Patrick Grant On Dressing Well

The proprietor of Norton & Sons gives his thoughts on dressing up and dressing well.

What’s the key to a great men’s outfit?

The great thing about the way men dress is we have so many bits and pieces we can put together. And if you’ve got an eye for it, a little bit of flair, you can lift an ordinary outfit into something quite special just by, you know, picking up the purple overcheck in a dark-grey Prince-of-Wales and accessorising that with your pocket handkerchief. Someone will see it, just catch that item, and they’ll think: ‘huh, I like that.’

Do many people do that these days?

No. I think it’s a real shame that we’ve got to the point where people who want to dress nicely feel embarrassed to do so. That they feel they can’t wear both a tie and a pocket handkerchief because of how it will be perceived. It’s depressing to me.

So few people get any joy out of getting dressed in the morning these days. It’s a shame because it can be a very pleasant, slightly introspective pause in your otherwise hectic schedule: ‘I’m just going to take 10 minutes and find the right tie to go with this shirt.’

I used to spend hours and hours swapping ties and things around. But you tend to find that, the older you get, the easier it is. It’s just experience like anything else. Our shirtmaker and has been on or around Savile Row for 35 years now, here and Jermyn Street, and he just has a good eye. You almost never see him wearing anything that isn’t spot on. And it’s never just a plain dark tie, a pale shirt and a dark suit. It’s always something with a little colour.

We try to express that sometimes in our shop window. There have been ones there recently with grey shirts and purple knit ties, as well as other colours.

Do you like knit ties as an alternative to silk?

Yes, it’s the sort of tie that gives a little more character. A printed silk tie is fairly ordinary, business-like. A woollen tie feels less dressy and makes you feel more comfortable. Like Lanvin’s ties – someone pointed out to me recently – some of which are crumpled and perhaps don’t make you feel like you’re actually wearing a tie. People would often wear a bow tie before they’d wear a silk tie.

I often feel the same way with woollen handkerchiefs. They feel much less dressy than silk.

Absolutely. Though more people are wearing handkerchiefs these days, almost more than are wearing ties, which is really funny. I’m glad they are, because you need a little bit of colour. If I take out my handkerchief, this automatically becomes a less interesting outfit. Without the tie as well, it becomes very dull. It’s something anyone could put together.

[Patrick is wearing a mid-grey herringbone suit, blue and white Bengal-striped shirt, pale blue silk tie printed with a white geometric pattern, and a silk handkerchief that is a mix of blue florals, cream and navy edging]

You can understand why men feel very uninspired by clothes when they see their peers walking around in just a suit and shirt, or most of the time just a shirt and trousers.

Exactly. If the trousers are beautifully cut and the shirt fits very well – as in it isn’t billowing out around your waist and flapping underneath your arm – it can look nice. But it’s rarely going to be that exciting. It needs something different. Wear a tank top or something that adds a little colour.

Something dark, dignified, but still with interest and sophistication – like a dark purple or bottle green.

Sure. My favourite colour combination at the moment is blue and yellow. We’ve got some really nice shirtings at Tautz in blues and yellows. Some nice bright ties too.

[E Tautz is the ready-to-wear label launched, or more accurately relaunched, by Patrick last year. Available in Matches and Harrod’s.]

Orange, too, is something I’m into. For the summer, perhaps pale blues as the base, indigo somewhere and then a very bright, citrus orange. Almost orange peel. Not a lot of it – just a dash of it, in a tie for example.

I saw you say previously that you are very influenced by what you see people wearing that come into the shop.

Yes, absolutely. It’s all the little details you pick up on. A little bit of colour here and there. Even if it’s just the edge of a pocket square that picks out something in the tie – just that little bit of thoughtfulness. And there’s one customer that always, always wears bright red socks. It isn’t going to match with anything, but it’s a statement.

Another wears his watch over his wrist, like Agnelli. He has his shirts specially made so I suppose it’s easy to get them to work with the watch. But then if you are as prominent in his industry as he is, you can get away with it.

Do you make mistakes in what you wear?

Sure, you shouldn’t be embarrassed by experiments. Particularly when I was younger. That’s what your childhood’s for really, making horrendous fashion mistakes. I remember they used to have a menswear section in the back of Elle, perhaps once a quarter, and I picked out outfits in there, copying them all exactly. I’d think, ‘oh I don’t have that blue tie exactly, so I’ll try something else instead.’ And it would end up being a horrendous mistake.

And then you would see yourself coming in the opposite direction the next day?

Well no this was Edinburgh, so the chances of that are pretty slim. But a lot of it is just trial and error.

There are some people, I suspect, that look at their wardrobe, pick three things out and look perfect. Other people pick three, decide against it, try another combination, reject that and finally decide on something. Still others pick out an outfit, walk out the door and look like a dog’s breakfast without knowing it. I think I’m in the second category rather than the first. There aren’t many in the first.

You develop staples over time, that you know work.

Yes, things you revert to. That’s where experience comes to play, because eventually you’ll have enough good outfits that they will all start overlapping. There will be a Venn diagram that over time has more and more things in the intersections as you add circles. Then at some point in your life you will know how to combine everything. I haven’t got to that point yet but some of my customers certainly look like they have, and they’re all in their sixties so I’ve got a couple of decades to carry on learning.

I think some people probably find it quite frustrating that they seem to spend all their time trying and never quite get it right.

Well then they need to walk around Savile Row a little and see what everyone else is doing. There should be no shame in just picking up on what other people do. I write it all down – if someone comes in wearing something really unusual that I like, particularly a combination of lots of different colours and patterns, I write it all down – shirt was this, tie this, suit, handkerchief, socks, shoes, everything. There’s nothing wrong with copying other people.

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Sartorial Love/Hate: Fedora

I adore hats. I have quite a few of them but nowhere near the number I should like to own. For my next purchase, I am rather taken with the idea of a Homburg.

I haven’t always liked headgear. It is only due to recent maturation that I have taken to hat-aspiration. It was very hard to get excited about the kind of headwear that dominated the school and varsity scene; if it was a particularly chilly day, you wore a beanie. And despite the physical pleasure in wearing a head-warmer of this style, it is an amateurish design. No matter how luxurious brands like Burberry Prorsum upgrade the beanie to some vicuna-cashmere, hand-knitted deluxe tea-cosy, it will always be a beanie – no milliner worth their salt would acknowledge it as anything else.

The advantage of a beanie is that no one seems to find it particularly distracting or conspicuous. It barely alters the day’s ensemble; the silhouette remains the same. It is favoured by gentlemen of many a generation, chiefly because it is a cheap, effective and unobtrusive method of keeping warm. The problem? Well, it’s not exactly elegant. It doesn’t have the presence that other headgear offers; the rakish brims, the altered silhouettes. It is, by comparison, disappointingly anonymous.

A fedora, by way of contrast, is precisely the opposite. So noticeable are fedoras, hats that were worn by nearly every metropolitan gentleman just over half a century ago, that when I saw a fedora-wearing gentleman walking towards me on St James’ Street, more than six pairs of John Bull eyes turned and scrutinized the wearer. A gentleman no longer needs to wear an unusual hat to attract attention – he simply needs to wear a hat.

The fedora was a popular item of headgear in the early twentieth century, firstly for women and latterly for middle-of-the-road men. It was ubiquitous; on streets, in cinemas, on tradesmen, lawyers, screen stars and sportsmen. By the end of the 1950s, it was rarely seen as the fashion moved towards hats with smaller brims (for example, the trilby) to complement the clothing styles. By the mid-sixties, the writing was on the wall; JFK had been the first president not to wear a hat on distinctly ‘hat’ occasions and living with headgear had become not only unfashionable but undesirable. The only men still wearing fedoras into the late 60s and early 70s were of an older generation.

Those who wear fedoras love them but they can receive very different responses from others. When I wore a black fedora with a double-breasted jacket earlier on this year, one of the more pleasant responses I received was ‘Ahh, nice hat mate but…you don’t really need to wear one though? I mean, you’re still young.’ Other responses rhymed with ‘banker’, ‘glosser’ and ‘grass-mole’ and it made me consider that there are still plenty of people who are unwilling to allow the fedora to make any kind of renaissance.

I tend not to wear mine very much, which I greatly regret, due to it being such a ‘statement’ hat; it has nothing on my silk top hat or straw boater but, bizarrely, in their own context those models are apparently more tolerable – every mucker, irrespective of class or generation, wears a topper and boater to Ascot and Henley. The ‘statement’ about the hat is that it is an everyday item and that, if I chose to, I could wear it everyday as many millions of men before me once did.

As such, my fedora – a present from a dear relative who admired and cheered my interest in old fashions – sits on my shelf; dusty and rather sad; an unfortunate victim of sartorial love/hate.

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Turn It Up

I think there is another reason why women are referred to as the ‘fairer’ sex; their sense of justice. If I want to share imbalanced, humorous, taboo conversations I choose the company of my male friends; in a bar, restaurant or at the club, we guffaw and gibe with typical masculine vigour. We act as countless generations of men have acted when they sat down together to marinade in each others company. We like to think we’re funny, we possibly are. We are certainly capable of entertaining each other. But rarely are we fair.

It’s no surprise that men have found new outlets for their bias and ‘I am always right’ rants. The peacock, strutting proudly into the virtual world, has a new arena in which to exhibit his plumage. Online style and style-critique forums are not only arenas of clothing analysis but parade-ground for men who wish to assert their masculinity. It is true that women can be vicious when it comes to ‘competing’ with each other but men are worse. The most poisonous arguments can develop about button choice, cuff length or lapel width – a fact which completely nullifies any claim men have to being ‘more rational’ than women – and resentment and envy are rife.

Whereas women obsess with what looks good, men - the strutting, proud peacocks – often try not to acknowledge ‘good’ in others but compete childishly on what is ‘correct.’ Excruciatingly sanctimonious, men quote from style scriptures and style clerics in the fashion of some odiously pious fundamentalist. I remarked to a friend recently that I am very much in favour of turn-ups, even in single-breasted suits and he agreed. However, there was a dark cloud in my thinking. Something in me told me that there would be ire of volcanic proportions awaiting such a proposition.

The ‘correct’ style for single-breasted suit trousers is non turn-up; the ‘correct’ style for double-breasted suit trousers is ‘turn-up.’ The apparently ‘correct’ style for odd trousers and jackets is ‘turn-up.’ Some are so close to adhering these codes that anything else, no matter how artistically complete and satisfying, is utterly laughable. If I were to choose turn-ups for all trousers, in some quarters this would make me a laughing stock. However, I have my reasons for liking this style, however hilarious it might be to the devout.

Firstly, turn-ups add structure to the bottom of the trouser which is perfect in pleated trousers as it ensures that the pleat is correctly represented all the way to the shoe. Secondly, turn-ups are a point of interest and detail in an otherwise boring item of clothing – buttons on jacket sleeves are generally useless but they have the same effect – and thirdly, if the trousers are cut correctly, turn up trousers look smarter than non-turned up trousers. This is perhaps why they are favoured in smarter suits such as the double-breasted, but it is confusing that, as a smarter and more unusual flourish on single-breasted suits, they should be so surprising.

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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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