Short And Tight. But What’s Next?

One of the most interesting aspects of men’s clothing is that our tolerance for trends is actually greater than we’d like to admit. Although the writing here at Mensflair is largely a sober contrast to the histrionic gushing on fashion-following forums, a rejection of faddism and label-worship, there are essential, and unavoidable, elements of trend that are little acknowledged. If someone chooses to tell me that I am fashionable or that I simply “must know about fashion” merely because I take an extraordinary interest in clothes, I bristle with intolerance; I generally believe, rather arrogantly and naively, that I am actually unfashionable. I have been wearing, I point out, bow ties before they became a season trend. I also say that my style is too antiquated to possibly be fashionable.

However, what am I avoiding in this analysis? Why am I paying so much attention to minor detail when the fundamental, substantial issues, the sort of things that are only glaringly obvious to other people, are telling a different story?

My jackets, much as I like to believe they are of a ‘classic’ and ‘timeless’ style are a product of recent fashion. Most of them are actually rather short and, in comparison with the prevailing style of other decades, rather tightly fitting. I was bought suits ‘of a fashion’ in the 1990s by classical loving parents that offered the typical Nineties aesthetic; length, little definition in the waist and much broader shoulders. They are items that claim to be the same size, and often smaller, than the items I now wear and yet they feel two sizes too large. When I try these old items on, they not only look dated but they also look wrong; much as skinny ties began to look wrong in the 1970s, and flares began to wrong in the 1980s and shoulder pads began to look wrong in the 1990s.

Fashion is everywhere and affects virtually everything; it beats away your acceptance of trend peculiarities, enforces you to accept the new as the norm and makes you revile what you once loved.

Another case in point is the slimness of trousers. Leaving aside skinny jeans, which I do wear and (perhaps naively) believe are more timeless and adaptable than ‘baggy’ jeans, fashion has done more to our perceptions and understanding of our lower half than we would care to acknowledge. How many times have straight fit, slim trousers been advocated on this site? And how much credit is fashion afforded for this? Even in the tailoring world, a world that does not need to follow the glittering, market-driven, paparazzi influence of fashion, customers are frequently told “Well, gentlemen are wearing their trousers much slimmer these days, sir.”

When I tried on a pair of old Iceberg jeans that were, at the time, comparatively slim, I saw a trouser I would now consider too large. The waist was fine – ten years have not added much in the way of ‘excess’ to my waistline – but the overall style of the jeans was, to this contemporary eye, very confusing. Before I put them on, I remembered, vaguely, the last time I wore them. I remembered the shoes I wore them with, the restaurant I wore them to, the girl whose hand I held as we strolled along the street; they were the height of fashion and I had been teased for them being ‘tight’ by less fashion-conscious chums.

Of course, times change: the friends change, the girl changed and even the street changed. I had expected the same jeans 10 years and 100 fashion-fads later. As a garment, they were unrecognisable to me; two nil to fashion.

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Inspiration Above Propriety

At the press launch of Sharp Suits by Eric Musgrave a few week ago (pictures and report here) there was quite a variety of menswear on display.

Eric himself was wearing a splendid windowpane-check grey suit and gold tie; host Richard James wore a characteristic strong blue suit, white shirt and knitted black tie; and yours truly went for a navy double-breasted with a tie in a rather fetching shade of rust. But there was also Ben Cobb, editor of Man About Town, in a white leather jacket, vest and (of course) moustache, as well as a gentleman in a rubber jacket and all sorts of people wearing drainpipe trousers.

There are few events today at which one could say there is an expectation as to what should be worn. Fewer still where a real sense of propriety dominates. Various concerts, races and royal events are about it. But a book launch on Savile Row brings some expectations – not to dress to a code, perhaps, but to make a certain effort. This, clearly, everyone had done. And while not necessarily endorsing the rubber jacket, I think the event was better for this emphasis on personal style rather than social correctness.

For a pleasant few minutes I was chatting to Michael Whitby-Grubb of Penrose. He was wearing a checked three-piece suit in yellow and tan. His tie was a rather luminescent silver from Penrose itself (apparently the extra shine is due to not letting the silkweavers bleach the silk before they colour it). And he had on chunky brown brogues.

He looked pretty damn good. And it occurred to me that were this a hundred years earlier, an event of this sort would have seen all men in black tie. Perhaps some variation in jacket style, waistcoat or accessories, but essentially all men wearing the same thing. There is a certain ritualistic beauty in that; definitely an elegance that modern society lacks. But it leaves little room for inspiration and personal style.

It seems to me that when we bemoan a lack of smart dress, often we are lamenting men’s laziness and a lack of interest in how they look. That is far more depressing than taste you disagree with.

I wish there were more black-tie events, I do. I wish I had to own a morning suit, and wear that frequently. But I’m glad that Michael can wear what is effectively a country suit to an event of that type, and pay attention to it, dress it up and accessorise it as a result. It inspires me.

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How A Three Rolls To Two

Fans of traditional clothing are fairly united in their dislike of ‘true’ three-button suits – where the jacket is designed to button all the way up and leaves an awkward angle in the cloth if it is not. This fastening design is a hangover from the sleek Italian style of the late fifties and early sixties, where the long silhouette was accentuated by a high fastening and three or four buttons. It inspired the Continental look in the US in the late fifties and the British Mods in the early sixties.

The more elegant alternative for a three-button jacket is to have a lapel that easily rolls over when only the centre button is fastened – so-called ‘three rolls to two’. That way the lapel line is longer and sleeker, but you retain the option of buttoning all the way up if it gets cold, windy or both.

I was chatting to my tailors at Graham Browne the other day and it seems there are two ways to achieve this roll. The first, more English way is to put a loose, sparse row of stitches down the back of the lapel that leads to the centre button. This creates some permanent structure to the roll and ensures that, while it remains soft, it always looks the same. The position of the canvas in the chest also helps contribute to this effect.

The alternative, more American option is to put no structure in the lapels. Without an edge to the canvas or a separate row of stitches, the lapel is happy to roll wherever it wants. It will roll to the centre button if that is the one that is fastened. Or it will roll, though not quite as naturally, to the top or bottom button.

The way to tell the difference is to hang up both jackets and leave them unfastened. The latter construction will roll open very easily, and perhaps even roll over all the way down if there is little canvas in the chest. The former will always roll to the same place – where the stitches were sewn.

Most English tailors prefer more structure to their jackets – with famous and notable exceptions. They feel a jacket without it is more likely to lose its shape over time.

My mid-blue chalkstripe suit I have just commissioned from Graham Browne will be three-rolls-to-two the English way. Controversially, the waistcoat will also roll to its second button. Russell at Graham Browne hates this. But I think it adds a nice, casual tone to the waistcoat – more like a cardigan. And you’ve got to have some individuality, right?

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When You Absolutely, Positively Have To Go Tailor Made

One of the things we do on BespokeMe is street style photos.  That’s how I encountered the debonair gentleman above. You don’t see this type of double breasted suit very often –with good reason.

Popular with the Duke of Windsor it is sometimes referred to as the ‘Kent’ model. This is in reference to the Duke of Windsor’s brother, George Duke of Kent. He’s accredited with inventing the style, although I can find no definitive proof of this. It’s also called the 4-on-1, because of the four buttons on display only one is fastened.

Conventional wisdom states; if you’re going to wear a double breasted suit you should opt for the 6-on-2 (six buttons on display, two can be fastened). If buying an off the peg suit deviate from this advice at your peril!

Being well dressed doesn’t begin and end with bespoke or made to measure, but every rule has its exception, and the Kent is mine. To make this style work, as it does for gentleman above, you need four key ingredients;

-Firstly, the button has to be placed in just the right place. There is absolutely no room for error, and only consultation with your tailor will see this done right.

-Secondly, you need high armholes. This lengthens the torso preventing the suit from looking too boxy. It also prevents men of average or larger build looking fat.

-Thirdly, you need close fitting shoulders. Too wide and once again the suit will look boxy. Too much cloth across the chest will also allow the suit to gape.

-Finally, you need a full floating canvass. It’s a floating canvas that gives lapels a roll. A fused canvas leads the lapel to lay flat. To work this suit requires a long sweeping lapel with a nice roll.

N.B. You could also add to this list a requirement for slanted pockets, which will provide a sliming affect by making the waist appear narrower and the torso longer.

The chances of getting all these requirements from an off the peg suit, even a good one, is too tall an order.

Ever since my encounter with the gentleman above I’ve had it in mind, and can resist no longer. I’ve decided to try my shirt makers new made to measure suit service after Christmas (no suit made before Christmas will fit afterwards) and have one made up. As much as I love the style, I wouldn’t contemplate it otherwise.

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Fused Or Unfused Collars?

There’s a lot of snobbery and silliness in the world of men’s clothing, but then it’s no different to any other field.

One area where this is particularly acute is in discussion of whether a shirt should have a fused or unfused collar. Proponents of each type engage in something akin to sartorial top trumps; trading detail, luminary endorsement and experience in an attempt to prove themselves the connoisseur, and their opponent the school boy amateur.  My view is that you’d do well to know the difference between them both and use each to their best affect.

Obviously the collar and cuffs of a shirt need to be more solid than its body. To do this you take two pieces of shirt cloth (outer facings) and between them sandwich another, different type of material known as interlining. The interlining forms a sort of skeleton providing rigidity and shape. There are subtle differences adopted by each shirt maker, but on the whole whether you have fused or unfused collars both will use two outer facings and a piece of interlining material. So, what is the difference?

The unfused collar is the more traditional method of construction and favoured by English shirt makers. The interlining is sewn into position between the two outer facings –similar to a floating canvas in a suit. If you pinch either side of the collar or cuff and pull the material in opposite directions you should be able to pull the two facings apart.  Unfused collars will often feel softer too.

The fused collar is favoured by most Italian shirt makers. Here the interlining is glued/fused to one or both outer facings. Rub the collar between your fingers and typically you’ll find either no movement or one side of outer facing will move slightly. Fused collars tend to look a little sharper.

Both types have their drawbacks. An unfused collar may pucker particularly if the interlining and shirt fabric shrink at different rates. If you’ve ever ironed a shirt collar and found a ridge or what seemed to be an excess of cloth at the collar points that’s the reason. A fused collar often gets a bad rap because earlier interlinings were very poor and often bubbled after a few washes –this is owing to the cloth being misaligned at fusing.

Of course both have their benefits and you can use them to alter your look and provide added subtlety –just as a collar style can augment a particular look or physiology. Strangely, while an unfused collar is often softer it can appear more constructed and weightier, which in my view makes it ideal for wearing with suits and ties, providing for a very English look. Conversely, while many feel fused collars are sharper and stand better –particularly without a tie- they often look thinner, lighter, less constructed and more informal. I find them perfect for wearing with odd jackets, particularly when paired with jeans. Here we look to Italian men, so often featured on The Sartorialist. Indeed, iron the collar right and you can get that lovely arching which most Italian men seem to acquire.

So my advice, for what it’s worth, is use your collars to play with your look and leave the Top-Trumpers to their childish games.

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