A Modern Ascot

I’d like to wear an ascot, but I just can’t. Outside of a wedding or a trip to Ascot, I’d have trouble pulling it off. I have, however, found something that is near enough to be satisfying without being too flamboyant.

The two keys to making this work are colour and collar. The colour needs to be dark and with a subtle, dark pattern if any. The collar should be non-existent: I wear it with a sweater or t-shirt rather than a shirt. On the v-neck of a shirt, even a polo shirt, it looks too forced. As with braces, white suits and most hats, it’s very hard to wear at my age without looking silly.

So, the new ascot. It is a short, dark blue scarf in silk, which I found accidentally in a vintage shop for about £5. No more than two feet long and four inches wide. It is worn in place of a scarf on more summery days like today, tied once and tucked into the front of a round-necked cotton sweater.

I have a long neck, and so collars generally are a good thing – polo shirts rather than t-shirts; shirts themselves above all. The short silk scarf, however, adds some needed height and weight to the neck of a sweater.

I prefer a dark colour and pattern, because again it makes the outfit a little less flamboyant. This is of course an entirely personal decision, but given the recent results of the Menswear Poll it seems most readers are more conservative than me if anything; so my dark blue neckerscarf with black graphic pattern is probably more likely to appeal than a yellow polka-dot version.

Again, my aim was to take a little-worn item and bring it into my wardrobe in some way. I would draw a parallel with woollen handkerchiefs – something I find far easier to wear with non-formal outfits than silk handkerchiefs. It is more muted, and subtle, but undeniably there.

One problem. Aside from a discovery in a vintage shop in York, I have yet to find a silk scarf of similar size. Has anyone seen something similar being sold as new? It strikes me as something that Dunhill or Aquascutum might carry, but I could only find regular, pre-folded ascots in their stores.

Any reports of sightings would be appreciated. In the meantime, I encourage you to scour the vintage shops and try out this suggestion with your best summer-weight sweater.

The Question of Personalisation

“Is something the matter Jeeves?” asked Bertie, quizzically. Jeeves turns around slowly and informs his young master that there appear to be some ‘curious objects’ in his wardrobe. “Curious objects?” parrots Wooster, pacing over to the wardrobe with furrowed brow. Upon seeing the items in question, Bertie looks at Jeeves innocently and proclaims; “They’re handkerchiefs Jeeves, handkerchiefs” to which the great valet frowns and smiles, knowingly; “I think not sir, they appear to have writing on them.”

This superb scene from the Granada production of Jeeves & Wooster, based on the fabulous Jeeves books by PG Wodehouse, aside from being one of my favourites, introduces rather nicely a topic which I feel needs addressing; the question of personalisation. The only thing I have personalised is a pair of black velvet Albert slippers. It has never really occurred to me to personalise shirts, handkerchiefs or other accessories. I can see the appeal; adding your entwined initials or even a family crest to small items can add personal value to the item in question. Your stamp is there to see, the item is uniquely yours. As Bertie quite rightly ripostes to Jeeves critique; “I think they look dashed smart!”

However, Jeeves’ equally powerful response to Bertie’s suggestion that “everyone gets things initialled these days”, that he thought the practice was “…reserved for those who were in danger of forgetting their name” is also a consideration. Does the man of style really need to add his monogram to his carefully chosen threads? Is it a requirement that he see his family letters, no matter how smartly arranged, on clothes and accessories? I, being one who has arranged letters in what is perhaps seen by some as a vulgar manner on a pair of honest slippers, cannot possibly pass judgment on the practice per se; decrying the use of personalisation would reek of hypocrisy. I still consider my slippers smart, but I have grown into the idea that they are a one off – I make no plans to initial cuffs or linen handkerchiefs. In one way, initialling cuffs to me looks untidy, no matter what the font; it draws the eyes of others because it looks unusual and a little out of place. In comparison, considering the Albert slipper, it always looks conspicuously plain without adornment. Thus, a monogram or a crest actually balances the slipper correctly, just as a bow or a buckle would.

Speaking to a rather opinionated chum of mine, who is of the opinion that initialling clothing is the sartorial equivalent of needing a personalised number plate, it seems that critics of the practice mock the insecurity of a chap who needs people to see his name stitched into his cotton and linen. While I can understand this viewpoint, I think it needs to be remembered that personalisation is precisely that – personal. Although there will be the armchair aesthetes who’d argue that real individualism requires no signature, many people of considerable style feel moved to identify some, or even all items of their wardrobe.

After my meandering thoughts, which had turned and retreated as many times as an Italic monogram, I concluded that personalisation is only universally tasteful when it requires a searching eye to identify it. I have seen gentlemen with initialled shirt collars, suit lapels and even shoes. Numbers sometimes accompany the letters, perhaps an ostentatious reference to the birthday of the wearer, or worse, even the number of shirts, suits or shoes he might possess. Such vulgarity is rare, but it is seen. When certain people reach the apogee of financial and social achievement, they feel confident and determined that the world know exactly who they are. They pay for the dubious privilege of having the world see their identity before they’ve opened their mouths, offered an ungloved hand or slipped them a card. Then there are the chaps that don’t feel comfortable walking around in clothing that, if it was mislaid, might as well belong to somebody else. Since they carefully selected their Sea Island shirts then they are inclined to brand them accordingly. This I can certainly appreciate, especially when handing over significant sums for the item in the first place.

The point is to brand stylishly and with subtlety; the choice of font is a top consideration, as is the colour – a contrast might be considered too outré whereas a tone-on-tone is much more subtle and requires more than one glance for identification, but the most important thing is where on the item in question you plan to personalise. To personalise on the inside of a shirt or suit is indeed subtle, but it smacks of a schoolboy inclined to lose his uniform. I think the idea is to imagine yourself in the position of a great artist preparing to add his signature to the masterpiece; if one is looking long and hard enough, one will see it. For this reason I believe it is better to add a subtle signature in a darker or lighter tone of the item in question, as anything else can look like graffiti. This is so that, just like the signature of a fine artist, you might mistake it for being part of the design.

To Cuff or Not to Cuff

The other day, I had an interesting question posed to me by one of my readers. He had recently purchased a pair of pleated trousers at Brooks Brothers and it was recommended that he have them hemmed with cuffs.

His wife, who is German, objected to this approach and cited her and her European friends’ opinion that stylish men do not cuff their pants. In a quandary, he called up the store and talked to another associate who said that pleated trousers demand cuffs and that their added weight help the pant leg hang properly.

Unsure if this were the best advice, my reader asked the same question of me. I understand the confusion because this tricky issue that is one that’s both sartorial and personal. By that I mean the question of cuffing one’s trousers is partially based on a cultural perspective and partially on personal taste.

For starters, his wife is correct that in Europe cuffed trousers are less common. The fact that his wife is German certainly explains her dislike of cuffs. The German aesthetic, when it comes to function over form and elegant austerity over lively embellishment, is fairly well known.

Across Europe though, as with anywhere else, fashion preferences change. I purchased a pair of wonderful Incotex pants in Venice and had them tailored there as well. The salesman and tailor both recommended cuffs, the execution of which had some of the most beautiful finishing work I’d ever seen.

That these immensely stylish and opinionated Italians recommended cuffs caught me off guard because the pants were in fact, flat fronted. Flat front trousers are pretty much the rule in Europe and I began to think that to my reader’s wife, therein lay the real issue.

I suspect that she wants her husband to embrace a more Eurocentric wardrobe, sans the pleated trousers. Generally speaking, pleated trousers are far more common in the United States than in Europe. The only caveat to this generalization is England, where you’ll still see pleats a little more often than elsewhere on the Continent. It’s also still fairly normal to see pleats on both American and English suit pants.

Anyway, to get back to the original question; when it comes to tailoring, pleated trousers should always have cuffs, period. The weight of the cuff will help the trouser leg hang and both physically and visually balance the peats up top. On flat front pants it’s more of an option dictated by personal preference.

For example, my Incotex trousers are a very fine gray worsted and the cuff help keep the lighter fabric from riding up my calf. Also, since Italians like their pants legs cut so darn high (barely touching the top of the shoe) you need that weight to keep them in place. Had wished to do so, it would have been perfectly acceptable to have gone with no cuff and have the hem cut longer.

So, here is where it all comes together: if you like pleated trousers, they really need to be cuffed. If you’re working with flat front trousers than it’s a preference thing and either option is just fine.

Another way to look at it is from a cultural perspective. Pleated and cuffed trousers just look American, especially with the fuller cuts favored by American brands like Brook Brothers. That’s not a bad thing, it’s just a truth. How do you want to look; American or European?

Personally, I tend to like classic American casual clothing and European tailored clothing. When I go to Europe, I try to dress less American; not for any political or self-conscious reasons, I just enjoy the change.

My ultimate recommendation is always to go with what you like and what feels right, because in the end you’re the one wearing the clothes. Still, as someone with a wife who has a killer eye for menswear, I never discount what she has to say.

The Contradiction of Wedding Attire

Many of those attending a wedding this summer will feel they should have some sort of summery outfit, a linen suit perhaps, or at least something sporty in pale grey. Those who turn up in their dark blue business suit will probably feel a little underdressed, aware they didn’t make an effort. Yet they are probably the most correctly attired people there.

Wedding attire has changed over time, just like men’s formal dress generally. What was once the absolute minimum is now the realistic maximum. But there are a fair number of constants, and a range of more or less formal options one can go for while still being satisfyingly traditional.

At the most formal end of the spectrum is the morning coat (a version of tails) in black or dark grey. It usually has one button at the waist and tails that fall onto the back of the knees. It is worn with mid-grey striped trousers. Above the waist is a double-breasted waistcoat in pale grey, cream or buff (creamy yellow). Shirt in white or with white contrast collar (preferably separate), most formally wing collar, with an ascot. Then accessories, white linen handkerchief, flower in the buttonhole etc.

This get-up is probably what you will get if you hire a wedding outfit. It will be poor quality, fit badly and be stain resistant. Most importantly, it will offer no opportunity for personal expression.

So, let’s take the formality down a notch. First, the shirt – this can be a smart white shirt with a normal collar. If you happen to own a contrast-collar shirt, with the body in blue or blue stripes for example, this is the perfect opportunity to wear it. If you have a wing collar shirt of your own (perhaps to go with your black tie/tuxedo) then wear that. Either way, at least the shirt is your own.

Second, dump the ascot unless you own one. The one from the rental place will be the same as every groom or wedding guest has worn and will have no personality. Instead wear your favourite tie in a summer hue – perhaps a gold satin, or a Macclesfield grey.

Third, the trousers can quite easily be your own. If you own a mid-grey pinstripe or chalk-stripe suit, wear the trousers from that. Even a sporty check is acceptable, as long as it is the right grey to contrast with the very dark jacket.

So here is a decent alternative. Rent the waistcoat and the morning coat, and wear everything else your own. They will fit better and probably be of better quality.

There are two further options. One, wear the waistcoat from another three-piece suit you own. This should really be either a tan linen, or a pale grey wool. I’m sure there aren’t many people out there who own either, but if you do then the whole get-up is yours minus the jacket.

Which is where the stroller comes in. This is semi-formal day wear, but given that everyone else will be in linen suits, it is still pretty formal. The stroller is a short jacket in dark grey or black, single or double breasted, with peaked lapels. Again, it is worn with striped or checked trousers in a contrast grey, and can have the same shirt, tie and waistcoat as mentioned.

So wear whichever of these items you already own and combine them. The outfit will be traditional, but you will be largely wearing your own, personally picked and fitted clothes. Perhaps most importantly, you will also look different to anyone else no matter how formal or informal they may be. There is nothing worse than the whole wedding party wearing the same ill-fitting, shiny outfits. It’s supposed to be a special occasion, and they’re wearing nylon.

Myself, I own all these items save the waistcoat. But then maybe I’ll have a buff one made before the next wedding I go to.

P.S. To complete the argument begun in the first paragraph – the next level down from this outfit for a wedding is considered to be a dark suit combining some of these elements, such as a double-breasted waistcoat or perhaps a double-breasted jacket. There is therefore a good chance that your friend who turns up in his dark grey, double-breasted office suit will be better dressed than every ball of wrinkled linen dotted around the church. Linen is for summer, but not for weddings.

Summer Style Pet Peeves

At Christmas I provided readers with a seasonal treat; a glimpse into the world of my bias, my style pet peeves and personal partialities. Now that it is summer, new sprouts of prejudice eat away at my fragile patience. For the summertime may well be a time for natural beauty but there are some awful human errors that stain the summer landscape. Such blunders hardly go unnoticed. I remember last summer, reading countless articles in newspapers and glossy supplements, pleading with style-conscious wives and girlfriends not to let their sartorially challenged husbands and boyfriends make an embarrassment of them, and poor old Blighty, when they step onto the continent. For nowhere is it more apparent that they are tagging along with a chap with all the grace and elegance of a squashed plum than among the elite of the destination they choose for a European holiday where, they are able to compare, side by side, how other men dress in warm climes; how they manage to look calm and cool despite the heat and humidity and how they manage to look chic and inventive despite their perching atop monuments anciens, relaxing after a rocky climb.

‘Technical’ sandals

This is the childish title I have long used for those Velcro sandals that, for me, characterise the Northern European on holiday. I can accept that they are useful and certainly comfortable footwear but that is all I can say for them. To me they are the most hideous lumps you can attach to your feet. They are juvenile and graceless and have those terrible logos and ridiculous model names like ‘Source’ or ‘Xtreme.’ The way the straps wrap around the foot is neither appealing nor flattering; it is like one is preparing one’s foot for a rollercoaster. I remember being in Pompeii recently and seeing a family of four all wearing the wretched things. Though sandals were an appropriate choice for the dusty streets and terrain of the ancient city, wearing such ugly versions seemed almost sinful in a place that possessed such glorious beauty.

‘Clam diggers’

Mistakenly referred to as the ‘men’s Capri pant’, the ‘clam diggers’ have neither the shape nor the refinement. When I see someone wearing them, from a distance it looks as if they are wearing makeshift trousers fashioned from fishing nets or jute sacking which, in actual fact, would at least possess more charm than the toggled ugliness of the real ‘clam diggers.’ Unlike the Capri pant, the mere clam digger trouser swings awkwardly around the calves unless the toggles are used, pulling the material crudely into the skin. Either way, it is difficult to see how anyone has designed these and had approval of the aesthetics. I would even call their practicality into issue. Their name is derived from the real ‘clam diggers’ – people who would stand in shallower water and literally dig for clams, the small depth of water requiring them to roll up their trousers, or chop them off completely. However, they are rarely used so practically. They are now worn as a summer fashion trouser – something between shorts and proper trousers. Why? The mind boggles.

‘Skins’

The third gross faux pas, as far as summer fashion is concerned, is the propensity for certain men to wander around streets and boulevards with nothing on their backs but lashings of sun cream. A shirt or t-shirt might swing from their belt loop but they think nothing of shuffling around streets at home and abroad exposing their sweating torso. Despite what they might think about people passing them glances of admiration, the shock of seeing such an exposure of flesh away from the swimming pool or beach is considerably shocking. The overall effect is always of a man ‘half-dressed’; all onlookers willing them to possess the decency to put a damn shirt on their backs.