was an awkward and often ridiculed figure – a man who dwelled, unhappily or happily, in the underworld of the planet’s great cities.

The tenor of this collection of articles appeared to be a celebration of dandies; a coup of marketing that sold the concept to a wider, fashion-driven audience. Despite this apparent comprehensiveness, one might read all 450 (or make that 150 – advertisements you know…) pages of this bulky volume and not be any clearer about what a dandy actually is.

Some people regard flowery, effete gentlemen who adopt bright and extremely decorative clothing as dandies; others disagree and opt for the fastidious and immaculately attired. And others suggest that a modernity, through an acknowledgment of fashions and a revolutionary creativity, is the true mark of the dandy. None of them, and yet all of them, are correct.

Dandies are fortunately free from the constraints of pigeon-holing; an inelegant and unnecessary practice. Since dandyism relies on creativity and evolution, many would align with the maxim that to define is to limit. In any case, a ‘dandy’ desirous of being referred to as such is rarely anything other than a poseur.

The Green Carnation Dandy

The Green Carnation Dandy is a relic of the late Victorian era; an era of monumental wealth and near-Roman excess. Art is at the centre of this Dandy’s world. As Coward’s brilliant lyric from Bitter Sweet explains; “We believe in Art, Though we’re poles apart From the fools that are thrilled by Greuze. We like Beardsley and Green Chartreuse.” The Green Carnation Dandy is to some rather like a fop sartorially, but for the cultivation of his poetic language and refined speech. Anthony Blanche adopted waterfall pocket squares, extravagant bow ties and striped jackets in the manner of a Macaroni, but his beautiful manners and personal refinements suggested dandyism. Likewise Oscar Wilde, who would often dress in outrageous fashions suggesting an utter rejection of the Beau’s code of a dandy: that a well-dressed man should not be noticed. The magnificent flamboyance of this Dandy is utterly conspicuous; he is very likely to use words merely for pleasant effect.

The Immaculate Dandy

The one Dandy who follows the Beau’s lead rather more closely is the Immaculate. An apt description as he does appear, when fully dressed, utterly untouched and almost waxwork in manifestation. Hercule Poirot and Andrea Sperelli are excellent examples of this type; the very picture of an intimidating personification of symmetry. Exquisitely tied bows and ties, flawlessly starched shirts and shoes ‘shined to reflection.’ Empirically, he would always be considered, at the very least, well-dressed. Modern proponents of this style do tend to remain faithful to classic, and often archaic, items of dress. Art is certainly important to the Immaculate but fashion is usually irrelevant. Decoration is rather more controlled than that of the Green Carnation Dandy and usually more discreet.

The Modern Dandy

The Modern Dandy is very likely to be the personification of a smartly dressed follower of fashion; unlike the Immaculate, the Modern will consider and favour trends. Where the Green Carnation Dandy adopts a velvet jacket, buttonhole and silk cravat, and the Immaculate a starched shirt, bow tie and 1930’s suit, the Modern might opt for skinny denim with initialled slippers, and an unbuttoned Byronic white linen shirt with a smoking jacket. The juxtaposition of different styles, and different periods, is simply not an issue for the Modern. He likes taking risks and enjoys the success of his experimentation. Lapo Elkann, whose undeniable creativity has produced some fabulous and peculiar results, is the paradigm of this type.

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Coloured Socks

As I was hurriedly dashing to and fro on a recent afternoon, negotiating my way through armies of tourists on the little side streets of the West End, I spotted a smartly dressed man reclining in his aluminium chair outside a particularly insalubrious looking establishment in Soho. A coffee cup, stained and empty, sat on the table in front of him and he had affected the position of reverie; leaning back into his chair, his legs crossed at the knee and his head thrown back against the top of the chair providing him with a view of a changing sky and the grotty upper floors of unkempt London buildings.

I noticed particularly a colourful item of clothing he happened to be wearing. It was not his thick, golden silk tie or his bright pink linen pocket square. Nor was it his cool navy linen blazer that was draped artfully over his shoulders. It was his pair of emerald green socks that shined with magnificent phosphorescence next to his burnished walnut brogues. This image of green clad ankles was vividly arresting. I would soon encounter other gentleman, of little note sartorially speaking, whose ankles were clad in more predictable blacks and dark greys and since I had seen two of the most resplendent and well-decorated ankles in London, it was all rather dull. I came to the conclusion that coloured socks are not only acceptable, but actually preferable; if the occasion allows it, a colourful flash of lower-leg is dazzling.

Red

It is not unusual to see gentlemen, particularly well-dressed elderly gentleman, wearing burgundy socks. They are commonly found amongst the post-prandial recliners in the libraries of Pall Mall clubs, worn with a conservative charcoal chalkstripe and chocolate Oxfords. However, I have also seen blood red socks worn, rather nattily, with seersucker suits and also with washed denim; the dramatic red draws the eyes to the ankles. It’s chic but also rather daring.

Golden yellow

I happened to be tuning in to the opinions of a former Prime Minister and, whilst he was not by any means remarkable in dress, his socks – of a rich, golden yellow colour normally seen on Van Gogh paintings – were outstanding. Whilst red is eyecatching and a little cavalier, golden yellow seems to convey an aristocratic superiority, particularly when worn with blue or navy suits. A man’s ankles are glorified in such manacles of gilt; putting one in mind of the gleaming sandles of the messenger of the gods, Hermes.

Sky blue and purple


Of the trio of colours suggested, sky blue is certainly the more restrained. However, such a colour still looks magnificent with white buck shoes and a khaki coloured linen suit for more casual, leisure oriented days. It is certainly a spring and summer colour of sock, reflecting the glorious azure of a warm afternoon sky. Winter greys, dark browns and blacks do not flatter these socks; they look a little lost amongst the gloom. However, a winter equivalent might be a glorious lilac or purple, both of which look absolutely regal with a wide pinstripe navy suit.

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‘Would I Look Good in This?’

One of the things I am always aware of, being overly concerned with my appearance and wardrobe, is my ability – or indeed, inability as the case may be – to vary personal style. It’s certainly a good thing to have what one might refer to as a ‘uniform’; a safe combination of shirt, jacket, tie, trouser and shoe that you can always rely on but the risk with such uniformity is that you tend to avoid experimentation – as well as risking the affliction of peace of mind with sartorial boredom.

Many people are capable of identifying themselves with a particular mode or style: “It’s nice but it’s just not me…”, “I’d love to be able to wear that, but I have my way of doing things.” They appear content in the knowledge that contentment is illusory; after all, we’d all love to be able to do many things. I wouldn’t mind winning Wimbledon or discovering the cure for a widespread disease but I recognise my own limitations and the fact that those things are not going to happen is something I accept.

And the grass, so they say, is generally greener on the other side of the fence. Whilst the public lavish attention and adoration on the celebrity, the celebrity constantly seeks the shade, the private life; unable to comprehend the desire the anonymous have for a life in the bright lights of fame. A man of considerable style might pace the streets with apparent confidence but a glance in the direction of an alternatively attired chap might set the wheels of his mind whirring for the possibility of change.

In style, confidence and self-security are vital components. Without them the supposed man of style is a poseur and pretender; a charlatan who hasn’t conquered the infuriating tendency of fashionistas to tinker and tamper. However, it must also be recognised that the very essence of personal style is self-discovery. Experimentation and dabbling are important aspects of this discovery – the man of one suit might not lack funds, but imagination.

Maturation also plays a role. Roger Federer admitted he was always the shy teenager, forever in sports clothing, until he grew into his hidden passion for clothing, making friends with the movers and shakers of the New York fashion set, revealing his ‘embarrassing’ joy in shopping for clothes. Many men go through this period, some earlier than others, and some enter it without realising quite what they are letting themselves in for.

I believe in the idea of personal style; I believe it is detectable and identifiable. Or at least it should be. My fear of remaining too ‘uniform’ is a symptom of my interest in fashion. I am confident in the clothes I wear, and the clothes I choose to buy, but I am often afraid that I am only touching a percentage of the ‘style’ that is available to embrace. I fear that the ‘uniform’ has become my identity; someone recently complimented me on my usefulness in emotional situations as I always decorated my jacket pocket with a silk square. I was somewhat nonplussed. The very idea of predictability can either crack sartorial confidence, or it can strengthen and galvanise.

Naturally confident, even arrogant individuals will see this as an acknowledgment of their signature; Lagerfeld for example would have no problem in being identified as the monochrome man. However, this places external recognition and honour at the heart of one’s style and that can never do; if you dress for someone other than yourself, it is strikingly obvious that you are doing so.

I think the fear of wanting something that you do not have and being someone you are not is pointless; no collection, no matter how large, is ever complete or the owner satisfied. Imelda Marcos is an illustration, albeit an extreme one, of the minutiae in differentiation the collector can note. Such a collector never stops wanting what they do not have and acknowledging that weakness is important; ‘travelling’ in all it’s forms is a favourite pastime of the human being and we never seem to tire of it. The evolution of your wardrobe is just as remarkable as the evolution of your personality and at times, one often reflects the other.

The personal desire of variety is natural and, though I have issued rather stiff words on ‘confidence in personal style’ and written on achieving a peace with your own gut-understanding of ‘what style means to you’, the reality is that curiosity, though it has been distributed in different quantities, is in all of us.

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The Garment Bag

On a recent business trip, as I wandered past the hoards of travellers, waiting to collect their cases at the carousel I closed my eyes in relief that I had packed a bag small enough to be placed in the overhead locker. I also congratulated myself, modestly, in choosing to wear the one suit that I would need. It would have been quite impossible to squeeze it into my Gladstone travel bag.

On that occasion, I had no need for further luggage. However, there will be occasions on which I will need more room to store the travelling items of my wardrobe. And, despite there being the option of laundry and dry cleaning at the destination, I would rather I save the cost and inconvenience by packing correctly.

Folding jackets and trousers is a tricky business and having looked into crease and wrinkle free folding methods in some detail I realised that there is no foolproof process; I always seem to cause abuse.

The rucksack is certainly the most important item of luggage for the backpacking tourist and many women cite the vanity case as their most treasured item. For the gentleman of style, the garment or suit carrier must rank as one of, if not the most important item of luggage. Jackets and trousers are placed securely inside, zipped up and folded over for carrying. A simple process, but such a vital one. The carrier is also compact and adaptable enough to push through the security scanners at even the most Draconian of international airports, favourable for the business traveller disinclined to see their precious garments disappear into the unseen and unknown of the luggage hold.

And keeping such garments close at hand is perfectly logical; a suit is often the most expensive item in a gentleman’s luggage, unless you happen to be a Berluti or Lobb aficionado, and it’s natural to keep such valued items at your side. The only thing is, the bag must be worthy of the suit; no fine threads should be carried in something that squeaks and rustles. Leather carriers are popular. They age exceptionally well and they offer more than adequate protection for fine cloths. However, some might find them a little heavy and if you’re carrying more than one suit, this can be a problem with those carting significant amounts of hand luggage.

Canvas carriers look very smart and have the added advantage of being waterproof (or at least water resistant); vital for those visiting less clement parts of the world. They are also lighter than all-leather bags and, due to the leather on canvas bags being small in area and merely decorative albeit marginally protective, they are consequently less expensive. However not all canvas bags are hard wearing and considering the significant ‘wear and tear’ involved with travelling, a bag should be selected with careful consideration of the quality of materials involved.

Pickett, Aspinal, Brics and Tumi manufacture high quality garment bags that will last for many years in high quality canvases and leather. Vuitton, though it hardly needs mention, also manufacture suit carriers – some of which can carry up to five suits at once – although they are considerably more expensive and it is advisable to avoid the ubiquitous Monogram and Damier canvases.

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