The contradiction of wedding dress

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.

How to put darts in your shirts

I used to have a few shirts that I really liked but which did not fit especially well around the waist. They were bought in the days when I knew a lot less about fit and cloth (hard to imagine, isn’t it?), and while the neck, shoulders and sleeve were fine, the cut was simply too full from the chest downwards.

Such were my frustrations, I may have thrown them out. So instead I decided to try and sew my own darts into them, to narrow the waist. If I messed it up, I could just throw them away anyway.

My first attempt went surprisingly well, but there were a few lessons learned. I should have tried a couple of variations on the shape and size of the darts before I sewed them in. I should have been a little less cautious on their length. And while they held up very well in the wash, I learned it was worth sewing as tight stitches as possible.

I think I’ve now got a pretty good system, and all those shirts have been darted, worn and washed several times, to pleasing effect. I could have had it done at a tailor, but not being in essence a practical person, it is very satisfying to master a skill such as this. And it probably saved me £100. Here is my step-by-step guide to putting darts in your shirts. It is not that hard, and very satisfying when completed.

1. Lay out your shirt on an ironing board. Pinch the material in two places, roughly where your waist would be and a couple of inches in from the seam on either side. Start with a fold of a couple of centimetres, folded out towards the seam. Iron that patch flat and then fold the material above and below, pulling the material away gradually so it forms a crescent.
2. Pin both folds with three pins or needles each, to keep them in place.
3. Try the shirt on, being careful that none of the pins point inwards. Assess how suppressed the waist is by pulling the sides away from your skin, and try sitting down, stretching etc.
4. If the fold needs adjusting, take it back to the ironing board and fold the material more or less. Also, if you feel the dart could or should be longer, narrowing more of the shirt’s body, then extend the crescent above and below.
5. Sew the fold in place, starting with a few stitches in one place (on the inside of the shirt so it doesn’t show) and then sew smallish stitches, in and out up the fold, and finishing in the same way.
6. Use white thread unless the shirt is one block colour – and look closely, most colours are a mix of a darker colour and white.
7. Don’t worry if the stitches seem far apart. They will hold up well – and they don’t have to be as tight as the ones that construct the shirt itself. (You could of course do this on a sewing machine as well if you have one. I don’t.)

If you find it hard to iron the crescents (I found it the trickiest part) you can always start the fold halfway down the back of the shirt and just carry it on off the bottom of the tail. This will create a flap on the bottom, but if you have your shirt tucked in most of the time, this won’t be a problem. I found this particularly useful on a Ralph Lauren blue oxford, which although “custom fit” was still far too broad. The thicker material made it hard to fold accurately.

I’m sure some of you are proficient sewers, and all this is the equivalent of teaching your grandma to suck eggs. I’m sure others are horrified at the idea of amateur tailoring. But I found it very satisfying (a step up from hemming my trousers) and I encourage you to have a go.

The menswear poll

Thank you to all who took the time to fill out last week’s menswear survey. At almost 400 respondents, it was great to see so many involved in a poll of what today’s men are wearing, and what they think about what they are wearing.

There seemed to be an interesting split between a dandified minority and a more conservative majority. On most questions that explored flamboyance or dandification, there was a stubborn 15% to 25% that revealed more adventurous tastes. For example, 27% considered themselves a dandy, 26% said they wear a pocket handkerchief and 13% answered that yes, don wear a bowtie casually.

It is not surprising that the numbers varied a little. Some are always a little more adventurous than others – I myself answered yes to the first two questions but no to the third. But there is a consistency across the answers. French cuffs are not necessarily that adventurous, but they do tend to be preferred by the more dandified – and so the result was at the top end of this dandy bracket: 30%. A minority owns a double-breasted suit (20%); and owns a bespoke suit (25%). Given a rough averaging of the numbers, this dandy minority also owns a minimum of around six or seven suits. (The number of suits also highlights the majority – if not necessarily conservative, at least less expansive – that owns between one and four suits.)

Of course, there is a chance that none of these minorities overlap. But it does seem unlikely that someone would wear a bowtie casually and not consider himself a dandy.

Countries and their historical, sartorial appeal is a fascinating subject. The results support two common assumptions. First, that most people identify with England as a style centre above others. Which is always surprising to most English people, at least those not steeped in its tailoring history. And second, that few people identify with the French, despite its reputation in womenswear (Tom Ford: “French men just can’t dress. They can’t”). The surprise is probably the 29% that pick America as the country they would most like to identify their dress sense with. I think this is testament to the power of Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein and other US designers that have built up the idea of clean, historically aware American classics in recent years.

Which segues nicely into the branding question, where Ralph romps home. This is testament to the American and probably less flamboyant majority. But most interesting to me was the 14% of people who associated most with Hermes – a brand that does not spend much time or money advertising its menswear. This was my personal choice, but I assumed I would be in the smallest minority. The lesson may be that brand identification can be through ephemeral and more conceptual links than magazine ads and big runway shows. By contrast, the high fashion of Gucci and Prada disappear with just 6% each.

Thank you again to all 391 respondents, and I think this survey should be an annual feature of MensFlair.com. We will change the odd question here and there, but it will be fascinating to see how ideas and responses change over time.

How many suits do you own?

• 1 - 4 (67%, 284 Votes)
• 5 - 10 (24%, 101 Votes)
• 10+ (9%, 40 Votes)

Total Voters: 425

Are most of your suits two or three button?

• Two (58%, 240 Votes)
• Three (42%, 176 Votes)

Do you own a double-breasted suit?

• Yes (20%, 82 Votes)
• No (80%, 329 Votes)

If not, do you think you will own one later in your life?

• Yes (48%, 167 Votes)
• No (52%, 180 Votes)

Do you own a bespoke suit?

• Yes (25%, 94 Votes)
• No (75%, 285 Votes)

Do you own your own black tie/tuxedo?

• Yes (37%, 146 Votes)
• No (63%, 249 Votes)

What proportion of men in your office wear a suit more often than not?

• Less than 10% (67%, 248 Votes)
• 10% to 50% (14%, 53 Votes)
• 50% to 70% (7%, 24 Votes)
• 70% + (12%, 43 Votes)

Are most of your trousers flat fronted or pleated?

• Flat (66%, 255 Votes)
• Pleated (34%, 129 Votes)

Do most of your shirts have a spread collar, point collar or button-down collar?

• Spread (41%, 152 Votes)
• Point (42%, 158 Votes)
• Button down (17%, 62 Votes)

Do most have French cuffs or barrel cuffs?

• French (29%, 105 Votes)
• Barrel (71%, 254 Votes)

Do you prefer a four-in-hand or windsor/half-windsor knot?

• Four-in-hand (45%, 160 Votes)
• Windsor (55%, 196 Votes)

Do you regularly wear a pocket handkerchief (at least once a week)?

• Yes (26%, 93 Votes)
• No (74%, 266 Votes)

Do you ever wear a bowtie casually?

• Yes (13%, 45 Votes)
• No (87%, 306 Votes)

Do you prefer brown or black shoes with blue suits during the day?

• Brown (54%, 199 Votes)
• Black (46%, 168 Votes)

Do you consider yourself a dandy?

• Yes (28%, 100 Votes)
• No (72%, 252 Votes)

Is any of your formal/workwear influenced by seasonal fashion?

• Yes (56%, 188 Votes)
• No (44%, 150 Votes)

Which of the following brands do you associate most with?

• Hermes (13%, 42 Votes)
• Gucci (6%, 19 Votes)
• Ralph Lauren (56%, 183 Votes)
• Giorgio Armani (19%, 63 Votes)
• Prada (6%, 19 Votes)

Which country would you like to think people identify your dress sense with?

• England (38%, 139 Votes)
• Italy (27%, 97 Votes)
• America (29%, 104 Votes)
• France (6%, 23 Votes)

Many assert that style goes in phases, with daywear or office wear being relegated over time to semi-formal wear, and semi-formal to formal. Tails, for example, have fallen through all three stages, and the lounge suit has gone from casual wear to smart office wear today…

If our current phase began in the 1930s, how long do you think it will be before it ends? Before the suit replaces the dinner jacket and ‘smart casual’ replaces the suit?

• 10 years (33%, 100 Votes)
• 20 years (27%, 83 Votes)
• 50 years (7%, 20 Votes)
• Never (33%, 99 Votes)

The tricky in-between

In a recent post, my fellow blogger Chris Hogan referred to my distrust of the boat shoe. He suggested that one reason for this distrust was that “for some men the space between formal and casual is much tighter – like Simon or my father.”

I can understand why I might give that impression. I listed my preferred loafers as those with thinner, leather soles, a more elegant waist and – above all – without that fold of stitched leather around the toe. On a leather shoe that seems ugly and inappropriate to me. It is entirely a matter of taste, but that is where my taste lies.

However, from Chris’s description it sounds like the space between formal and casual is actually wider for me than it is for him. His preferred casual outfit is khakis, polo shirt and docksiders. I generally go for jeans, a t-shirt and an old brown leather jacket, probably with battered purple-and-brown Converse boots. So while my formal is more formal, my casual is more casual.

As stated, this is all a matter of taste. But Chris’s post prompted me to consider why I tend to these sartorial extremes. And I concluded that it is because is implicitly distrust the space in between formal and casual. It is tricky and many men get it horribly wrong.

Let’s start with some basic examples. There has been a horrifying trend in the UK in recent years of men wearing suit jackets casually, with t-shirts. It might work if the jacket was a rougher, more casual material – flannel, tweed, linen. But it was not. More often than not it was worsted, in blue, often with pinstripes. The t-shirt wasn’t a v-neck, let alone a polo shirt. It was high-necked and the jacket was worn open.

It is hard to imagine a combination that more effectively nullifies every flattering aspect of a jacket. There is no gorge, and so no plunging V in the chest. There is no waist (as it is worn open), and so no contrast with the shoulder width. There is generally no consideration of fit whatsoever.

Other examples: When men wear chinos casually they seem to think they will look good worn like jeans – very low in the waist, very long in the leg. They don’t. When they wear a shirt untucked they seem to think it matters little how long the tail is. It does. If it is a formal shirt, chances are the tail will be so long you will look like you are wearing a night shirt.

Now, the disclaimers. It is perfectly possible to do “the in between” very well. Tailored polo shirt perhaps, with a pale grey flannel jacket – shorter and less structured, but fitting well nonetheless. I’m sure that Chris does the in-between look very well indeed. And I am equally certain that the American readers of this blog wear the loafer/khakis/polo look very well, with no less attention to fit and effective colours than that given to their formal wear.

But I think they are the minority. Much of the in-between attire smacks of laziness because it is so often worn lazily. Chris mentioned his father – who has never owned a pair of jeans in his life and wears neat chinos with deeply polished loafers. Unfortunately, my experience is that for every ageing gentleman dressed this well, there are 10 that wear their old flannels with no idea of how they fit or how tatty they are. They may even – as I depressingly witnessed recently – wear trainers instead of leather shoes.

For better or worse, this puts me off the in-between look. And I’ll stick to my brown leather bomber for now.

Fit above all else

Several men’s style websites run forums that ask ‘what am I wearing today?’ Several blogs out there do the same. A few days ago I made the mistake of perusing them, looking for inspiration.

In my mind, the people on the site would look like those photographed on The Sartorialist. They would be dressed with obvious care and knowledge of the pieces that clothed them, with a spark of originality that inspires. Each would be a budding style expert, translating the experience of such forums into fresh, personal creations.

Instead, it was all rather depressing. First, they were keener to talk about the brands that made their garments than about how those garments were made, cut or designed. Each person listed the relevant brand for each item – Loro Piana, Zegna, Brioni – without anything about why they thought a particular combination worked, or why they admired the shape of a particular piece.

Second, not one single post impressed with its understated elegance. Each seemed to equate an interest in men’s style with flamboyance. One individual was particularly pleased with his cream suit, cream tie and white shirt. With a white fedora. This is not style, it is caricature. Another finished off his grey jacket and black trousers with a pair of white clown shoes. With their pointed toes they were almost as long as his shins.

Thirdly, most depressingly, and in a way linked to the other two sources of woe, none of them showed any knowledge or indeed any interest in fit. Trousers puddled on shoes. Shirt cuffs hung three or four inches beyond the jacket sleeve. Shoulders bulged out of jackets that were too small. Indeed, several jackets weren’t even done up, which is not a good sign in itself but also prevents anyone seeing whether it fits.

This is linked to the first two points as fit had obviously been sacrificed to brand and exuberance. There were many discussions of shops and over-the-top accessories. But none on cloth or cut.

One gentleman was very proud of his Zegna jacket, which was lovely except that his shoulders were visibly straining against the top of the jacket sleeve. Not just a little, but a lot. It looked like he was wearing a sweater. A polite suggestion from another contributor that his jacket was too small brought the response that “I like my jackets in this style, it’s a personal thing. I think it makes the outfit tighter and sleeker.”

Now, fit is obviously a variable. There are many questions of personal choice, and many variants in style around the world. But the variations are all more subtle than most people think (with the probable exception today of Thom Browne). The difference in silhouette between the Sack, the Drape and the Continental is largely in the waist and the trousers, in small alterations to the length of the jacket or the curve through the chest. No one advocates puddled trousers. No tailor has ever deliberately made jackets so tight that the back strains against its stitching. If you want a tighter suit, this is achieved through darts and a sleeker chest; perhaps through less shoulder padding or a shorter jacket. Material does not strain on purpose, because it is uncomfortable and because it is inelegant.

Fit is more important than anything else. If I have realised one thing about menswear in past five years, it is that. Clothes can be cheap, they can be threadbare and they can be hideously patterned. But the man wearing them will always look better than his contemporary if they fit him well, and his contemporary’s do not.

Of course, this tenet is debateable at its extremes. But rules are always so – they are simple in order to be easy to remember and easy to bend. I believe that fit is more important than anything else, and this is the first advice I would give to any style novice.

While there are few websites that display photographs of their authors wearing well-fitting clothes, they seem to be vastly outnumbered. Hopefully, there is a forum out there on fit that I am yet to discover.

The loci of style satisfaction

There are few things more satisfying than raising your arm to read the time, and being presented with a perfect triplet of complimentary colours: on your jacket sleeve, on the inch or so of cuff, and on the watch strap. Today that is tan (a houndstooth linen jacket), sky blue (a cotton shirt) and dark brown (leather watch strap). That triplet sums up my outfit for the day; it is its locus.

There are two other obvious loci on the body, which sum up an outfit. The first and most direct is that contained within the gorge of a jacket – the triplet of shirt, tie and lapel. This gets the greatest attention when dressing, and deservedly so. That combination of colours and textures is the first thing that hits people. To distort (and I suppose contradict) an old phrase, it walks into a room almost before the man wearing it.

It is worth spending the time getting that combination correct. But it is unfortunately the area of your outfit you are likely to see least. Unless you spend a large proportion of the day looking into mirrors and shop windows, you are unlikely to be struck pleasantly by how that combination works together.

As such, the wrist is a much more satisfying locus. It strikes you as you glance at the time, as you stretch for the computer keyboard, as you reach out to shake a colleague’s hand. It reminds you of how well your outfit goes together and, perhaps more importantly, of how well your clothes fit. The length of jacket and shirt sleeves have to be exact to get that pleasant combination in all its harmony.

The other, less direct but no less satisfying combination is the trouser/sock/shoe triplet. This mainly reveals itself when you cross your legs, and is therefore probably displayed less often than the wrist. But there is something very pleasing about seeing your grey flannel trousers complemented by dark brown leather brogues and pumpkin-coloured socks. And even without the flare of a tie, or cufflinks, its harmonies are both pleasing and reassuring, akin to catching a fleeting scent of your aftershave.

The last, possible locus is that containing belt, shirt, trousers and tip of tie. While this does sum up an outfit it its harmonious combination, it displays itself rarely to you (given location on the body) and almost as rarely to others (presuming your jacket is buttoned when standing). Plus, you won’t necessarily be wearing a belt everyday, certainly not with more formal outfits and suits.

The style loci have this to teach us: appreciate them, for they are your reward for an outfit well bought and well assembled. And if they do not work, let it irritate you to the point where you have your clothes altered or think more carefully about your combination the next time.

Odd colour combinations

There are a good few ways to stand out in a suit, almost as many as the chapters of a style book: cloth, cut, pattern, accessories etc. But one of the most rewarding and hardest to master is colour. It is so easy to get wrong – everyone can summon some lurid combination from his or her memory. I saw someone in a suit recently that had bulbous red chalk stripes on a grey/green ground. It was hideous.

Colour is also relatively easy to get right – blue suit, white shirt, blue tie; grey suit, pink shirt, black tie; grey suit, white shirt, almost any tie. What is genuinely difficult is a colour combination that is right but unusual. Something that stands out because it is not safe, and therefore is rarely worn; but that works.

Combining colours does not come naturally to many men. It is an artistic talent at heart, and one that few have pursued or developed. Most would ideally have a colour combination chart to refer to, but disliking such artifice, choose to re-wear the same few combinations.

I cycle to work most days, and keep a few suits and pairs of shoes in the office. So every morning I have to pack a shirt and tie, trying to picture how they will go with the suits, shoes and other accessories I have at work. It makes picking combinations even harder.

There are three combinations that I like particularly because they are different, and that I think stand out because they work. They are pink and green, purple and yellow, and blue and brown.

Pink and green works best as a shirt/tie combination: pale pink shirt, bright green tie. The tie I have is a sharp green polo tie, complete with small red insignia. I’m sure the red helps a little to harmonise with the shirt, but the pink and green themselves work wonderfully. Unusual, yes; but it works. I also have a dark green handkerchief with brown detailing that works just as well to complement an open-necked pink shirt. Red and green are of course contrasting colours, but they are too strong on their own to pair off well. With the red diluted into pink, it works.

Which segues nicely into purple and yellow, as they are also contrasting colours (for those who can’t remember art class, a primary colour’s contrasting colour is the result of mixing the other two primaries). Now purple and yellow are hard to match in a shirt and tie. I have one very pale yellow shirt that does work with a dark purple tie, but I think the two are best put together in bright but separated combinations – shirt and pocket handkerchief or socks and tie/handkerchief/shirt. Mostly I think yellow works best as the first of these pairings. Try a purple paisley handkerchief with your yellow shirt; or bright yellow socks with an otherwise sober purple tie.

My last combination is less unusual, but it is a perennial favourite. All too often I feel men reach for a drab or washed-out tie to go with their blue shirt – grey, black or a pale version of one of the colours above. Instead, try a brown tie, perhaps with a white stripe. The richness of the colour is unusual and draws the eye; the same works with a brown handkerchief (perhaps yellow/orange pattern) to an open-necked blue shirt. The same rule applies to brown shoes with a blue shirt, as is often said. The Italians like brown shoes they hardly wear anything else. Black is reserved for formal wear. Get a nice pair of chocolate Oxfords and you may find yourself doing the same.

Thanks, and the influence of others

Thank you to all of you that took the time to respond to the question I posed in my last posting, on the best material for odd trousers – something between flannels and jeans. You’ll be pleased to hear that I found a good compromise in a pair of dark khaki cotton trousers from Zara. Not the most luxurious pair in the world, but then they are an experimentation still. The next pair may be made by Mr Tam in Hong Kong.

Cotton trousers are clean and crisp, yet light and casual enough to do without a crease, for example, and be more casual. This weekend, to use one commentator’s advice, they may find themselves paired with loafers. Perhaps even Converse, which are the only trainer slim and simple enough to work with trousers such as these.

The shoes and the accessories are as important as the clothes they complement. And given that my tastes are always screaming for an opportunity to wear a pocket handkerchief, everything else needs to run down the other end of the spectrum.

The responses to my question also highlighted a thought I often have – the surprising extent to which the people around us affect what we wear and what we think about what we wear.

This has several levels. First, working in an office will have its own dress code and expectations. In mine many people wear jeans. Senior management wear suits, but a t-shirt and jeans are perfectly acceptable in junior staff. I dress smarter than most, and give it more thought than most. But given the low average, the upper reaches of sartorial expression are probably inadvisable. I should have described these circumstances in detail in my question, as they affect the answers more than anything else.

Second, most people have insecurities and fears, no matter how small, about their clothes. Especially if they put a lot of thought into them. Every stylish man has moments he would rather forget in his past, and is a little afraid of it happening again. You check yourself in shop windows, tug at that handkerchief even though you know you shouldn’t, or straighten and tighten your tie. Confidence builds with age and experience. But it’s a long time to wait.

Third, other people affect you in subtle ways no matter how confident you are. Would you wear a handkerchief so often if everyone else did? Absolutely everyone else? You might like to think you’d feel gratified that everyone embraced a piece of clothing you love so much. But would it hold quite the same importance for you? And how about if no one else wore the same thing? Not in magazines, not across history – if it had no precedent, all of a sudden? Does it not almost entirely determine your impression of an item of clothing?

No matter how confident we are, what we see around us affects our more than we realise or would wish. The question I posed is one of personal taste, only to a certain extent. Fuddy-duddiness is a question of attitude, only to a certain extent. After all, we see what other people wear far more than we see our own outfits.

A request for ideas

Given the obvious readership and interest there is in this blog, I thought I would throw a question out to the audience for the first time. I’m fascinated to hear people’s suggestions on a clothing situation of mine, rather than submit my opinions to you consistently.

I love suits and am happy to wear them much of the time. They fit in well to my business environment and are easy to highlight with additional touches – socks, shoes, handkerchiefs etc. However, I also like to experiment with odd jackets and trousers, for the sake of variation and for the added complexity that the patterns and materials bring – harmonising ties or handkerchiefs with the bolder patterns of hacking jackets, for example.

So far, so good. The problem is that these odd jacket/trouser combinations can easily tip into looking too traditional or flamboyant for my work environment. The unkind would say they can look too fuddy-duddyish. This is particularly true, for example, when I want to wear a tie with these outfits – perhaps grey flannels with a checked jacket, brown oxfords and a woollen tie. That definitely tips over into something out of place on one my age, and certainly in this environment. Even switching to a silk tie, or going for a silk handkerchief, is probably too much.

As a result, I often resort to jeans with odd jackets. Again, perfectly acceptable in my office and a good counter to the flamboyance of a woollen tie or a handkerchief. The jeans are narrow, dark and not too long. It works ok, but I constantly feel pulled towards the more traditional, the smarter options. I just find it more interesting.

Jeans work ok, but they feel a little like giving up. So my question to the group is: what compromise can I find between jeans and the more fuddy duddy odd trouser combinations?

Is the answer khakis or chinos that look a little more casual? I have noticed that fellow-blogger Winston often opts for pale pink jeans. Or are cords the key?

The classic American option is blue blazer with chinos or white ducks, but I don’t think that would work in a London office, at least not regularly. Or is the secret to avoid extraneous details when combining odd trousers and odd jackets, such as ties or handkerchiefs? (So the outfit, casual vs traditional, balances somewhat.)

This is not a question for the true traditionalists in the audience, who will probably tell me I should pull my socks up (literally, above the calf) and ignore any suspicions of the fuddy duddy. But that is not really my taste and, more importantly, is not really the work atmosphere.

I think combinations of odd jackets, trousers and various accessories are the most exciting and intriguing for men dressing today. They require the most thought and sophistication but also the greatest possibility of individual, startling success.

I will be fascinated to hear what others wear and what they suggest for me.

How to buy luxury: Hermes

There is a saying that the most luxurious items you own will probably be those you wear least. While I can see why this may be the case (your black tie, patent shoes and dress studs are unlikely to be cheap) it is depressing.

I have always liked a little touch of luxury. But I am at heart a cheap man. So I go to every effort to eschew this rule and buy quality items that I will use frequently. The principle can apply to, for example, a work bag that you use almost every day. To your luggage. To one dark brown belt and probably one dark brown pair of leather oxfords.

If you are going to buy a luxurious suit, why not make it a mid-grey flannel one with two pairs of trousers? The jacket will always be useful to wear with odd trousers, even jeans (normal, worsted suit jackets never look right in this regard). And the flannel trousers themselves are the standard for odd, patterned jackets.

My latest discovery in this spirit is a reversible Hermes tie. Obviously, an Hermes tie is an aspirational item. But the printed variety never really appealed to me – there’s something about a grown businessman wearing flamingos on his tie that smacks of infantilism rather than elegance.

But this one, found in the Sloane Street store, is knitted silk. Most importantly, it is reversible. Twice. The two blades are of identical width, and each has one colour on either side. The brand offers various colour permutations, but the most practical – and the one I ended up buying – is black/grey/light blue/dark blue (see picture).

These are surely the four most useful solid ties a man can have. And while you can’t wear a knitted tie on more formal occasions, these are fewer and further between today. I end up wearing this tie once or twice a week, which is a lot considering that I don’t wear a tie every day.

It’s satisfying wearing something luxurious so often. As Will on asuitablewardrobe.dynend.com is fond of saying, the real value of an item is its price divided by the number of times it is worn, plus some multiplier for the pleasure it engenders in the wearer. Which makes this Hermes tie, despite being twice the price of any other tie I have ever bought, pretty good value.

(One last tip – if this sounds like a good idea then try and find the line of ties in duty free. I bought mine in Heathrow airport, and saving 17.5% softens the impact on the bank balance a little.)