The Man in the White Suit

In my experience, if you are a man who is hankering to get noticed; if you find insufficient eyes flashing, not enough heads turning and pitifully few motors screeching to a halt when your form drifts by, the absolute peach of a fixer for this is a white suit. White suits, though they are woefully impractical, act as a beacon. It is not that white is a particularly unusual colour; it is simply that the reflection of light is so powerful that it draws a pedestrian’s attention. I find myself gazing at quite unspectacular people in quite ordinary outfits merely because they are wearing a large quantity of white.

The power of white, quite apart from the momentary dazzling effect it has, is considerable. When I imagine white suits, especially in the context of a large and untidy metropolis, I imagine wealthy dandies, tiptoeing among the dank and dark rottenness of filthy Victorian London; their pearl-like brilliance causing delight and alarm to the sooted faces of an outstretched hand. White has majesty and purity and anyone who wears it had better make jolly well sure the garments are utterly spotless.

The literary and journalistic people have almost hijacked the white suit as a thing belonging entirely to their world; a world of typewriters, infinite creativity and deadlines. Mark Twain was as famous for wearing his white suits in later life as he was for his anti-imperialism, support of the common man and his creation of Tom Sawyer and Tom Wolfe, though his fervent ‘anti-bloggism’ almost precludes me from mentioning him at all, is one of the most famous and flamboyant of modern day white-suit dandies.

It does indeed have poetic qualities: the idea of ‘the ivory tower’ springs to mind; a man so detached and disconnected from the ordinaries of life – a man seemingly mindless and uncaring of the existence, and effect, of dirt. It’s unsurprising that Fitzgerald clothed his doomed hero Gatsby in the innocence and naivety of a white suit; nothing else, sartorially speaking, could have relayed more tragedy in the bootlegger’s misplaced confidence.

The beauty of white is that it is considered such a celestial colour; virginal and angelic, white is an ideal – the taintless dream of a perfect world. The amusing, and rather obscure, Ealing comedy The Man in the White Suit pays homage to the purity and unassailability of white. Though in that story, its colour was an accident of the super-material’s inability to absorb dye, it was nevertheless an affirmation that white was the apogee, the supreme colour and without fault.

If you are interested in wearing a white suit, you are quite brilliant, if a little mad. White is devilishly difficult to keep completely clean and unless repeat visits to the dry cleaners are unlikely to damage your patience or your bank account, by all means charge ahead. The way to wear one is really very simple; remember to keep the lines classic, the trousers slim and the matching footwear anything but black. Stay away from the Saturday Night Fever, four-shirt-buttons-undone emsembles; it’s as tacky as a terry cloth tracksuit, so think more along the lines of Ernest Hemingway or James Wormold from Our Man in Havana.

Wining and Dining with Style

There’s nothing quite like dining out. Though the unenviable tasks of meal preparation, wine pouring and washing up have been passed on to capable, professional hands, venturing out for a bite to eat poses a problem not necessarily associated with the comfort of home feasting: what to wear.

When I have been fortunate enough to dine at restaurants of exquisite taste and marvellous cuisine I am often shocked to see a couple of roguish customers, crouching over their glasses of Margaux in skin-tight t-shirts from the likes of DSquared or Dolce & Gabbana. These martyrs of the dining world, who are very likely to believe that the more they spend on a t-shirt, the more acceptable it is, are in fact the laughing stock of the entire restaurant. And, what’s worse, they are so conceited in the appeal of their self-indulgent materialism that they actually deign to attend conspicuously formal restaurants in this most crude and inappropriate clothing.

One does not have to swan around in Savile Row suits to be acceptable for such places and nor do you have to spend, contrary to common ‘wisdom’, vast amounts of greenbacks on designer goods and accessories. Dressing appropriately and elegantly can be relatively inexpensive and sets you apart as a citizen capable of respect: respect for the surroundings and for the other diners.

In order to dress appropriately, and not merely exceptionally, it is important to consider certain factors. Firstly, where will you be dining and secondly, what is the occasion. Some chaps might take very little time to consider these options; a brief enquiry as to the destination, a ‘wear-something-nice’ return comment and hey presto – this particular chap is ready.

I believe that, for other men, it is rather more complex. A Michelin starred Roux establishment calls for a different sartorial approach than a funky and crowded sushi destination. This is not an argument for ‘blending in’: I would never encourage a gentleman to disappear into the fabric of the place. A man of style should be discreetly noticeable, but he should also be capable of chameleonic modification.
Having a personal style is important, but adapting to surroundings should also be of interest.

How much to add, or indeed take away from your personal style is a question of taste and occasion. Those with a very relaxed and minimalist style may wish to ‘add’ significantly on special occasions. Likewise, those with a rather foppish dress sense may find they will benefit from ‘tailoring down’ on their way to a simple trattoria. I do not encourage such harmony from any desire for picture-postcard symmetry but for the personal comfort and enjoyment of the gentleman in particular; adjusting your threads in reverence to the surroundings can help you to relax and feel comfortable.

In the richly wooded and velvet-trimmed surroundings of a very traditional restaurant, it would be appropriate to dress complementarily; a nut brown suit, light blue shirt, chestnut Oxfords and perhaps a silk or cashmere navy blue heraldic tie would be perfect but if this sort of attire does not appeal, ‘going neutral’ is acceptable; a dark blue or grey suit with a crisp white shirt and chocolate brown shoes. The advantage of the ‘neutral’ look is that it can, in the parlance of modish fashion writers, ‘take you anywhere’; from pre-dinner drinks at a contemporary bar to post-dinner clubbing in low-lit Soho dens, the ‘neutral’ has an advantage when it comes to flexibility.

When it comes to a casual meal with friends; no build up, late notice, inexpensive, contemporary and informal, your ‘neutral’ uniform will still be effective but in some circumstances it might look a little contrived; making-an-effort-to-not-make-an-effort can be rather obvious at times, so removing the trousers and replacing them with smart denim, or conversely, removing the jacket and replacing it with a cardigan or a good v-neck jumper is a good idea for establishments that have a noisier and more youthful edge.

A female friend once told me that dressing empirically well is impressive but that dressing appropriately is even more so. Living this advice can be challenging but it’s an awful lot of fun. Need something for a smart seafood restaurant in Maine? Perhaps a double-breasted navy blazer with contrasting white buttons, light blue slim chinos and a high collar white shirt. Or something for a stylish, contemporary tapas joint in Barcelona? Maybe some white denim, some white loafers, a cream shirt and a sky blue two-button linen jacket. There is certainly pleasure in choice and there is an even greater pleasure in looking the part.

Go Bespoke and Prepare to Suffer

Buying bespoke will never go out of style, but are stylish men destined to suffer as they turn dressing into an art form? This is a question that has recently troubled me.

Was the great German philosopher Schopenhauer right? Is humanity trapped in an endless cycle of willed desire, relieved only briefly through the sating of this desire before the yearning just rises again. I want a well fitted dinner jacket, I venture out, I hand over my abused credit card and as I walk home I am happy but for how long?

One of my New Years resolutions is to buy less (I used to be the ultimate consumer personified) but what I buy will be quality. “Less is more” should ring true in every man’s wardrobe. This has brought me into the well cut and measured world of bespoke, a which has always been attractive one to me; consider me the chubby cheeked child with face pressed against the shop windows of Savile Row. However, my new mantra could also be my downfall, I urge you to have a degree of caution when visiting your tailor.

The greatest danger of bespoke is its very nature. Bespoke clothing means that the consumer doesn’t want an existing item; they crave something that is theirs, something perfect. The road to perfection is far from the easy path. Like most creative goals the quest for perfection could prove elusive. Furthermore, bespoke is not entirely a matter of purchase anymore it is more a matter of creation. On bespoke tailoring Hardy Amies remarked: “The whole process should be a harmonious co-operation between designer, tailor and customer, with the salesperson as a sort of referee.” In essence bespoke gives a great deal of power to the buyer, changing their ordinarily passive role, at least in the garments creation, to one of collaboration between tailor and consumer.

Another potential problem with bespoke is the process does not allow instant consumer satisfaction that most of us crave. Rather than a quick off the rail, transaction, and into the bag, the process takes weeks, where the consumer is left in animated suspension and open to spot the next perfect piece and therefore ultimately delaying gratification. As you visit your tailor you could easily spot the perfect cloth or a variant cut that will soon make you think of the next suit.

Regardless of the above I am still going to take the risk and I urge you to do the same. As you get dressed in the morning finding that your clothes fit perfectly, the cuffs peeping out just enough from your jacket’s sleeve, with your trousers breaking at just the right point on the shoe, it will be well worth it.

Tips on Stuffing a Handkerchief

As a follow up to my last posting, here are some tips on stuffing a handkerchief.

The golden rule: a silk handkerchief should always look as though it is in use, though this is patently not the case. It should be casual, and not appear overprepared or constructed. If you are lucky this may counterbalance the fact that you are wearing one. And no one else is.

The easiest way to achieve this casualness is to hold the handkerchief in the centre, let the four ends drop, and stuff that centre into the bottom of the pocket, letting the points poke out of the top. If the points poke out further than desired, try folding over the other end an inch or two first.

If you prefer a rounded finish to a handkerchief (and it does look rather less outspoken) then reverse the process. Gather the four corners together, perhaps fold them over an inch or two as above, and then stuff into the pocket so the centre protrudes. This may also be useful if you wish to display the centre pattern, rather than a differently coloured border.

The other alternative is a mixture of these two, gathering the four corners and then folding the length in half. That way both the centre and the corners protrude, with the centre acting effectively as a fifth point. The disadvantage of this stuff is that there is no handkerchief at the bottom of the pocket and, unless the pocket is tight, it may slip down during the day.

I would also recommend trying a no-nonsense stuff, particularly if you feel the other suggestions don’t work. Push the handkerchief into the pocket. If the protrusion at the top is too large, fold the excess silk back into the pocket and behind the handkerchief. This rarely results in the same display twice.

Finally, the second golden rule: always go for casual. Don’t over-think it and, whatever you do, don’t adjust it constantly. There’s nothing worse that someone fiddling with a pocket hankie, drawing more attention to an already unusual decoration. Clothes should look, to quote Hardy Amies, as if you had forgotten all about them.

Cotton handkerchiefs are different. Some of these pointers apply, others don’t; more on the folding options for a cotton handkerchief at another time. As to which you should wear, though, bear in mind that a silk tie or handkerchief works well because of its contrast in texture, between the rough wool of a suit and the smoothness of silk. Silk therefore goes best with most suits, particularly flannel. Some modern worsted suits reverse this relationship: they are so smooth that cotton or even wool is more of a contrast.

(Remember the philosophy of Permanent Style though: you don’t need to follow the guidelines, it’s just worth being aware of why they are there. If you wear a wool tie or handkerchief with a sports jacket it might get lost because of the lack of contrast. A silk tie with a shiny suit might be too much. But then you might want that.)

How To Dress While Abroad

When traveling abroad, you are a representative of your country. Like it or not, you are judged based on your appearance and interactions, and your perception will either fuel or help dispel cultural stereotypes.

“Doing as the Romans do” is extremely important, not only because it is the right thing, but it also has many practical consequences. When you blend in with the local populace, you both reduce your chances of being pick-pocketed and being turned away at restaurants, as well as increase the possibility of meeting new people and gaining entrance to places you might not otherwise.

Europeans, for example, on average do not have the same fear of dressing as the majority of American men. Instead, they rightly see it as another means of self-expression. Disregard of appearance is seen both as a lack of respect for self as well as others.

Unless you are traveling to Cancun, ‘vacation’ does not always inherently mean t-shirts, shorts and sandals. When traveling to a foreign city, it is important to always be presentable and give the same attention to detail you would for a first date.

Certain things are a dead giveaway that you are an American tourist. Principal among them are cargo pants, non-ironic American flag shirts, rumpled clothing, and torn jeans. Chinos are another item that, while popular in the U.S., are basically nonexistent in most European countries.

The best way to go is to wear understated clothing in neutral colors. Clothes from European labels such as A.P.C. are great because they are pegged to the fashion in Europe rather than stateside.

A fail safe packing list, which can be modified for the duration of your trip, would include bringing at least one stylish blazer, which is imperative for access to upscale restaurants. Also plan on bringing at least a few dress shirts for daily wear; ties are up to personal discretion and style. For jeans, think about what you might wear to the office on a casual Friday; if they are ripped or baggy, leave them at home to wear while painting the house.

Obviously, if you plan on sightseeing and extensive walking (which is the best way to really see a city), it’s important to bring comfortable shoes, though this does not necessarily translate to sneakers. While living in France, I remarked that almost everyone from the age of fifteen up wore loafers or proper shoes rather than sneakers. There, nicer restaurants and bars will not allow people in sneakers to enter. Packing one pair of black and one pair of brown shoes will likely be all you need for your travels.

If you follow these simple guidelines, you will have little reason to fear being targeted or labeled as an unwelcome tourist and anything that can diminish the prevalence or necessity of fanny packs is a very good thing.