Reader Question: Planning The Week

John, Los Angeles: Many of my colleagues laugh when I tell them I often pick out five days worth of clothes on Sunday evening. But I find that taking the time to select outfits for the week on Sunday and actually hanging them in the closet makes my mornings much calmer.

It also allows me time to really explore and ‘shop’ in my closet, and to put together, even try on, new combinations. It also reveals possible repair or cleaning issues while there is still time to do something about it. If my schedule for the week changes, with certain meetings requiring different selections than I have already prepared, I still have the flexibility of moving days around.

I find that the whole enterprise keeps me from just reaching for my favourites and makes me look forward to getting dressed each morning. What are your thoughts?

I strongly agree with two of John’s observations. First, I never have time enough to think calmly about what I will wear that day, let along try on one or two options. Second, thinking about what I will wear in advance opens up many more possibilities. My imagination has more time to whir through its collective memory and the wardrobe permutations.

The first of these is a real pity. As Patrick Grant at Norton & Sons observed to me recently: “It is a real shame that men don’t take 10 minutes every morning to think through their clothing options. Even if it’s just to try on two or three different ties.”

But I have to say I never fail to know what I am going to wear in the morning. Such is my passion for all things sartorial, and my eagerness to experiment, that I have already put together two or three possibilities in my mind. The evening before is normally the time for this and, if I can’t decide, I lay out a couple of options to let them stew.

Indeed, such are the whirrings of my mind that I normally have more combinations than I need. This week, for example, was forecast to be bright sunshine for at least four days. To each of those days I therefore allocated one summer item I would like to wear – new unlined navy blazer; cotton/linen trousers in a strong blue from Florence; spectator shoes from Lodger; and a tan linen jacket/yellow tie combination. Except that two days later my mind had come up with more ideas and some had to fall by the wayside. How about those white trousers? Or the cotton jacket? You never wear those when it’s sunny.

To those without this near-obsessive bent, I recommend John’s approach. At least plan out two or three days. There will always be a day or two where you are out in the evening and don’t have time to plan, in which case you can reach for old favourites. But if there’s no time given to considering your clothes, there’s unlikely to be any joy in it either.

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Sartorial Love/Hate: Denim Shirts

The introduction of denim into our wardrobes was, make no mistake, a revolution. What was once an unremarkable fabric for the working class became a sought after fashion fabric that conquered the globe; denim was to the late twentieth century what Huddersfield cotton was to the 19th. Tough, hard-wearing and distinctively American, jeans particularly are the greatest reason for this material’s success. They were an American teenage trend in the mid 20th century, and by the end of that century, everyone was wearing them.

Indeed, it’s difficult to imagine life without denim jeans. They are such practical inventions of fashion – easily washed, tough and durable – that it seems our current mode of life, far more active and requiring ever more resilient clothing of the ‘wash-and-go’ variety, might not exist without them. Cotton and wool trousers are often too smart, and often too easily spoiled; I remember spilling cream on a pair of virgin wool trousers and making the mistake of rubbing away at the material vigorously, as I would on my jeans. The difference is that the jeans can take it.

Of course, there are scattered detractors of denim. Dandy ‘evangelists’ for example tend to hold denim in contempt writing that “…this age of stonewashed blue jeans and practicality through the T-shirt is not the age in which a Dandy can come to aristocratic fruition.” They maintain a genuine refusal to acknowledge “…anyone who wears…jeans to be a dandy of any stripe.” Lapo Elkann admirers will probably disagree. The workaday value of denim is doubtless the problem for such critics. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this is the very value – something Yves Saint Laurent applauded – that explains their extraordinary success.

Aesthetically, they can be simple, even elegantly so. The material itself, no silk or velvet, is perhaps not the most lustrous or gorgeous of fabrics but pants rarely ever were the most glorious part of an ensemble. It is because of, and not in spite of, their supposedly ‘crude’ adaptability and relative simplicity that jeans, whether the detractors like it or not, are wildly popular and it seems, here to stay.

Other items of the denim family will look on in jealousy at the meteoric rise of the prodigal ‘denim jeans’; dungarees, though practical, are the old pretenders; the denim jacket is like a distant relative who uses the shine of the family name, so lacking in aesthetic and practical value is the product itself. The denim shirt, for some, is even worse. A friend once told me that while he adored denim jeans, he abhorred denim shirts; “They’re so ‘Me too!’ – what is the point in a denim shirt?” Not armed with a reason except the predictable and natural explanation that perhaps some people rather like them, I have often pondered the sartorial love/hate reception that meets the denim shirt. I myself rather like denim shirts.

Usually manufactured from a softer denim than jeans, they have a character and comfort all of their own. However, they are often very badly done in a manner that doesn’t suggest Fifties teenagers, milkshakes and Chevy-packed parking lots but beer guts, Stetsons and all-you-can-eat steakhouses. Denim should not be worn with denim – everything that ‘matches’ isn’t always a perfect ‘fit.’ Just ask Liza Minnelli and David Gest.

And while it is certainly true that the denim shirt is principally a casual item of clothing, it should not be treated in a slovenly manner. Denim shirts are boyish and as such, should be worn in a more fitted style. Baggy denim shirts, with clownishly voluminous arms, however comfortable they are, will make you look like a prisoner.

It is best to avoid overly ‘washed’ denim shirts. For one thing, indigo is a wonderful colour that should be displayed proudly and be allowed to age steadily. Secondly, there is something indescribably nasty about a denim shirt that seems to masquerade as an ordinary mid-blue cotton.

The context in which denim shirts are worn is rather unfortunate too. In their most popular habitat - the line-dancin’, country music luvin’ bone suckin’ states of the US of A – they seem to be predictably paired with denim, boots, and other items of rugged practicality. They could be better worn, as an item of intriguing colour and texture, with a club stripe tie, sports jacket, casual trousers and loafers to a booth at the 21 Club.

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British Bespoke – Part 3

My first, baste fitting for my bespoke suit at Graham Browne today. While I’ve had fittings at this stage previously with my Hong Kong tailor, this is the first time I’ve been able to ask as many questions and probe the details of this process.

The first image shows what the chest area of the suit looks like at this stage – the wool folded over with a generous inlay, lined with just the body (horsehair) canvas. The fold is held in place with long baste stitches and the sprouts of thread at the edges show where the mark stitches were that were pulled apart (see previous post here).

The second image shows the collar of the jacket. While there isn’t an actual collar attached, just over an inch of excess material is left above the neck (shown by mark stitches here) to simulate the collar when fitting.

Sewing together the jacket panels for this fitting only takes a couple of hours – which makes you feel slightly better when they say the whole thing will be ripped down into its individual components after the fitting, repressed and entirely re-cut.

This is one reason the amount of inlay left over at the edges is so generous: it allows significant reworking of the shape to be done after the baste fitting. As it is an investment suit, though, there will also be inlay left in the suit after it is finished – so it can be altered in the future. Bespoke will nearly always leave greater inlay here than ready-to-wear (which is always keen to shave off any extra costs).

In the third image the jacket is on and the lapels have been pinned back into position. Russell is examining the line of my rather rounded and sloping shoulders. Note also that only one arm is attached – the left. Only one arm is needed to judge the length and pitch of the sleeve, unless the initial measuring established that the client had one arm significantly different to the other.

The reason the left arm is attached and not the right is that it’s just easier. A sleeve is always sewn on starting at the front and working around to the back. This is because greater fullness (the difference in length between the sleeve and the armhole) has to be worked in at the front. A right-handed tailor works away from himself when attaching the left arm, therefore, but has to sew in reverse when attaching the right arm. So only the left sleeve is attached at the baste stage.

One of the most important things to discern in the sleeve at this fitting is its correct pitch (how it hangs in relation to your body – a little forward, a little back). If there is more material in the back of the sleeve, it hangs forward; more in the front and it will hang further back. The tailor makes a chalk mark on the jacket where your arm is hanging. Apparently my arms hang a little further back than average. Who knew?

It also hadn’t occurred to me that men tend to hold their arms unnaturally far back at the fitting – in the same way as they stand up too straight, as if they were on parade. The tailor has to make his customer relax in order to stand naturally, one of the favoured Savile Row methods being to tell a particularly ridiculous joke.

In the fourth picture that left arm has been stripped off and the shoulder seam is being uncut. Seeing the pieces being ripped apart is rather satisfying, and does make you feel like this length of cloth is being sculpted to your body; the measuring and cutting is rather abstract by comparison.

The shoulder was re-cut because Russell was not happy with the way it was lying, creating a little too much excess material across the chest. So the back and chest panels were pulled up and pinned again. Note also that the shoulder pads are not sewn in, just inserted and held there underneath the jacket during the fitting.

In the last picture you can see how the shoulder has been re-pinned a little tighter. You can also see the original chalk marks, now rather faded after all the work that has gone into the cloth, and the edge of body canvas and shoulder pad sticking out in the foreground. There are also small folds in this new shoulder line – where a slight excess of material will throw a little more fullness over the back.

The next (forward) fitting will be in two weeks time, where the largely complete jacket will be ready. Though it is still possible to alter a lot at the forward fitting, the tailor will try to minimise this as that construction takes around eight hours – four times as long as getting to the baste (or skeleton) fitting.

Oh, and I went for a deep green lining.

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Get The Basics Right – It Makes A Big Difference

I am aware that as my interest in fine men’s clothes progresses, and my education improves, the subjects on which I write can become more esoteric, even academic. Witness recent posts on the Blake construction of shoes and the minutiae of darts in trousers.

Wonderful as these facets of knowledge are, they make less and less difference to how good a man looks – and how long his clothes last. Having a hand-lasted shoe is great, but the difference between that and normal benchmade shoes is smaller than the difference between benchmade and cheap, glued products.

You don’t have to buy bespoke shoes or bespoke suits to look great. And the improvements you make on basic off-the-peg will make the biggest change to how you look.

So here are my tips for the man that wants to take it up a notch:

- Switch to made-to-measure suits. Save bespoke for when you make partner. Just find a great made-to-measure suit maker (A Suit That Fits, say, Suit Supply, or one of the many such tailors that wander around city offices offering their services.) The improvement on ready-to-wear is marked.

- Look after that suit. Hang it up at the end of the day, wear it no more than twice a week, brush it down occasionally and only dry clean it twice a year. Steam press it in between if it gets wrinkled.

- Buy benchmade shoes. As much as they may be disparaged on this and other style sites, good benchmade shoes from Loake, Cheaney or Grenson are a big jump up from the basic, glued, curly-toed, slip-on ones you bought in Shelly’s.

- Look after those shoes. Put shoe trees in after you’ve worn them, brush them down at the end of every day and don’t wear them two days in a row. They’ll look good and last three times as long.

- Buy expensive ties in conservative patterns and colours. In my opinion, expense shows off best in ties and in shoes. So spend more than you think you should on ties from the great tie makers. Not Armani, not Prada; but Hermes, Charvet, Bulgari. Wait until the end of the Ralph Lauren sale, when all the ties are reduced to £25, and pick on a Purple Label one reduced from £95. They just hang better.

- If you wear a pocket handkerchief, don’t scrimp there either. Wearing one is a signal that you think about your clothes and are willing to be noticed for it. Buy good quality white linen to start with. Then some dark colours – burgundy, forest green – and a pale blue, all in conservative patterns.

- Finally, match your socks to your trousers. Buy grey socks and blue socks. Not black. And make sure they are full-calf length.

Follow all of these rules and you will not extend your budget or your wardrobe dramatically. But you will be a hell of a lot better dressed.

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The Handkerchief Is An Anchor

Bright colours often need reining in. Or perhaps anchoring is the right metaphor.

Left on its own, a bright jacket (for example) can dominate an outfit and seem to float above it, rather than harmonising. It strikes the viewer as an individual item rather than part of an intelligently worked ensemble. Equally, if the jacket is dark and the rest of the outfit bright, something needs to link that jacket to the brightness elsewhere.

The most effective tool for this is the pocket handkerchief.

Pick out a colour from the shirt or tie and echo it in the handkerchief – suddenly there is a connection across the lapel and everything hangs together. In the top image, for example, this navy jacket could look a little out of place with the yellow, green and pink, not to mention the shorts. It could look like he’d put on his suit jacket on by mistake. But by echoing the pink panel of the shirt in the pink handkerchief, the jacket is anchored.

The second image demonstrates this the other way around. Here a bright yellow jacket threatens to lift right off the model and float unaided. The contrast would be particularly stark were I (or someone equally undaring) to wear this jacket – as I would certainly not pair it with such bright socks, shirt or tie. I would have plainer accompaniments and need something to anchor that jacket to them. The white of the collar would do, or a blue pattern if that were in the tie or trousers.

In this image, the handkerchief is linked to the tie by its similar tone – though to be fair that job is also performed by the horse emblazoned on the breast pocket.

Lastly, the white suit is given some kind of foundation by linking a blue handkerchief to the blues in the shirt and tie. Note, though, that the blues are slightly different in each of these items – it is harmonising, not matching.

Anchoring a bright item, like a jacket, is particularly important as the warm weather strikes (particularly in recent weeks in the UK). Suddenly you’re considering linen jackets, tan jackets, white trousers or even trousers in other brights. Go with it, but every time consider how to link that summery item back to everything else.

At a simple level, when I wear my bright green jacket I always add either a blue or white handkerchief, whichever best fits the rest of the outfit. Try it.

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