Bright wool for cold, sunny days

Today is everyone’s favourite type of day: bright and sunny with a chill in the air. Sweater weather but lovely sitting in the sun. Yes, hot days in the UK are longed for and looked forward to more than any other. But cold sunny days are everyone’s favourite.

A day like this suits bright wool. Wool for warmth, bright to echo the sun.

Italians have a habit of wearing pale-grey flannel trousers in weather like this – cuffed and narrow, warm yet light. While cream trousers can work wonderfully too (see The Rules and How to Break Them No 3 – No white after Labor Day) the warmth of flannel reminds one of the cosiness of late winter as you are sitting in that chilly sun.

Even better on a day like this is some truly bright wool, like the green jacket in the picture from Ralph Lauren Fall 2008. Ok, it’s a little behind the times for fashion, but this is what was in the sales last month – exactly a year behind what’s on the catwalks. (I can’t get over how much more convenient that is than being six months behind.)

I recently acquired this jacket in the tail end of the sales. (Another quick aside on a consistent theme on this blog: the quality of RL service. Despite this jacket being the only one that was marked down 75% – everything else on the rails was 50% – the Bond Street store honoured the displayed discount, even honouring it on different sizes that were only marked as 50%.)

The key to wearing a bright piece like this is softening with muted colours elsewhere. Grey is the prime candidate, in trousers or in a sweater for example. Jeans also work well because they are a low-key, roughened material.

Ralph Lauren’s displayed combination is rather more showy, but this is driven by the impact of the catwalk. (For the same reason, no Ralph Lauren tailor would cut a jacket for man that tightly – so that the waist button is straining to stay closed, even when a man is just walking with his arms at his sides.)

To wear the jacket more formally, I would eschew the yellow socks and kipper tie. But I would retain some contrast – The Italian Background would be too plain for such a bright colour. It needs contrast in a conservative colour to support it, perhaps a white shirt with a dark-blue tie. Or the contrast collar this model is wearing.

Perhaps that should be The Italian Background’s younger relation – Luca Rubinacci to the older, more conservative Mariano. For use with high contrast suits and jackets.

Behind the scenes: A Suit That Fits

It is always rewarding to get a look behind the scenes of a company. Nothing beats it for an insight into the philosophy, working practices and dedication to detail present in the production process.

I was fortunate enough to peek behind the scenes at A Suit That Fits this week. Having seen my recent review of their customer service and initial measuring session in the Liverpool Street branch, they invited me to come to the headquarters in Bermondsey, where the tailoring and adjustments of suits is also taken care of.

Co-founder David Hathiramani showed me round, as the staff finished off their weekly breakfast meeting. The racks of swatches were there, ready to be given to customers and replenish supplies at the various offices – Liverpool Street, Canary Wharf and of course the roaming tailor that serves the rest of the UK. Suits were waiting to be picked up, and mannequins featured a few special orders.

One of these, a cashmere jacket in a tweedy yellow, caught my eye. It was made for a customer that specifically wanted something made using a bolt of luxurious cloth he had bought. This prompted the question – can anyone do that? Yes, replied David, they can use any material a customer supplies, though obviously most prefer to use the stock offerings A Suit That Fits has on order.

This led to a discussion of the breadth of the company’s offering. After all, the choice of materials ranges from £160 to £320. A ready-to-wear suit would get you material of a similar quality – though obviously it wouldn’t be personal or fit you. How about if I want to spend £500 or £600 on a suit? The kind of material I would get at Zegna, Canali or Ralph Lauren, but made-to-measure for me?

There are plans to offer more luxurious materials at some point in the future, says David. There are also plans to offer fittings with a basted suit if the customer requires – this may help a man of an extreme figure, whether large, thin or muscular. These are only suggestions at this stage, but it’s great to see the company is looking at where it can expand. In the meantime, bringing along a length of your own high-grade cloth might be the best option.

My review of the finished suit on my colleague, its fit and quality, will come in around three weeks when his order arrives. Watch this space.

The sad, trapped co-respondent shoe

The co-respondent is such a beautiful shoe. Made with a mix of leather and white buckskin or canvas, it is a summer shoe that leaps out from an outfit.

It makes a definite, rakish statement – and even has a rakish story behind its name. The shoe was so-called because it was the kind of thing that a co-respondent to a divorce petition would have worn, in the days when it would have been accompanied by a stained Mac and a battered brown hat.

It is a disreputable shoe, a characterful shoe. It is also known as a spectator, that name referring to its use in sporting activities – indeed, Lobb claims to have designed the first spectator as a cricket shoe in 1868. The most usual styles are a full brogue (wingtip) or a half brogue, in black or brown leather against the white buckskin. (The white should really not be leather, though these days it often is.)

Unfortunately, I believe it is destined to remain a bauble, an eccentricity, a foible. This is because it is trapped between the formal and the informal.

Back in the days when every discerning gentleman had a pair of co-respondent shoes in his wardrobe, they were a casual piece of footwear. They would be worn with cream trousers and an open-necked shirt. Even with flannels on the sports field.

Today, trainers are worn on the sports field and the dominant casual trouser is the jean.

And in my opinion, they look wrong with jeans. The clean, white buckskin and contrast of the colours is too smart for jeans. As a quirk, they are fine – just like trainers in luminous colours, you give up any hope of harmonisation in favour of making a statement. But suede shoes work far better with jeans; the roughness of the materials brings them together.

Plus, if you opt for smarter (and so darker) jeans, they will be an even worse partner for the co-respondent. It was designed as a choice for pale-coloured trousers, after all.

An older gentleman can wear the co-respondent with his grey flannels and ascot, and look splendid. But then he probably doesn’t own any jeans. For the younger man, the co-respondent has no obvious or harmonious place in his wardrobe – it is too smart for casual wear, yet cannot be worn with a dark or lightweight suit. It wil only end up being worn with chinos and blazer, and even then could look like a costume. This is the sad story of the trapped co-respondent.

Reader question: Wearing suit jackets separately

Ted: In reference to your post on building a wardrobe, if the man in question mostly gets navy and grey suits, does he need to buy sport coats? He can just use the suit jackets and mix and match.

The short and simple answer, Ted, is no. He can’t.

Suit jackets rarely look right as odd (or sports) jackets. Think about the material of the suit jackets we are talking about. It is smooth, worsted wool (at least with the first five suits in the wardrobe). An odd jacket is normally made of a rougher material – flannel, tweed, linen. Or at the least, thicker material – cashmere, cotton.

An odd jacket works well with casual trousers such as chinos, flannels or jeans. This is because they are rougher materials and more casual as a result. A suit jacket looks out of place.

Not all suits are of fine, worsted wool of course. The thicker and rougher the material of the suit, the better the jacket will work separately. So a flannel suit, a tweed suit, a linen suit.

Material is the most important factor. Next most important is pattern, followed by colour. Any check on a jacket makes it look more casual; a pinstripe is intrinsically formal. As to colour, the paler the colour the more casual it is.

So a flannel jacket in dark-grey pinstripe would not work well separately, despite its rough material. And if you really want to wear a worsted wool jacket separately, best to have it in tan with a windowpane check.

I myself have a navy blue, worsted jacket that is all that is left of an old suit. It fits very well and would be a shame to throw out. Despite its smoothness of material and dark colour, it is helped by having a wide windowpane check: that makes it a touch casual. I think it works as a separate jacket, but only just. Only when worn with relatively smooth trousers – cream cotton, for example.

So the long answer to your question, Ted, is maybe – as long as you keep the relative formality of the jacket and trousers close together. The safest option by far is to keep your odd jacket a casual one, in a casual material, colour and pattern. That increases the number of combinations available.

Review: A Suit That Fits

On the fifth floor of an office block near Liverpool Street station is the measuring room of A Suit That Fits – a UK suit and shirt ordering service that has been advertising widely across London in recent months.

Actually, that’s not true. You have to take the lift to the fifth floor and then go up another set of stairs. But at the top is a small studio occupied by two very personable, young measurers and a good few books of cloth. A colleague of mine had decided to try the service and I wanted to accompany him, fascinated by the new made-to-measure or bespoke services that are being set up as men take a greater interest in suits and an even greater interest in how they fit.

The facts: A Suit That Fits takes your measurements at its London studio, advises you on fit and cloth and then has the suit made by tailors in Nepal. Each customer has his own paper pattern cut – to that extent it is bespoke. But there is no fitting. The suit comes back complete and is adjusted in the UK. The company does have a ‘perfect fit’ guarantee, however, and will change the finished garment ad infinitum.

The number of measurements take is good, with several around the leg and more than two across the jacket body. Some only measure the waist and length of trousers, and only the chest and waist in a jacket.

Prices start at ₤200. There is, however, a ₤25 measuring fee and quite a few extras that cost – the number of buttons, pockets and vents, for example. Delivery can also be guaranteed in four weeks by an additional cost of ₤75. Otherwise it takes six to eight weeks.

My friend wanted the tuxedo he was having made to be mohair, which added another ₤100. In his case, the extras cost over ₤50 on top of that. So a basic suit would effectively start around ₤275.

A Suit That Fits offers its customers a choice of three fits – regular, slim or very slim. Each gives a certain degree of “tolerance” around places such as the chest, waist and arms. While this may seem like opaque shorthand to purists out there, I sympathise.

Few men going in to be measured will know exactly what they want. And unlike Savile Row, they are less likely to trust the tailor and his house style. This system, therefore, and the recommendation that you bring in a jacket that you like the fit of, fills the communication gap between client and tailor.

The finished suits awaiting collection showed a OK level of handiwork – about the level I would expect from mid-range tailors in Vietnam, Hong Kong etc. The cloth was nothing spectacular, but then for ₤200 in London you would get a similar quality that wouldn’t fit.

So the service is best seen as a way for people in London to access the kind of service they could get from these tailors in parts of Asia. I look forward to seeing my colleague’s complete suit and assessing its fit.

Black tie: What does correct mean?

During comments on a recent posting, discussion of the use of the word ‘correct’ came up in reference to black tie. Unfortunately, that word has almost no firm meaning today in reference to menswear. Even with regards to black tie, which as an area where the dress code is specifically stated, you would assume would hold onto ideas of correctness. Have you followed the dress code or haven’t you?

Black tie can mean many things. Or rather, it means a range of things, some of them far more formal than others.

Correctness was a question of propriety. It depended on dress being so unsuitable for certain situations that it would be punished. If you are a Member of Parliament and turn up to the House of Commons in flip-flops and swimming trunks, you will be punished. But gone are the days when the Duke of Wellington can be refused entrance to a club because he was wearing trousers, not breeches. Even a traditional men’s club in London, which requires a neck tie for entry, will provide you with one rather than punish you in any way.

There is very little propriety and so very little that is not ‘correct’. It’s an easy word to use, as I have done myself on occasion, when what you mean is nothing so definite. Like saying rule when you mean tradition or guideline.

So, black tie. A white waistcoat is the most formal thing to wear underneath your jacket. Next down the list is a black waistcoat. Last is a cummerbund. If you’re not going to wear anything under your jacket, it makes sense to wear a soft-fronted, pleated shirt. A stiff-fronted shirt will leave space underneath it specifically to be covered by one of these items.

These are grades of correctness. But then, most men today would take their jacket off at some point anyway, which is beyond the pale for anyone that established these grades. What’s the point in anything on the front of your shirt if you take your jacket off?

A black single-breasted jacket is the most formal. Next down the order is a shawl-collar jacket. Next a double-breasted jacket (odd that it should be less formal, but then tails or a frock coat – obviously more formal – are open as well). Next a velvet jacket, not matching the trousers. And last is a smoking jacket.

These are more grades of correctness. To the men when these grades were established, some would only be worn for entertaining at home, some just for dining alone at home. But then, most men today would wear any single-breasted jacket with notch lapels. Which is absolutely beyond the pale. No black-tie jacket should have a notch collar.

So what’s the point in arguing over the propriety of a velvet jacket when no one’s got the collar correct?

Oops, did I say correct?

Reader question: Edward Tam

PK: I have been following your blog for some time and this is my first message. I am spending some days in Hong Kong on my way to Australia and would like to have a couple of suits made and some shirts. I am toying with the idea of trying Edward Tam whom you recommended. May I ask a couple of questions:
• have you tried him since you had the suit made?
• have you heard of any other success/disaster stories about him?
• how many fittings did you have?
• how much did you pay for it?

It seems strange to me that I have only referred to Edward Tam once or twice, as I have been using him exclusively as my tailor for over two years now. In that time he has made for me:
• A double-breasted flannel suit with spare pair of trousers
• A collared waistcoat in the same material to be worn without jacket (The Logical Waistcoat Theory in practice)
• A three-piece worsted suit with a double-breasted waistcoat
• A cashmere blazer (the Norfolk Blazer)
• A pair of cotton trousers
• Five shirts, in two instalments

I have been very impressed with the fit of all these clothes, particularly the jackets. The most impressive thing has always been the shoulders, which not only look good as they follow the line of my (sloping) shoulders but also fit much more comfortably through their fit. The second most impressive thing is the trousers, which are heavily darted to deal with my rather large bottom and small waist. No ready-to-wear trousers have fit so well for this reason.

I deliberately don’t have belt loops on any of the suit trousers. But I regret the fact that I did not have a strap-and-buckle style of side fasteners on them. I have lost weight since the first suit and they are now too big (though the heavy darting helps to keep them in place). Edward has offered to add side fasteners the next time I am in Hong Kong, though, at no cost.

The quality of the wool has always impressed me, though it is one of Edward’s cheaper ranges. He also has Ermenegildo Zegna and Loro Piana, which are around twice the price for a suit.

The only thing that lets down the quality is some of the buttons – a few have come off the shirts and one off a pair of trousers. As long as nothing else goes wrong, sewing these back on is a small price to pay I think.

The price of my suits has been around 3000 to 3500 Hong Kong dollars. The price of shirts is around 350 HK dollars. Cotton trousers and waistcoats were around 600.

I had one measurement session (the first time I visited), then a fitting with the part-made suit, then a final fitting of the complete suit – where I requested one or two small changes. So the first time you go expect four visits, and at least five working days.

Four friends that I know of have visited Edward and I have heard no criticisms (the only one is probably that he speaks very fast and it’s hard to get a word in edgeways!). I plan to use him again in March.

[PK also requested some images of the suits. I will endeavour to do this in the near future. My old Norfolk Jacket post also has some images.]

Reader question: Building a wardrobe

Christopher, US: I am a 21-year-old who just received a senior-level job at a local corporation. However I’m trying to build a collection of business clothes, and trying to perfect my own style that will be acceptable amongst my executive peers yet still shine in personality. I’d love to see another blog about must-haves for a young executive that hits on maybe colour/textures as well as suits, and how to change up with the seasons and still remain professional

There seem to be several strands to this question: building a collection of business clothes, developing a subtle yet unique style and changing with the seasons. Hopefully I will touch on colours and textures sufficiently during the answering of these different questions.

The key to building a business wardrobe is to get to a stage where you have enough decent clothes, but only just enough, and then upgrading.

If we assume that you wear a suit every day of the week, I would recommend getting five decent quality suits (the maximum you can afford) as soon as possible. Then upgrade each suit in turn, ideally buying a new one every six months or so.

This time period is up to you. A longer interval means that you will be able to buy a more expensive suit each time, upgrading to a higher level. But it will also take you longer to work through your suits and those that remain will become tattier. Make a plan here and try to stick to it – though if bargains do present themselves snap these up and adjust your timetable accordingly.

A good wardrobe number is around 10 suits. If a suit is worn a maximum of once every fortnight it is likely to recover well and last a satisfyingly long time. Add a couple of jackets into there for variation.

Within these 10 suits, I would aim for half at least being sober business suits – mostly greys and blues, plain or pinstripes. The other half, worn perhaps on days without client-facing meetings, can be slightly more adventurous – some glen plaid, perhaps a windowpane check, some paler greys and browns.

By necessity the first suits you buy (to fill the five minimum) will be more sober suits, as you will want to have enough for a week of meetings without having to wear a suit more than once a week. It would be good to have one very good quality suit within this mix, but overall it’s not a problem – I would always say that more adventurous suits are worth having at a higher level of quality. If you’re going to wear a linen, seersucker or corduroy suit it had better fit immaculately.

Within this guide of five then 10, you can calculate your own need depending on how many days a week you do wear a suit.

I probably need to wear one three days a week, so were I to start my collection again I would buy three suits and one jacket to start me off, progressing rather slowly towards having six suits and two jackets of really excellent quality and fit (in my case, having them made bespoke in Hong Kong with the highest quality materials my tailor has – Loro Piana or Zegna).

Let’s return to our original example and assume you wear a suit every working day. A suggestion for the first five suits would be: two navy blue, one charcoal, one mid-grey and one other colour (perhaps a chocolate brown, muted green or petrol blue – never black). Of these, perhaps two could have a pinstripe of different widths.

Personally, I would also have one with a waistcoat and one double-breasted. But this is very much a personal choice and depends on what you are comfortable with and your business environment. Both the three-piece and the double-breasted should be bespoke or made-to-measure if at all possible – you will notice the difference in fit more.

The most important thing in these first suits is colour – keep them simple in largely blues and greys. Pattern is less important, just keep it subtle. They should be mostly single breasted and have two buttons or three buttons that roll to two. Every other aspect of the suit (lapel width, sleeve buttons, trouser cuffs, ticket pocket) is up to you – just keep it simple.

The variation in seasons is best accomplished with your next five suits. Although I don’t know what weather you have to deal with in your part of the US, mid-weight suits will always be fine around the office and can be covered in coats, scarfs and hats to take account of temperature outside. So your first five should all be of this weight.

When it comes to the next five, try a flannel suit. Perhaps when the colder months are coming around. Then when the summer is approaching try a lightweight wool, an unlined jacket or a linen suit. These will show you what you prefer with seasonal suits. I like winter-weight suits so would expand on this with a tweed or corduroy. Heavier patterns are also wintry – bold plaids or windowpane checks.

Lastly, a quick word on personality. Express this at the start with subtle changes in colour or texture in your shirt and tie. A conservative navy tie, but in wool for the winter. A knitted silk tie for summer, or a linen mix. Later on, experiment with the second batch of suits.

I hope this was helpful Christopher. Feel free to write in with any more specific questions. There is an awful lot one could say on this subject and I may not have covered many of the areas you wanted me to look at.

How to tailor your sweaters

When you are not used to it, wearing a bespoke shirt is surprisingly satisfying. The two things you notice are that the collar fits without having to hang around the chest, and that the cut accentuates your waist without feeling anywhere tight.

Catch a glimpse of yourself and it seems to be both the most flattering and comfortable thing you could wear.

A sweater can easily ruin this. In order to try and cater to all body types, most are heavily elasticated at the hip and balloon around the waist. Even those that are “tailored” or “custom fit” (what useless euphemisms) rarely fit a slim man.

The exceptions are consciously fashionable shops that assume their customers are at least slim, if not downright thin. I would pick out All Saints, American Apparel and perhaps Reiss.

But there is an answer. It is not hard to tailor your own sweaters, taking them in at the side to fit more closely at the waist. I tried it for the first time this weekend, and it is as easy as altering a shirt. There is an extra stage of sewing and for a permanent change you should really use a sewing machine. But the sewing itself is easier and there is less need for precision.

The best explanation of the process is here: http://www.sweetsassafras.org/2008/01/27/how-to-alter-a-wool-sweater.

My observations on trying this process are as follows. The basting stitch is worth doing, as it anchors the sweater in a similar way to ironing the fold on a shirt you are about to alter. Simply sew in and out of the line you have pinned, in long stitches, and leave both ends loose. They can then just be pulled through at the end.

The stage where the seams are basted, but the pins are out, is the best time to try the sweater on and make sure you have not taken out too much (or too little).

Try and sew the stitches as close together as you can in the final seam. As I said, ideally this should be done by machine but I sewed it by hand, overlapping to make the stitches even smaller.

My other tip is to keep the extra material created on the seams, at least for a few days. Before you snip off the excess, wear the sweater for a day or two to make sure you are happy with the adjustment. Daily wear and stretching may make you think you need a little extra room.

Also, I felt there was no need to narrow the arms so I just tapered the line into the side seam.

It is curiously satisfying to have a fitted sweater. Curious but it is so rarely experienced. Have fun.

Evening wear: Why a four-in-hand is better than a red bow tie

Aren’t you just sick of celebrities turning up to the Oscars in a four-in-hand tie? A black tie event demands a bow tie. A long tie may be trendier, but this is an outfit steeped in history. History and tradition demand a bow tie. Right?

Wrong. The four-in-hand was designed by Washington Tremlett, in 1892, for an American called Wright. He first wore it to the opera, and indeed it was originally designed as an unusual evening tie.

In an age where most men wore a bow tie or a shorter form of collar tie, the four-in-hand was fussier and less ordinary. Quite the opposite of how it is seen today.

It was seen as fussier because of its length. If you think about it, a long tie is less neat and more ornate than a bow tie. It is less practical and more likely to get in your way.

It was designed as evening wear and evening wear is what Harrison Ford and Leonardo DiCaprio are wearing it as in these photos. They don’t know its tradition; they’re wearing it because it seems trendy or less fussy. But they are still correct, if only by accident.

Contrast that with the men that insist on wearing a red, purple or other coloured bow tie. Perhaps with a matching cummerbund. These men are, in my limited experience (and apologies to Americans everywhere), largely from the US. And they couldn’t be less correct. It’s a black tie event. You’d think that would be a clue.

Black tie is constructed to highlight contrast of black and white: to create sharp and striking lines under the dim lights of evening. It is about shade and texture. Patent shoes, corded silk lapels and sliver shirt studs provide the highlights in texture, shiny out from the matte black elsewhere. There is no need of colour.

The only exceptions are a red boutonniere or, possibly, handkerchief. But these are eccentricities for the dandies in the room. The basic uniform is not in doubt.

Nicholas Storey puts it well: “Novelty, coloured evening ties and matching cummerbunds made an appearance with dinner jackets; this was a brief encounter with sartorial solecism exemplified by the British actor Trevor Howard in a couple of his gruff, crusty film roles. Coloured evening ties may safely be consigned to the annals of history, and tagged ‘experiment: interesting but unsuccessful’.”

The rules and how to break them. No4

Rule 4: Always button the waist button of your jacket. And only that button

Let’s start by defining the waist button. This is usually the middle button on a three-button suit, the top button on a two-button suit and obviously the only button on a one-button suit.

I say usually because this is the custom – it is the button that is placed at the individual’s waist, the place where the tailor has opted to place the waist and measure it. There are a few inches of play there from the bulge of your rib cage down to the top of your hip bone. There are high-waisted and low-waisted jackets, just as there are high-waisted and low-waisted trousers. The height of the waist button varies accordingly.

The whole structure of the jacket is built off this button and the shape of the shoulders. The lapels curl down to this button; the line of the suit from armhole to skirt is determined by the placement of this button. It is the fulcrum around which everything else revolves.

This is why men are always told to do up their suit jackets when standing. If they don’t, they might as well not wear a jacket that fits. All the tailoring is built off the shape created when the button is fastened.

The only thing that makes less sense is only doing up the bottom button. But I’ve written about that at length before. It makes me mad.

One quick and easy exception to the rule: weather is the main reason to do up the other buttons. For cold or for wind, you can legitimately fasten the other buttons to keep in heat or stop the skirt of your jacket flapping. This is the main reason I dislike one-button jackets – you don’t have that option.

The main exception to the rule, however, is true three-button jackets. Most three-button jackets have a lapel that is soft enough to roll back when the top button is left undone, leaving a straight line running down from the collar to the waist button. This is often referred to as a three-roll-two or three-roll-two and a half, because with the top button undone the jacket line looks almost like a two button.

Some jackets, however, are built with canvas in the lapels that keeps them stiff to the point of the top button. When only the middle button is done up, the line above is kinked, angling inwards where the lapel begins. There is no clean line to the collar.

Here, the top two buttons should be done up most of the time. That is how the line of the chest and the waist is designed, and the jacket will sit more naturally when fastened this way.

This is why this rule exists. And that is how to break it.

Remember: How to save your shoes from salt

As Britons stumble around in snow, slush and ice they are not used to, it is well to remember how to look after your shoes in such weather. Avoid walking in actual snow or anything more than surface water with leather shoes. Unless they are double or triple-soled and made of cordovan. 

Go for rubber overshoes, or boots (like those here) that can be removed when you get to work and replaced with leather niceties. 

If leather shoes do get wet, this is how to cope with the salt stains that are inevitable.

Book review: History of Men's Fashion

History of Men’s Fashion: What the Well Dressed Man is Wearing, by Nicholas Storey, is a book evidently written with real passion for the subject.

Personal touches abound, such as Storey’s relation of the fact that Lord Nelson’s hat was stolen from public display “in a planned raid on the National Maritime Museum by some utter tyke(s)”. Equally, Storey suggests that the English taste for wearing red socks with a dark suit “always raise[s] a smile” because “a glimpse of the daring and dashing and dangerous lurking beneath the trousers suggest[s] that these qualities may lurk in the wearer too.”

This personal, and subjective, touch makes the book enjoyable reading. But it is also the book’s greatest weakness. I would not recommend it to anyone looking for a primer on menswear, which is ostensibly what it aims to be.

Facts, stories and originations are the book’s strength. I did not know that originally soft felt hats were unacceptable for a man to wear before the end of the London Summer Season. Neither did I know that steel-ribbed umbrellas were invented in 1852 by Samuel Fox as a way of disposing of surplus corset stays.

His description of Beau Brummell is instructive. “Brummell’s ‘exquisite propriety’ was the reverse of foppery – which is generally (mistakenly) associated even now with Brummell’s name,” he says. “There was nothing remarkable about his dress except that it was modest, subdued and most proper to the occasion and of the best materials and making. Strictly, he was a Dandy and certainly not a Popinjay.”

Storey’s point is well argued. And it speaks to our loss of language over the years (or possibly of the people to describe) that few could separate those three words, fop, dandy and popinjay, with decent definitions.

The section of History of Men’s Fashion on evening dress and more formal wear is the most impressive for depth of research. Most people are familiar with black dinner jackets. The slightly more sartorial are aware that midnight blue is a perfectly acceptable and indeed more practical alternative (it looks more black than black under artificial light). But few realise it can be virtually any colour and that Noel Coward wore them in brown. With matching tie and pumps, made at the hands of Douglas Hayward.

Indeed, Storey tells us that “when Brummell began the process which eventually led to monochrome evening dress, his evening coat was…blue, the waistcoat was white, his pantaloon trousers…black and his stockings striped.” It’s hard to argue with anyone about the etiquette of black tie when that little get-up was its starting point.

However, the space allocated to evening wear speaks also of the relevance of this book. Of the 182 pages, almost half is dedicated to chapters four through eight – on formal morning dress, evening dress, leisure wear, sporting dress and hats. Unless the reader of this book goes to enough formal events to justify buying two white waistcoats, or requires hunting breeches, much of this will only be of academic interest.

Which is great, for me. I am probably in the early stages of being an academic on the subject and the facts here are riveting, fascinating, indispensable.

But anyone else will find the book frustrating. It is not really a history of men’s fashion. It includes historical notes and facts during a personal discussion of areas of men’s dress.

Neither is it what the well-dressed man is wearing. That sub-title is a quote from Bertie Wooster, in Right-ho! Jeeves. But what is described is not, despite what Storey might hope, what well-dressed men are wearing today. It is a description of what a very narrow band of British society should be wearing, according to the author.

Throughout the book Storey instructs the reader what he should buy and in what quantity. Under socks he says “have three dozen pairs of wool and nylon half hose” plus “say, six pairs of silk half hose evening stockings and the same quantity of woollen shooting stockings”. That’s 48 pairs of socks, without the ankle socks permitted on the tennis court. How many people do you know who need that many socks?

The recommendations for where to buy your clothes are equally narrow. The best of Jermyn Street and Savile Row is recommended, along with a few less-pricey options. But almost everywhere the reader is encouraged to go bespoke, often because, as is admitted with the riding boots recommended, you actually can’t get them ready to wear.

The attitude is best summed up by the section “the necessary hats to have,” which includes a black top hat, a grey top hat, an opera hat and a hunting-weight silk hat.

Indeed, one could argue that some of the outfits recommended in here would not be in the spirit of Brummell – they would neither be modest or subdued.

At Wimbledon he recommends you wear a blazer, white ducks, co-respondent shoes, a cravat and a panama hat. Even in the members’ enclosure that would hardly be subdued. At Twickenham, meanwhile, Storey says “one should wear cords, a jumper, the Barbour, a cap and stout country shoes.” In what sense “should” one wear that? Is it a tradition going back to the Edwardians?

This book is a treasure trove of facts about British menswear. But it talks as much about the history of tennis (from the Egyptians) as it does about the raw materials of suits. And gives even more space to a rant about the disappearance of country life in the UK, the EU’s agricultural policy and cynical real estate developers.

To the right man, I recommend it. But if you don’t own many books on menswear, buy anything by Alan Flusser first.

Inspiration on mannequins 2: Cesare Attolini

In my last post I got a little giddy over the colour combinations at Domenico Vacca. And with good reason. Whatever the value-for-money of his clothes, he is a master at combining the brights of menswear with background pieces that provide just enough support and just enough distraction.

Cesare Attolini deserves similar praise, though in his case the genius is combining autumnal and muted colours in a way that constantly rewards examination.

Patterns that complement each other add depth. Colours that complement each other add depth. Imagine the contrast with a simple navy suit, white shirt and grey tie. Elegant, certainly, but it bats off your attentions – it is a finely made background to the face but little more. It is the outfit to wear when you are on stage or when you are interviewing for a job; it is the outfit to wear when nothing should distract from you.

Those at Cesare Attolini, by contrast, suck you in. Is there green in that scarf as well as grey? How similar are the little touches of red to the silk handkerchief? The interaction of colour is fascinating.

These remarks refer to the first image above, on the left.

It’s a very brown outfit. Coat, tie and even (possibly) shirt stripes are brown. Much of the scarf is brown. But your eye goes straight to the red handkerchief, a deep russet that sits comfortably amid brown. Like a small fire in a forest at dusk. And the pattern, the visual interest, is here and in the scarf. We are looking at red and at grey/green against a background of brown.

Also notice how much more extravagant the outfit is with its outerwear: coat (with handkerchief) and scarf. The suit underneath is grey, plain and double-breasted. Coatless, it is sober and ready for business.

Outerwear is often an opportunity in this way, evidence being the gloves featured in recent posts.

Combination number two is more brown, if anything. Brown jumper, brown shirt, brown jacket. The scarf looks similar and provides visual focus, among its reds and mossy greens. But the two keys here are the pattern on the coat and the sea-blue handkerchief. Without pattern, the coat would be drab alongside other browns. With its Glen plaid, everything underneath is background.

And the blue/brown handkerchief is genius. Not an autumnal colour and not the first or second I would have thought of (those would be orange/red and green). But it works.

Green comes into the equation with combination number three. The dark colour, striped in the tie, goes well with brown and particularly against a blue shirt. That tie against white would be too stark.

I don’t know if I will ever end up owning anything by either Domenico Vacca or Cesare Attolini. But I feel indebted to them for inspiration.