Summer in Tokyo: Staying Smart While Staying Cool

There’s been a distinct upturn in temperature here in Tokyo over the past week or so, signalling the coming of the (often not so) rainy season and seemingly endless days of 30-degree temperatures and high humidity. Usually summer heat is mitigated by frosty blasts from office air conditioners, but this year is set to be somewhat different. March’s earthquake knocked out a considerable number of power stations that supply the Greater Tokyo area, meaning companies will have to turn off - or at least turn down - their air conditioners. It also means a lot of office workers may have to rethink their work attire.

The kind of sustained summer heat experienced by places like Tokyo came as something of a shock to the system for me. I grew up on the North Yorkshire coast, a place not renowned for its scorching summer weather, and learned the art of dressing seasonally pretty late in life. When people hear the words “summer clothing” it’s hard not to think of shorts, t shirts and sandals, none of which are appropriate for most offices. But it doesn’t have to be this way. Even before the planned reduction in air conditioner use I began to build a collection of summer work clothing that was light, cool and breathable. Here is my list of hot weather essentials based on a few years’ experience of summer in Tokyo*:

Linen suit
Yes they’re easily creased, but that’s all part of the linen suit’s charm. And, personally speaking, I think it’s far better to look cool and composed in a slightly rumpled linen suit than hot and sweaty in a crease-free woollen one. Khaki is the traditional go-to colour for linen suits, but I’m quite fond of a dark (not navy) blue and tobacco-coloured hues. Both look very elegant with a light blue shirt and knitted silk tie.

Cotton chinos
Chinos, khakis… whatever you call them, they’re a damn sight more comfortable in summer than wool-based trousers. Because they’re easily creased it’s important that cotton chinos fit well. Too baggy and they look like potato sacks; too tight and they look like well-filled sausage skins. You might want to have chinos break slightly higher than wool-based trousers, or, if you’re feeling particularly daring, have no break at all. This is because you’ll want to wear them with…

Suede loafers
Suede loafers were made for summer. Their uppers sit quite low on the top of the feet, which gives more freedom for your pegs to breathe. This isn’t something I took particular attention to in my first few years here, but I’ve noticed that my feet are markedly cooler and less sweaty in loafers than in lace ups. As for the socks/sockless debate, I’m tend to opt for lightweight silk socks in the early stages of summer, then switch to invisible socks when the temperatures soar. It’s not exactly conservative office dress, but when you’re walking on baking asphalt there’s nothing nicer than feeling the breeze against your ankles. I’ve heard a lot of people say that invisible socks often pop off the back of their ankles, and indeed they can do. I recommend Falke’s invisible socks, which have a few strips of silicone on the inside of the heel to stop this from happening.

Pique cotton shirts
Pique cotton is, according to Wikipedia at least, part of white tie. Apparently this is because it holds more starch than plain fabric and can therefore produce a stiffer shirt front. Needless to say, this is not the kind of shirt I have in mind here. I recently came across a number of shirts in United Arrows that are made from a similar kind of pique weave as a polo shirts. They’re definitely not for wearing with a tie, but are ideal for casual Fridays or very hot days when the sweat-wicking properties of the pique weave comes into its own.

Cotton/silk blend ties
Cotton or cotton/silk blend ties, to me at least, conjure up images of mint juleps on the veranda, seersucker suits and lazy July afternoons. I also think they’re great for situations where is a tie is required but the occasion isn’t uber-serious. Opt for light, neutral colours and occasional stripes.

*Some of you might be surprised to learn that this kind of attire is okay for corporate Japan, which is often stereotyped as a land of black-suit, black-shoe, white-shirt uniformity. Yes, there are a lot of people who wear this kind of stuff, even in summer, but it’s more to do with a lack of awareness than super-strict dress codes. Barring very traditional industries, such as finance, a lot of Japanese companies are moving towards being as relaxed as western ones when it comes to clothing. The need to conserve electricity this summer has helped to speed up this change. My company, for example, has no dress code that I know of, but most men tend to stick to what they know, ie, dark-coloured suits, because they don’t really want to think about what to wear. They might change their ways once the air con is set to 28 degrees.

Starting Over

Through a much improved diet and increased exercise I have managed to lose about thirty pounds in the last eight weeks.  I am in better shape now at age forty than I was at any time in my thirties.  I plan to lose an additional fifteen pounds in the coming weeks.  That will put me back where I was when I graduated from college fifteen years ago.  While this has been great for my health, my energy level, and my self esteem, it has been brutal to my wardrobe.  So far I’ve lost an inch out of my neck, two through my chest and three from my waist.  At the end of this journey I will be left with shoes, socks and neckties.  Everything else must be replaced.  I will be starting over.

I am in the same quandary as recent college graduates just entering into the workforce.  On the one hand there is a need to quickly fill ones closet with enough garments to make it through the week.  On the other hand is the desire to take sufficient time to find quality items and fit them into the budget.  I intend to resist the temptation to run out and buy a bunch of off-the-rack clothing.  Instead, I have been putting significant thought and research into prioritizing the rebuilding process.

I recently ran across an article, written by George Francis Frazier, Jr., that has provided some measure of guidance.  The article, “The Art of Wearing Clothes,” was originally published in the September 1960 issue of Esquire.  The text of the full article can be found at The Materialist.  In the article Frazier details the history of male attire and names his list of the best dressed men of his time.

Frazier names A. J. Drexel Biddle, the Adjutant General of Pennsylvania, as one of the best dressed men in America.  He then details Biddle’s “monastic” wardrobe.

It includes seven so-called business suits—two double- and one single-breasted navy-blue  serge; one double- and one single-breasted dark-blue pin-stripe flannel; one single-breasted  charcoal-grey flannel. (They were made by either H. Harris of New York, who charges $225  and up for a two-piece suit, or E. Tautz of London who charges, as to do most topnotch British  tailors, almost a quarter less. All have skeleton alpaca linings and the sleeves have three buttons  and open buttonholes. The single-breasteds have three-button, notched-lapel jackets.) For  formal daytime wear, Biddle has a charcoal-grey cheviot cutaway, a single-breasted white  waistcoat, and black trousers with broad white stripes. (With these, he wears a black silk ascot  and a wide wing collar.) For semiformal daytime occasions, he has a charcoal-grey single- breasted cheviot sack coat and trousers, in either black or Cambridge grey, with broad white  stripes. Besides a ready-made Aquascutum raincoat, Biddle owns three outer coats—a double- breasted blue chinchilla ($175 from Tautz), a single-breasted light drab covert cloth ($225, H.  Harris), and a double-breasted polo coat with white bone buttons ($325, Harris). He has, in  addition to a tweed cap, four hats, all of them purchased at Lock’s in London too many years  ago for him to recall exactly what they cost. One is a high-silk, one an opera hat, and the other  two homburgs—one black and one green. For formal evening wear, Biddle has tails ($175,  Tautz), a double-breasted dinner coat with satin shawl lapels ($150, Tautz), and, for warm  weather, two single-breasted, shawl-collared white gabardine dinner coats ($98 each, Tautz).  His evening shirts, with which he wears a conventionally-shaped bow tie, have pleats, roll  collars, and are made for him by Dudley G. Eldridge of New York at $28 each.

Biddle’s sports clothes include three tweed jackets ($160 each, Harris), three pairs of charcoal- grey flannel slacks, and a half-dozen button-down shirts made by Eldridge out of silk that he,  Biddle, bought in Spain. His shoes, of which he has three pairs of black for daytime wear and  one patent leather and one calfskin for evening wear, were made by Paulsen & Stone of  London, who also made for him, for sports wear, a pair of black moccasins, a pair of black  loafers, and two pairs of white canvas shoes with brown leather toes and rubber soles (which he  wears with either prewar white flannels or an ancient double-breasted light-grey sharkskin suit).  Biddle’s neck-band shirts, which are either starched dickey bosoms (elongated so that the  bosoms extend below the middle button of his jacket) or semi-starched pleated bosoms, have  white cuffs and bodies of either grey or light blue. They cost $26 each and are made by  Eldridge, who also makes his stiff white collars ($3 each) and his ties ($7.50 each), which run to  solid black silks and discreet shepherd checks and are shaped so as to make a knot small enough  to fit neatly into a hard collar. His underwear is ready-made and comes from Jacob Reed’s.

Like all men with innate clothes sense, Biddle eschews such abominations as ankle-length  socks, matching tie-and-handkerchief sets, huge cuff links, conspicuous tie clasps, and, most  hideous of all, cellophane hat covers. Indeed, well-dressed men, almost without exception, are  interested in something novel in clothing, only when it is both as attractive and functional as,  say the duffer coat, which proved its value to the Royal Navy in the Second World War.

Naturally, Biddle’s coat sleeves are not only uncreased, but also of such length as to permit a  fraction-of-an-inch of his shirt cuff to show—as, similarly, the neck of his jacket is cut so that  the back of his shirt collar is exposed. As for the width of his trousers and coat lapels, it is  determined, not by the extreme narrowness that is something of a rage these days, but by,  respectively, the length of his foot and the breadth of his shoulders. He selects, in short, clothes  that become him. For anyone who is not as “clean favored and imperially slim . . . and  admirably schooled in every grace” as Biddle is, the Biddle style of dress would be  preposterous. Few things are more precarious than the indiscriminate aping of another man’s  wardrobe.

Obviously most men today would not require the formal clothes present in Biddle’s wardrobe.  Because I live in the American South, I would need more warm-weather attire and less flannel.  Nevertheless, the article presents a fascinating look into the closet of a well-dressed man and proves that a man can get by on a modest selection of conservative clothing.  If you were to update Biddle’s wardrobe for today, what would you take off the list?  What would you add?  Post your lists in the comments.  I’m fascinated to hear our readers’ opinions.

Sartorial Love/Hate: The Sockless Loafer

One of the most interesting criticisms I received recently was that my practice of wearing loafers without socks was nothing short of “disgusting.” The most amusing point about the delivery was that it was delivered by a friendly gaggle of females who thought nothing of imparting such a critique whilst slipping their own uncovered heels in and out of their ballet pumps.

“You should wear socks” one of them nodded, patronisingly “otherwise your shoes will stink.” Further remarks of surprise came from male acquaintances; “Ooh, and no socks either. Looks very…” “Continental?” I ventured, hopefully. “Yea, I suppose so” came the uncertain reply.

England is a prudish nation. As many polls as there are stating that we are the ‘naughtiest’ nation, the ‘most fetishistic’ or ‘the most adventurous’, we still have reservations when it comes to the unexpected exposure of flesh. Though the strict Victorian standards no longer apply - hems are higher, necklines are lower – we still find flesh curious and even offensive, particularly in relation to footwear: along with the American race, we must be the only nation who believes that the ideal summer ensemble involves wrapping our feet in thick socks and chunky trainers.

Continental Europeans are far more comfortable lolling around sans-socks when it gets warm. I recently admired a louche duo of Italians having a coffee in the shade at Cecconi’s in Mayfair wearing Ray-Bans, linen jackets, chinos and sockless loafers. The look was easy and comfortable; I wander on a hundred yards and encounter an Englishman in socks and sandals. No doubt the Englishman will scoff at the Italian, decrying the sweaty decay of his footwear; the undignified and un-English exposure of ankles; the unsightly and ungentlemanly act of ‘forcing’ his most inelegant bodily feature on the rest of us, in much the same way as my female acquaintances criticised my sockless state.

The worst trait of the British in this critique is that they deny the self-benefit of forbidding the practice and suggest it is for the benefit of the wearer; “But your shoes will smell” they cry, “think of it – sweaty, salty shoes. So disgusting…” “…and uncomfortable…” When comforting critics with assurances that they will never be forced to smell the shoes, this yields little change in their tolerance. It is not perhaps the decay and odour itself as the thought of it, the idea of such an improper act that they really object to.

Harsher critics might even suggest the problem of Britishness itself is to blame; stiff upper lips, repressed sexuality and a hatred of ankles, although there seems to be little objection from anyone, including myself, on the female practice of wearing shoes with unstockinged feet.

Reader Question: Southern-Style Hat

I see that you are a connoisseur of Southern-style clothing. I have a very important question that has been causing quite a stir lately and I would like your opinion on it.

I’m the President of a marching band in Covington, LA (about thirty miles away from New Orleans), and our band is very famous in our area, especially during Mardi Gras as we march in six parades, three of which are in New Orleans. What makes us so famous is our style of music (funk, of course, with a little bit of pop) and the fact that we dance just as much, and just as well, as we play. We are known for this, and as we march down streets like Canal St. and Napoleon Ave., people always ask us to dance, or “lay down the funk” as we like to call it. But we are just as equally known for our uniforms. While every other band wears the traditional “marching band uniform,” we wear something completely different.

We have always been known as the Southern Gentleman Band, as well as by our official name, the Marching Wolves. While our Drum Majors wear white tuxedos with blue and gold vests (our colors), the band members proudly wear a blue and gold suit with our famous Panama hat. It is part of time honored St. Paul’s School Band tradition that spans forty years. It’s what separates us from everyone else, and our members take a lot of pride in it.

Over the years we have undergone a few uniform changes. In the 1970’s and 80’s we sported plaid pants, and somewhere in there we also wore ascots. This year marks the 100th anniversary of our school, and we are getting brand new uniforms for the occasion. The uniform itself remains almost the same, but we are having issues with finding an affordable, aesthetically-right hat. Our current hats haven’t exactly won the test of time and have been really beaten up. The new proposed hat is a fedora, thus ousting the forty years of wearing Panama hats. Although just a hat, trading our southern-style hat for a new, cheaper, and possibly more durable fedora has raised quote a lot of controversy with our local school community, alumni, and current band members.

So to get the point, my question is this: does going from a Panama hat to a fedora diminish our southern-style uniform? What are your opinions?

A Panama hat is a traditional straw hat (actually of Ecuadorian origin) that is popular in tropical climates because it is light weight and breathable. The impression of the Panama hat as a “Southern” hat stems from its utility as an appropriate accessory to the summer-weight suits worn in the sweltering heat and humidity of the American South. I expect many style-aficionados might find fault with wearing a summer hat during Mardi Gras in February or early March; however, I would not throw away forty years of school tradition on that technicality alone.

I’m frankly not a big fan of the proposed white fedora. From reading the comments on the Facebook debate, it appears that many others are not fond of it either because it looks cheap, would not be as breathable during strenuous marches, and is a break from tradition. I gather from the other side of the debate that the Panama hats are too expensive and not durable.

One option that may not have been considered is the straw boater. I wrote about them last spring at my blog, A Southern Gentleman. A straw boater has a wide brim similar to the Panama. Straw boaters typically include solid or striped ribbons that could accomodate the school colors. And since a boater is made from layered stiff straw, it would likely be more durable than a Panama hat.

For something completely different, you might consider a porkpie hat. Again, I wrote about porkpie hats last spring. I mention the porkpie hat because of its association with jazz and blues musicians. If you decide to depart from the Panama hat, the porkpie might fit your “funk” style better than a fedora.

This is certainly a curious and unique question. I will look forward to our readers’ opinions and comments on the matter.

The Return of The Tie Clip

There are few items of jewellery that a man can get away with wearing in the workplace. A watch, a pair of cufflinks, a belt and a wedding ring are all fine, of course; but extra rings, necklaces and bracelets are often a step too far. There is, however, one oft-overlooked accessory that’s both perfectly suitable for work and highly practical: the tie clip.

The tie clip’s rise and fall is inextricably linked to the history of the tie itself. By the 1870s the tie had acquired pretty much the same long, thin form that it possesses today, but as it was often not made of expensive material most gents were quite happy to stab it through with a tie pin. By the 1920s the tie had become an altogether sleeker item that deserved to be well looked after. The tie clip stepped in: admirably keeping it under control without damaging the silk.

From the 1930s onwards the tie clip was a common sight in American political and corporate life. From the simple elegance of the solid silver bar to the gaudy, logo-emblazoned monster, they were a small yet ubiquitous accessory. Interestingly, in Britain they never quite reached the same level of acceptance as they did in the States, save for in active professions like policing. Perhaps this is because they signified practicality and a degree of manual work, things that gentlemen wouldn’t concern themselves with.

By the end of the twentieth century the tie clip was careening towards sartorial extinction on both sides of the Atlantic. The relaxation of workplace dress codes often alleviated the need for ties. In an age when the simple act of wearing one was seen as “dressing up”, the tie clip became an idiosyncrasy, and its wearers invariably labelled dandies or try-too-hards.

Thankfully, the recent marked rise in the number of men who take an active interest in dressing smartly – and the increasing acceptance among other men that this is a good thing – has led to an upturn in the tie clip’s fortunes. Personally speaking, I was a bit apprehensive about wearing one, but their sheer usefulness completely won me over. The coming of spring in Tokyo is marked by warm and very windy days, and I was sick of having to claw my tie off the back of my neck. Thanks to the tie clip, this is no longer a problem. It also saves my tie from bearing the brunt of occasional lunchtime spillages.

If you’re looking in investing in a tie clip my advice is to keep it simple. A well-made sterling silver clip, without markings or logos, can be worn both at work and at formal occasions. There is also the matter of width. My favourite tie clip is narrower, or at the most the same size as most of the ties in my wardrobe. Remember: your tie clip should offer an aesthetically pleasing counterpoint to the combination of patterns and colours in your jacket, shirt and tie, rather than scream for attention like an oversized cowboy-style belt buckle.