Proper Vintage

Those who know me are aware of my interest in vintage clothing. I have always had a fascination for the decades of bygone elegance. Some find my neo-Edwardian and inter-war recreations a little tiring; I can understand this point of view. It’s a little myopic to suggest that the only era of elegance in modern menswear lasted merely thirty odd years and that everything since has been a disastrous mish-mash of unfortunate trends. There was much to recommend the experimental tailoring of the 1960s, the dalliance with flares in the 1970s. There was an admirable bravery to these attempts at modernisation. Indeed, the modern ‘classic’ suit owes some of its constituent parts to the ‘forgettable’ decades. You only need a brief comparison of modern tailoring and that of the apparently evergreen 1930s to know they are really rather different. I for one prefer the slimmer, modern trousers and the flattering length of the modern jacket.

However, vintage clothing offers an increasingly unusual aesthetic for the gentleman of style. Mixing vintage with modern items offers an opportunity to produce singular and individualistic ensembles; there is no greater expression of the mixing capabilities of menswear than combining items with decades of difference. The rise of vintage clothing has largely complemented the acceptability of fashion shedding much of its self-consciousness; no one worries much about being ‘in fashion’ anymore. Vintage clothing, made for fashion styles long gone, is worn by people of all ages and of all incomes – it is happily classless and, importantly, is promoted by those in positions of influence as entirely acceptable. However, as many finger-wagging vintage-lovers have informed me, there is ‘vintage’ and then there is ‘proper vintage.’

‘Proper vintage’ items are of exceptional quality, in near immaculate condition and convey an authentic sense of an antiquated style. Examples include Edwardian and 1920s tailcoats, double breasted overcoats, specialist items like Victorian toppers, classic 1930s double breasted suits and heavy barathea wool evening dress. These items are increasingly rare. They are characteristically heavy and the items in the best condition are usually bespoke pieces made by English tailors for individual clients. While it may not be the same thing as purchasing bespoke made for oneself, the quality and outstanding style of the garments are worth investment.

One of the best sources of this sort of vintage clothing is Savvy Row, an amusingly named retailer of smart second-hand (vintage is a smart although not misrepresentative term) gentleman’s attire. I myself purchased an extremely chic and beautifully cut evening tailcoat from their selection of evening wear. This garment dates from the 1920s, has high and wide lapels, a flattering figure-hugging waist and is extraordinarily robust. It is unmistakably vintage. When I wore it to an event, with a boiled-front shirt, patent shoes and a red rose someone told me, to my great pleasure, that I looked like I had walked ‘straight outta the Twenties.’

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Sartorial Alchemy In Practice Part 2

I looked forward to my return visit to Graham Browne not only because I had given them the opportunity to take part in my alchemic experimentation but because I was eager to see the results of their tailoring; I was hoping to find what I had imagined in my mind’s eye. Should the results of my first use of their services be to my liking I would gladly commission further garments in confidence that they will be dealt with properly.

As well as the extraordinarily cheap-but-not-so-cheerful black double breasted jacket, I had also entrusted a disused Cordings covert coat. It was one of those hopeful parental purchases i.e. “You’ll just grow into it!” that I had ceased to wear. It was this garment that Russell first handed to me to try. From the oversized cape-like coat I remembered, it felt instantly different; tighter in all the right places, shoulders the correct width. No longer was I a boy in what appeared to be his father’s coat. The silhouette of the coat was far more pleasing. Russell nodded approvingly as we moved to the more tongue-in-cheek issue of the double breasted jacket.

The operations performed on the jacket needed to be rather subtle; if you cut a double-breasted jacket too shortly, you not only ruin the proportions of the jacket in relation to the position of the buttons but you also make the pockets look cartoonishly small. Not being particularly tall, I prefer jackets of standard length to be cut a little shorter and Russell had snipped the right amount from the length to retain the proportions. Russell had also been cautious, but correctly so, in his nipping of the waist – I wanted it to be really tight to my torso but to do so might have caused the material across the jacket to crumple unattractively. The only thing I may still do, as far as the fit is concerned, is reduce the width of the shoulders as they are still ever so slightly broad for my frame. However, this is a very minor point. Overall, I was very satisfied with the alterations. Russell was remarkably modest about his work and credited himself with no ‘alchemic’ transformation. The most he said for his work was that the jacket was ‘probably a bit better.’

I decided to add the cream buttons myself as I am always looking to practice my sewing skills. Being able to perform such basic needle work is very important for gentlemen that have creativity and alteration in mind – my nearest tailor charges £1.50 a button. I wore the item out the next day to test the fit properly and also to gauge the reactions on the garment’s aesthetics.

When sat down, I could comfortably wear the jacket buttoned up. It had lost the pre-alteration boxyness and felt tighter. The comments on the aesthetics said more about my peculiar taste than Russell’s work – they ranged from ‘You look like a pilot!’ to ‘The buttons are…quite striking’ – but overall, when I checked myself in reflections throughout the day, I felt far more comfortable and pleased with the jacket. When I bought it from eBay, I had laughed when I first tried it on; it was dull, boxy and unflattering. I hid it away for months and months like a figurative ‘sartorial-skeleton-in-the-cupboard.’ Now, though not exactly the gilt-edged garment I had envisaged, I have an interesting, becoming and well-fitting item that I am happy to wear.

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Velo-re Belts

As any of my friends will testify, I am not adverse to something playful draped around my midriff. These belts by Swiss born Betty Galizzi (short for Bettina) certainly fit that bill. Betty actually lives in South London, and she and her friends Javier and Agata quietly work away churning out these handmade belts. And what are they made of? Bicycle tires.

There is in fact more to the humble bicycle tire than you might expect, some are very valuable and highly prized (Who’d have guessed?). There are, for example, bespoke, limited edition race and country tires for noted professionals in the cycling world. The type of tire, and its past use, is also what gives rise to the distinctive patterning. Each tire wears differently according to its rubber compound and whether it has been used on road, track or cross country.

As you’d expect she has quite a following in the cycling community. Many professional racers like to give the belts as gifts to friends and sponsors, using tires they’ve raced on. Indeed, her latest devotee is British Olympic gold medallist Nicole Cooke. Other clients simply want mementos of races won or endurance treks. In fact this last group, Bettina tells me, provide quite a bit of work as a result of the popularity of biking tours across far flung corners of the globe.

My particular favourites are the multicoloured ones, which would sit as well with jeans and chinos as they would shorts. The colours are original to the tires not later additions. But then there is enough labour involved making these belts, aside from the washing process everything is done by hand. They‘re pre-punched with eight wholes and come in two sizes, SM 30-34inches and ML 36-38 inches, but you can have any size you like, simply get in touch with Bettina.

Now these belts aren’t everybody’s cup of tea, and for a good many the idea of wearing anything other than leather or suede is heresy. But as an alternative to Ribbon, Grosgrain and other preppy stereotyping apparel I think they have real merit. I try to keep my casual wardrobe as simple as possible but there is a fine line between simple and pedestrian.

Bettina is based in London, but her belts are available at www.velo-re.com.

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Reader Question: Buying Odd Jackets

David: I very much enjoy your blog and find it to be a great source of inspiration in my desire to master the art of permanent style. I was hoping you could help me in the matter of choosing odd jackets. I am starting a new job where most people wear a jacket but no one wears a necktie. I will probably wear grey flannel trousers, beige chinos and a light-coloured shirt. But I am not sure what odd jackets to wear. I don’t currently own any. What would you recommend to me if I have only one, three or five odd jackets to use for work?

The first thing to ensure about an odd jacket is that it goes well with the trousers. They must not clash in their pattern and they must be of a similar formality. As both your suggested pairs of trousers are plain, pattern is not much of an issue. And as they are both relatively informal, the jackets should reflect this in their cloth.

So my first suggestion to you would be a jacket in a pale grey, with a heavy texture in the cloth and in a relatively informal wool. So not worsted, but flannel, tweed, camel hair or something similarly rough. The heavy texture could be a herringbone or a hound’s-tooth. (Like the one pictured – from J.Crew)

The reason I suggest this for your first jacket is that the pattern is not too bold or eye-catching – there is enough visual interest to distinguish it from the trousers, but it is not a loud tweed. It is also classic and simple without being uniform – a blazer would offer less personality in your one item.

Your second jacket should be a blazer, though. Navy blue, preferably in something heavier than standard worsted wool, and fitting immaculately. Too many Americans wear a blazer and chinos out of laziness. Neither is likely to fit well and the jacket will rarely be buttoned. To differentiate yourself, get a blazer that is slim-cut, perhaps with just one button. And don’t go for brass buttons – something different, either plain blue or a different metal; perhaps even a cream colour like the Italians.

Third for me would be a tweed. The colour is a question of personal taste, as is the size of the check, but make sure it is slim (again) and smart enough to look at home both in the country and the office. I have a Donegal one-button tweed from Kilgour, in mid-grey, that I would put in this category.

Fourth, something for the summer – a tan linen or cotton gabardine. Make sure the linen is heavy, and if you think tan would be too casual, switch to a navy or a grey.

The fifth jacket can be something more adventurous: a classic black stroller if you want to add formality, something in an unusual colour like mid-green if you want to add flair.

When building the collection, just bear in mind that you want a spread of weights for different seasons and a spread of formalities for different occasions.

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Book Review: The Last Shall Be First

This famous book is well-named: its sub-title is ‘The colourful story of John Lobb, the bootmakers of St James’s’. That colour comes from tales of the young Lobb, social history of the development of bootmaking and pocket biographies of the shop’s most famous customers.

But fortunately there is also colour about the product – the boots themselves. Just skip the bits on the Lobb family and the lists of customers.

For example, I didn’t know that traditionally the best brown shoes were always made out of Russia calf, the best black ones out of waxed calf. I wasn’t aware that the clicker in men’s shoes was the senior or “aristocratic” role – he was the foreman that handed out the work to the other craftsmen, which makes sense I suppose, as his was the first stage. And I didn’t know that in the middle of the nineteenth century, bootmakers were the most numerous of any trade in London (apart from “general labourers”).

It is also interesting to read about the habits of Lobb customers. The average man bought 2-5 pairs a year, but there were few such men and they were all very rich. One, Frank Harris (“king of Pornographers” in late Victorian England), bought a pair of Russian leather laced boots, some calf toecaps, calf boot toecaps and a pair of patent “no caps” in 1899. Lord Alfred Douglas (‘Bosie’ in relation to Oscar Wilde) bought a “pair of Russia”, two pairs of calf button boots, “Russia caps” and patent Oxford no caps in 1902. While both men were at the height of their notoriety at this point, they must nonetheless have ended up with a lot of Lobb boots.

Those boots took one (fast) craftsman about 12 hours to make. And in the late nineteenth century, a man had to make six every week just to feed his family. So the gap between craftsman and customer was rather larger than it is today, even though the price has inflated from £2-something to £2000-something.

And then there’s my favourite story from the book. During the First World War it became very hard to get the hog’s bristles that shoemakers used to guide the waxed thread through the holes punched by the awl. Over a pint in the pub, six bootmakers settled on a plan and set out to Regent’s Park with apples, pears and nuts. They strolled into London Zoo, waited until no keeper was about and then converged on the hog enclosures. They used the fruit to tempt the animals forward, then grabbed two handfuls of hair each and ran. That was enough for six months of bootmaking.

I highly recommend this book to anyone with an interest in traditional shoemaking. Just read it selectively. It is now out of print I believe, but it can be bought second-hand on Amazon from $30.

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