The Autumn Suit

As I wandered through one of London’s royal parks on a recent weekend, I noticed a trail of crisp brown leaves pirouetting across the pathway; “Surely it can’t be autumn already?” I thought to myself, then feeling a pang as I caught sight of the crimson sunset behind Buckingham Palace, I realised that the ‘great’ British summer, ever fragile and short lived, would soon be over: good things never last, great things often never arrive. I thought of my lazy days by the sea, the gulp of salt water, the heat of the sun on my back, the distant sound of laughter and the warm, music-filled evenings overlooking a marina.

In an attempt to move on from my melancholy, I forced myself to reflect positively on the turn of the weather; no more brutally hot afternoons, forced to stumble around in sweat-soaked linen; no more flip-flops on the streets; no more uncomfortable, non air-conditioned dining rooms. I added to these pleasant ingredients the thought that the autumn of 2011, though still relatively distant, is already beginning to show itself on the racks of our favourite stores. Corduroy jackets, cardigans and raincoats are back; the sight of them, in the ‘heat’ of August is somewhat strange and I can only gaze upon them comfortably knowing that I have book ended this year’s summer with visits to warmer climes: a sojourn in Corsica is yet to come.

An early autumn suit is my current fixation; not one of winter’s greys or blues, no cool chalkstripes or crisp Glen Urquhart checks. I am looking for something the colour of sticky caramel, something to bridge between the pale linens, sky blues and whites of summer and the harder tones of the colder season. Something that will contrast with a French blue shirt but compliment an autumnal check tie; something that will marry well with a folded linen square or a yellow paisley. It will glow in the intensity of an autumn sunset and be worn for pleasure as well as business, perhaps to the last al fresco dinner of the year.

In early autumn, it is the sort of suit that would be ideal on particularly sunny days, worn sockless with a pair of brown suede loafers or for a very casual look with a pair of driving shoes; later on in the season, it can be deployed with pink socks and a pair of chestnut brogues or a pair of oxblood Oxfords. A fetching effect could also be achieved by using the items as separates: a caramel jacket with a pair of white trousers can be used on days that still feel like summer, the caramel trousers can be deployed with a wool blazer when it feels a little chillier.

Old Favourite: Gucci Loafers

“Everyone has their favourite pair of shoes” a fellow club member announced rather suddenly, “what is yours?” “Mine?” I responded with uncertainty for although I thought it a straightforward, commonplace question, I was somewhat put out. As a collector, it is difficult to single out what is effectively the most important piece of a collection as you feel it adds too much lucidity to the theory that the rest of the collection, though desirable, is somewhat superfluous.

To acknowledge that there is one item that is above all others is rather like choosing a favourite child; whenever it is done, the repercussions are considerable. I informed the inquirer that I have no favourite pair, that all calfskins are equal and that I was fortunate to have as many shoes as I have. “I think” he said “it would be my loafers.”

He pointed to a battered pair of suede loafers with a horsebit on the tongue, in the style of the Florentine saddler-turned-designer Gucci. “These are ancient” he muttered “never seems to be anything wrong with them.” They were a greenish grey, although it was clear that they had been black when they were bought, scuffed around the toe and somewhat misshapen by the unusually high instep of the wearer. The suede had worn like a batsman’s crease and the horsebit rattled loosely; these were shoes that had seen better days.

And yet, there didn’t seem to be a better day for them than this. The wearer reclined in a leather armchair, debating and guffawing with ease; paired with a simple linen jacket and cotton trousers, the shoes acquired an attractive wisdom. They might have been a deeper shade when newly acquired, they might have been considered more elegant when they did not show the signs of age and use but there was something dignified about their lived-in state.

I have the same feelings for a pair of velvet slippers that I received for my 19th birthday, some 9 years ago. Worn consistently since then, they have been similarly deformed by my own feet; the original Albert slipper line is long gone, the plush is very worn near the sole and the years of amateur haute cuisine, birthday champagne and countless dripping towels have taken their toll on the upper. Despite all this, I wouldn’t walk around the house in anything else; they are a favourite, a warm reliable pair of faithful feet-warmers that have aged with distinction, much like the beloved Gucci loafers that have seen the gentleman through more than twelve summers.

When I asked him if he planned to replace the pair, he looked at me sternly with notable affront, as if I had just asked him whether he was looking to trade in an ancient Labrador for a pipsqueak pup. Why would he when these are perfectly all right? Certainly a new pair would look smarter, he suggested, but they aren’t formal shoes; “I’m not opening a museum or launching a ship” he said “they’re just something for a tired man to shove on before he meets his friends.”

A New Suit Part 3: City Slicker or Italian Cool

Owing to a failure of internal monologue I’ve been publically rationalising what my next bespoke suit purchase should be. This is the final posting in this series, and I’m debating whether to go for a grey or navy chalk stripe suit, which I’ve termed Italian Cool and City Slicker respectively.

The concept, or rather the differentiation of the two suits by colour alone, may seem a little weak. Looking at it from the purely technical point of view, it is. A grey chalk stripe is really no different from the blue one. But, as we all know, styles and types of clothing invariably come with a certain amount of baggage. A blazer is a blazer, but an Italian blazer is a very different beast to an English blazer, and you’d expect the respective wearer to be two very different types of people, wouldn’t you?

In that way I think of the two suits in very different ways and the question is which version do I wish to be associated with. While I have no statistical data to prove my assertion, I feel fairly safe in saying that the navy blue suit is the modus operandi of the Englishman. For the Italian male it is the grey suit. Blue to me signifies purpose and severity while grey is a blank canvass upon which you can project any image, and no other peoples on earth rock a grey suit quite like the Italians - the agony of choice.

To me a navy chalk stripe is the classic uniform of the City gent, and by that I mean the gentleman bankers of the old Square Mile. While those gents don’t necessarily exist today, that image is a powerful one. And if you find navy chalk stripes anywhere it is in London’s financial centres.

The navy chalk stripe suit is hard and abrasive, but also bold, crisp and reeks of supreme self-confidence. It’s been over a decade since I wore my last navy chalk stripe suit, but I’ve never forgotten how much I enjoyed wearing it.

The irony of using a picture of an Englishman in New York to illustrate my Italian Cool concept is not lost on me. But it wasn’t until I read the caption accompanying the picture on The Sartorialist that I realised this chap wasn’t Italian. But to me this look sums up the understated and relaxed air that the grey chalk stripe can give off in the right hands when made in the right way.

I’ve always thought of grey suits as somewhat vapid and nondescript –grey suits for grey men. But as I’ve aged my attitude has mellowed. That mellowing has been aided in no small part by the internet. Treated to a diet of images showing just how soft, clean and simple Italians can make a grey suit seem has opened my eyes. This is also a feature of Italian tailoring which tends to be less structured and less rigid than its English counterpart.

So, those are the two concepts currently floating around inside my mind. In terms of cloth, both suits will be a chalk stripe on flannel, in keeping with the new season trends I highlighted a while ago. If I go for the grey I’ll seek out an Italian tailor, probably Nino Santoro’s father, and look for soft tailoring and a spalla camicia shoulder. If I go for the classic English navy option I’ll use Lloyd Miller, and look for heavier interlinings and more structure. Both tailors are old friends of BespokeMe and charge roughly the same price, around £600 upwards depending on cloth.

Of course, this is all dependent on me deciding whether to go for the blue or grey.

Sartorial Love/Hate: Floral Shirt

I imagine no one would be likely to accuse me of being a zany dresser. I like colours and patterns but most of what I like is not too far removed from the conservative. It should come as no surprise then that I am not at all partial to floral shirts. I do not mean the palm-tree calico prints, the crudely coloured Hawaiians; I am referring to the William Morris, Arts & Craft, Liberty-inspired, Boden-catalogue James May. The sort of print you expect on curtains and wallpaper, at the very most a modest house dress. Not the sort of thing you would expect for a gentleman’s shirt.

It has become the quintessential garment of the middle-class gastropub; a smattering of excessive ornament against the suede lampshades and the leather armchairs. The wearer, parked on a barstool with a basset hound at his feet, flips through the pages of a weekend supplement as a pint of Guinness rests on the bar. It is not an offensive image; the shirt itself is not ugly and it is not worn in a fashion that attempts contrivance. It is something about the concept of a shirt with so incongruous a pattern. Time and again I have attempted to envisage myself in one of these shirts - with a jacket, chinos and loafers - and each attempt results in failure.

It is not, I think, a traditionally male aversion to the floral; a man fond of buttonholes could scarcely be against the use of flowers. It is that alien, tablecloth-quality that isolates the garment which makes me feel uneasy, but it is probably that very quality which appeals to others; that sense that you are not wearing a midweek shirt of plain weave, stripes or check but a shirt that is a signature of a Sunday afternoon. There are, after all, gentlemen who loathe the working week and yearn for all that it is not; whatever the business you are in, a floral shirt is most certainly not the most appropriate choice.

Unsurprisingly, I have little idea on how it should be worn, although long straggly hair, a pair of moleskin jeans and some beaten-up deck shoes appear to be the most popular partners. The idea of tying a tie with such a shirt is incompatible with its purely ‘fun-time’ connotations; no one mans even the smartest of neighbourhood barbecues (‘It’s unsafe…and uncool’) wearing a necktie. It is an open-neck option only. Likewise, it should never be partnered with anything less alpha than a pint of bitter or, if the evening’s getting late, a neat scotch. Add twizzly umbrellas and fruit mixtures and you’re finished.

A New Suit, Part 2: Irrepressibly Modern

As you may remember from my last posting, I’m considering my next bespoke suit. I’ve narrowed my choices down to a few rough concepts: the weekend suit, the City slicker/Italian cool and, finally, the irrepressibly modern.

I doubt this last concept of ‘irrepressibly modern’ will get much sympathy in these pages. A flick through the back catalogue of articles, and comments, would show that we are an audience largely made up of classicists. And for the most part I would class myself as one also.

But, just as my taste in cars tends towards classic motors, my head still turns in admiration at a modern Aston Martin. As a rule, most car makers work to the theory that you can sell a young man’s car to an old man but the reverse doesn’t work.

In clothing this theory tends to work the other way around. Young men are frequently drawn to classic styles and forms, but they also possess the freedom of youth to engage in more experimental styles, and carry them off. Unless your name is Nickelson Wooster, older men on the other hand should really stick to the classics, less they wish to look slightly foolish.

I’m not an old man, but will be soon enough. If I’m going to experiment this is the time to do it. Failure is not half as pathetic as the fear of failure is.

From my extensive pictorial library of clothes and looks from which to take inspiration I found the above picture. It comes from the March 2009 edition of GQ and was originally part of that summer’s Versace collection. There is plenty wrong with this suit from a classicist’s point of view. I’m not ignorant of those defects, but it is in spite of them that I just love its square lines and utter simplicity, and did from the first moment I saw it. In many ways the angular lines remind me of an unbuttoned double breasted suit. Though it goes against all convention, this is an aesthetic I rather like, being just as happy to wear my DBs unbuttoned as I am buttoned – but I think that’s an English thing.

From the pictures of my last commissioned suit, you may have noticed that I’m quite a squared shape. I’m therefore convinced that the angles in this unconventional style of suit might just enhance my silhouette. Although the suit was shown in 2009 I think it’s dated rather well, helped by the ultra slim aesthetic still being in vogue at the moment.

Materials will be important with this one, and I’m thinking either cotton or a cotton linen mix to do this shape justice. To work it needs to be a cloth with a degree of rigidity to keep those lines crisp and sharp. For me this is an irrepressibly modern aesthetic, and fortune favours the brave.

In the next posting I’ll discuss my final concept, City Slicker/Italian Cool.