Mode Rage: Flip Flops

“Sorry, do you have a problem with my typing?” someone once asked me, as my wincing face squinted and sneered at the hands of the person delivering the question. I did have a problem and it was to my chagrin that I could do nothing to abate it. My headphones, that joyously cocooned me from the audible horrors of a university library, were on my desk in my room. The incessant tip-tapping, the constant, irritating rhythm of it all distracted me from all academic thought. So much so that I began to question the sense of keyboard manufacturers – why could keyboards not be silent like a Yamaha keyboard action, for example? – and the insensitivity of loud typists to the concern that everyone in the library can hear their thunderous industry.

“I just have a problem with loud typing” I responded “it really winds me up.” In good spirit, the typist leaned over, conspiratorially, and informed me she also hates irritating, rhythmic noises. “Oh yes?” I proffered. “Flip flops” she nodded “can’t stand them; slap, slap, slap, slap.” I beamed in empathy.

I don’t think there is an item of footwear I loathe more than the flip-flop. And not only as an item of menswear; I think they are equally repugnant on women. I might reserve a good deal of dislike for horrible Prada training shoes and take a dim view of wearing New Balance running shoes with chinos but, despite the horrible aesthetics, I can still see a point to them. They serve a purpose, are comfortable and, though inelegant, are not designed or generally worn for situations requiring smart socialising. Flip flops however, which should be renamed ‘slap-slaps’ for phonetic accuracy, are worn in such situations.

Even in the northern European capitals such as London, people have been known to wander into chi-chi bars wearing them, demanding tables and kissing each other with nauseating self-awareness, sliding across the marble floors and crossing naked legs and a filthy, flip-flopped foot into linen tablecloths. For a man to flip flop in summer means he is one awkward slip away from the ultimate hippydom; walking the grimy streets barefoot.

Comfort is sometimes mentioned as a factor in wearing them, although how having a piece of rubber wedged between your toes, gradually digging backward like a miniature pick-axe as you push forward, is defended as an example of comfort I will never know. They are certainly easy to put on, and remove, which is why they are often used on the beach, to protect sun-worshippers soles from the scorching sand. However, rarely are wearers of flip-flops inclined to carry smarter footwear to don once they have departed the beach. Instead, they wander into town, griming it up and filthifying their feet in the dirt, the piss, the dropped ice-creams and week-old gum splat. It is because of this that they have become moderately acceptable and even desirable for some.

“I can just pop to the shops without having to think” an old friend told me “I don’t need smart shoes to go to the shop. Who’s going to look at me there?” Erm, the entire store. Who will hear you coming a mile away. Though they may be easy to scuff into, your feet will not thank you for being tempted by a pair of banana-coloured Havaianas.

Though most people think that the human foot is appalling and should be entirely covered, I simply think it requires better forms of presentation. In my opinion, a naked foot is actually far more acceptable than one wedged into a pair of flip flops, but for when footwear is required, sandals and espadrilles are far more appealing.

‘Oh but sandals’ I hear you cry ‘offer as little protection for the foot (and the eyes of onlookers) as a flip-flop!’ This is not entirely true. Although they expose similar amounts of foot, flip flops – due to the nature of being ‘loose’ on a foot – reveal soles and heels; an absolute horror when they are dirty. Sandals are secured to the foot and do not reveal the soles and the decent pairs usually cover the bottom of the heel too. Espadrilles are perfect for those who wish to cover the foot without smartening the footwear too much.

A New Suit: The Weekend Suit

Having your clothes made is an addictive business. No sooner is one commission finished than you begin to plan the next.

Whether it’s bespoke or top end made to measure, the knowledge that you can have your heart’s desire made real is a powerful temptation; and like Oscar Wilde ‘I can resist all things but temptation’.

As it happens I’ve already commissioned a second suit from a new tailor recommended by Adam Atkinson of CHERCHBI. This suit is rather pedestrian in comparison to the last, a simple single breasted navy suit with peak labels.

But before the cloth has even been cut I’m considering my next commission. There are innumerable options but I have rounded it down to a few basic concepts. The first is the weekend suit.

According to my father, when he and my aunt were children my grandfather would go to the football every Saturday afternoon without fail. The uniform for this occasion was suit and tie, raincoat and cap. He was by no means alone; this was the uniform for all the men of this era (1950s). Remarkable really, when you consider he was a toolmaker in the local car factory.

Since then society has increasingly moved towards the informal in its modes of dress. It is odd then that we still admire most those men whose wardrobe staple, at work rest or play, was the suit. The pictures of them we most keenly study almost always see them suited.

Of course, in those pictures the guises of the suit are more varied than we are used to seeing today. Who now owns a white flannel suit for summer? Few enough own even linen suits, or wear tweed suits in the countryside. But the point is that a suit need not be grey or blue and it can be worn with just as much casual aplomb as jeans and a shirt, to infinitely better effect.

In truth, no single item in a man’s wardrobe flatters the essence of manliness quite like a suit. If well cut and well made, it is nothing short of armour in which to take on the daily trials of life; in one swift stroke it hides, disguises, conceals, enhances and augments. Only a military uniform, I would imagine, could empower the wearer more. And yet like most men of my generation I am inexorably dragged kicking and screaming towards ever greater informality of dress.

But, having matured in years and feeling less and less concerned about the opinions, or approval, of others I have come to the conclusion that what I need is a casual suit.

I want something as natural to throw on of a weekend when going out as my chinos and jean jacket. I want something which I can where as comfortably to dinner or a bar on a Saturday night as I can to visit a shirt maker or fashion show; something which is a suit, but doesn’t necessarily feel like one. Of course I doubt I’ll ever muster the casual, easy aplomb demonstrated by Bryan Ferry. But hope springs eternal.

To that end it’s not so much the style of suit that’s important as the cloth. The basic rule of thumb for suiting is that the further away you move from plain grey and navy blue worsted cloth the less formal and less business appropriate the suit is. This provides many options including cord, cotton and linen. However, I’ve decided that my weekend suit needs to be a bold check and a wool cloth.

My feeling is that any plain cloth would still be a little too formal for my project, and while cord would be less formal it lacks seasonal versatility. Linen, even a check linen cloth, would have the same problem. But a wool cloth of around 10oz with some form of bold check would provide the seasonal flexibility I’m after – except on all but the hottest days - while checks have a natural informality. They also resonate with country tweeds and so seem a much more fitting material for a weekend suit. I have seen this concept of the weekend or casual suit done well and it’s one I’m desperate to get underway. But, as I have some equally pressing needs within my suiting armoury I’ve held fire.

In the next posting I’ll highlight two other concepts under active consideration.

Turquoise

This season I’ve developed a bit of an obsession with the colour turquoise. That’s not a sentence you’ll read very often, and with good cause.

As colours go it’s jarring to the eye and seems almost unnatural. It would seem impossible to pair it successfully; and incorporating it into a look certainly appears to go against the accepted wisdom that a successful look is one of harmony. What might conceivably harmonise with such a colour?

But sometimes things can be so damned ugly that they become beautiful, and I’ve developed a strange appreciation for this colour which possesses a peculiar versatility.

I’ll confess I’m not a fan of summer clothing. Consequently, most of my purchasing takes place in the autumn and winter months, and are of a weight and colour palette to match. But the clothes of a well dressed man should compliment the season as much as they do the wearer and each other.

And so rather than try and reinvent my wardrobe from scratch or try and become something I’m not, I’ve been using turquoise to reinvigorate my core wardrobe and provide a splash of summer vibrancy and seasonal harmony.

Turquoise sits well with all shades of blue as well as browns, from tobacco to beige. If you want brighter and lighter, it compliments white without that common conformity of white and navy. And for those with boldness coursing through their veins, then try turquoise with orange, particularly burnt orange, and red. However, this last combination works best when the red is confined to a tie or handkerchief.

Personally, despite this new found fascination I’d still take my turquoise in smallish doses. I’m not sure of the virtue of a Turquoise jacket for example.

But, whether you opt to take that splash of summer colour in the form of a shirt, bag, watch strap or sock you could do far worse than opt for turquoise.

The Smart-Casual Dilemma

I’m a big fan of polo shirts. Their pique weave makes them perfect for wicking away sweat during the long, hot summer months from July to September; they’re low maintenance; they suit almost everybody; and their collar serves to make them that bit smarter than crew or v-neck tees.

On weekends, the polo shirt is without doubt my most essential “go to” item – I have at least six or seven in various colours. However, I’ve never quite been able to pull them off in the workplace. I often see guys wearing polo shirts in a smart-casual setting and think “Yeah, that looks okay,” but when I try it I look like a thirty-something golfing dad who’s got lost on his way to the clubhouse. It is, in a word, perplexing.

Finding the right balance between weekend and weekday wardrobes is essential to pulling off smart-casual. I often veer from one to the other without finding much common ground in between. With polo shirts, I just can’t seem to reconcile them with anything particularly smart. Perhaps it’s my subconscious’s way of saying, “Andy, this is not a road you want to go down. Many have been there before – the hosts of Top Gear, Jay Leno, David Hasselhoff – and have failed miserably in the great amphitheatre of men’s style. You will fare no better.” Or perhaps I’m just over-thinking the whole thing. After all, I live in a city where people go around dressed like gothic Bo Peeps and people act as if it’s the most normal thing in the world (apart from my mate Jeff, who pokes them with shitty sticks until they run home with watery black mascara streaming down their crimson cheeks).

For me, smart casual still implies wearing a proper, buttoned shirt. The shirt might be cut from a different cloth than usual – a linen/cotton mix, bright check pattern or even a dose of chambray (hmm, maybe not chambray) – but it is still a shirt. A t-shirt and suit/jacket combination is not something that I’m particularly comfortable with. If you can pull it off, then great, but it’s very easy to come off as a Z-list, ex Big Brother contestant at a supermarket opening. Attitude might be the key, here, methinks. The same goes for trainers and suits… in fact it’s best not to start on that one. Life is too short.

So, what do you think reasonably constitutes smart-casual? How do you deal with those invitations with “smart casual” boldly printed in the dress code section?

A New Beginning: Bow Ties

This week I took my first nervous steps into the world of the bow tie wearer.

I say nervous steps because few things mark you out as a lone wolf amongst the sartorial sheep quite like a bow tie. Indeed, in any one year I can count on one hand the number of times I see a man wearing said item.

Sadly, and despite the continuing trend for all things ‘Ivy’, those men you do see wearing bow ties often conform to the stereotype. On the whole they’re slightly bewildered, bookish eccentric types, not the chiselled young thrusters of the Ralph Lauren advertisements.

Lord Chesterfield (he of the coat fame) put it rather well when he said, “take great care always to be dressed like the reasonable people of your own age, in the place where you are; whose dress is never spoken of one way or another as either to negligent or too much studied”. No one likes to be ridiculed, or to feel too conspicuous. But even a seasoned clothes horse with an inclination towards the individual might find wearing a day time bow tie cause for anxiety.

But regardless, and with Beau Brummel’s dictum that, “if John Bull turns round to look after you, you are not well dressed”, ringing in my ears I ventured forth.

And you know what, I really rather liked the feeling. No less exhilarating a form of self expression than streaking, but a damn sight more elegant, I recommend it to anybody.

Yes, as expected I received the odd look and comment, but on the whole it worked. This was helped by the fact I went easy on myself. Firstly I chose a simple classic bow tie in the form of a navy blue and white polka dot from Hilditch & Key. Made from printed silk, with little or no interlining it has a relaxed and natural air when tied. Secondly, and this is a practice I’d recommend whenever you try something new or different, I paired my tie with clothes I felt instantly at ease in. In this case, that meant British Khaki chinos, brogues and a Levis’ Jean jacket – my habitual spring early/summer casual uniform. The result was that I felt comfortable and the bow fitted the look – in a preppy sort of way.

So, if you’ve considered the day bow but have found yourself demurring, my advice is man up and get to it. Liberate yourself.

Next stop, The Cordial Churchman.