man fashion

They were sniggering as I strolled up. The sort of mischievous, playground sniggering that does not befit men of the age of twenty seven. The darting glances as I approached, the little whispers; they looked me up and down, somewhat perturbed by my appearance. These were chaps (and chapettes) I knew well and yet they were reacting in a very particular way. After an embarrassing handshake or two, one of them blurted out; “Why are your jacket sleeves rolled up?” At this release of tension, the others exhaled with their comments; “Yea, isn’t that really eighties?”; “I thought you liked to wear smart things?”; “Rolled up sleeves looks a bit gay”; “If you’re hot, why do you wear a jacket at all?”

To be honest, I rarely roll up my jacket sleeves. I do so when I feel my look is edging towards a contradiction – formality with informality – to blur the lines and only, I hasten to add, when the weather is so decidedly undecided as it was when I encountered my friends; I do not go without a jacket because a sudden solar retreat and a chilly wind would make it very welcome. The other condition is that the jacket itself is not of too great a formality; a casual seersucker, linen or cotton. I would never, for example, roll up the sleeves of a brass buttoned blazer. For me, there is no issue with the aesthetic. Rolling up sleeves can add a functional charm to a jacket and it smoothes the hard edge of formality.

There are those however who consider rolled up jacket sleeves to be the worst example of affected Eurotrash and would like nothing better than to instruct every man who experiments thus to pull down or throw down. One of my friends hit upon one of the reasons for objection when he said that it reminded him of an Eighties visual. Hardly surprising considering that one of the greatest smash hits of that particular decade was the television series Miami Vice in which Don Johnson, a peerless icon of Eighties trash, wandered around the streets wearing sunglasses, an excruciating grin and the sleeves of his jacket pushed back to the elbows. Consequently, any rolling up of sleeves carries this association although we are fortunate in that the younger generation appear less interested in the product of the twentieth century’s eighth decade than we were.

The other objection, little to do with a seedy Floridan television character, is that rolling up sleeves on a jacket is bad for the jacket and an annoying contradiction; why ruin the jacket to create a look that doesn’t appear to make sense? Well, as I stated previously, when it comes to dressing correctly, weather is a (forgive me) grey area; on-off days can confuse the gentleman. Rolling up sleeves feels better than removing the jacket entirely and, particularly if you are layering, exposing a bit of skin to the air in the warm season is refreshing. I also happen to think that rolled up sleeves gives an artisanal, practical edge to a look that might otherwise appear too staid for a summer’s day.


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The John Smedley Factory
By Andrew Williams
June 25, 2010 (1 Comment)

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John Smedley have been producing ‘Made in England’ luxury knitwear for over 8 generations, and count Her Majesty the Queen amongst their illustrious but discrete cliental. As I pointed out recently, I’m something of a late convert to John Smedley’s beautiful knitwear. So when last week I was invited to tour the factory it seemed an opportunity too good to pass up.

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Far from the dark satanic mills of which William Blake wrote, enveloped by the rolling hills of the Derbyshire countryside there is something almost picturesque about this factory. Dating back to 1784 it’s actually classed as an historic monument, putting it in a class with Stonehenge.

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Many brands trade on ‘heritage’ and ‘craftsmanship’ but those things often only exist in the lines of some clever PR copy.

I could recite a list of impressive facts about Smedley knits; 35 individual hand operations per garment; rigorous standards of animal welfare for farms that supply its Merino Wool; the fact that all the garments are washed in fresh natural spring water etc. etc. But none of that gets to the essence of Smedley, and why I’ve concluded it’s a very special company.

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What struck me most was the attitude of the people behind Smedley. Some members of staff have been working for Smedley for 40 years. Our guide for the afternoon was a lovely man by the name of John Mumby, who had himself worked for the firm for 30 years, before his recent retirement. Now he returns to provide guided tours for visitors; everybody knew John and there was nothing John didn’t know about Smedley.

It was difficult to put my finger on any single thing which induces amongst the men and women working at Smedley a genuine affection for the brand and all it stands for. But walk around the factory, talk to employees and it’s palpable. Creative Director Dawne Stubbs joined Smedley in 1992 and as she put it to us, “we are caretakers of a legacy and no one wants to be the caretaker that stuffs it up”.

According to Stubbs, retaining the authenticity of the ‘Made in England’ label has often proved a big headache. The decline of the UK textile industry meant the company struggled to find even the smallest items, like a supply of British made buttons. Personally, I find it interesting that they should even care about such things. I suspect in most cases ‘margin’ would have determined the outcome of that problem.

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One of the keys to Smedley’s quality and finish is the type of equipment used, much of which can’t be bought any more, and which modern replacements can’t match. According to Stubbs, the replacement of an old machine causes great anxiety, lest continuity of product suffers. A refreshing view in a world that equates ‘new’ with better.

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That doesn’t mean there is no place for modernity. Having been given a preview of things to come in the autumn and winter collection there is plenty of interesting colour and textural play to be found. And there is one room in the factory full of the latest £100,000 a piece weaving machines, but it was clear from the visit and talking to workers that there is no compromising the quality of output. If the old ways work best then old ways it is.

It’s not until you tour the factory and meet many of the workers that you really understand what the brand is all about. While I cannot transport you there, I hope these pictures at least provide an impression of what I felt and saw; and just what a remarkable company this is.


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The Power Of Three
By Winston Chesterfield
June 24, 2010 (5 Comments)

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I was recently asked by an inquisitive young man whether I followed the three colour rule. Remembering vaguely an argument I had pursued some time ago with an acquaintance about a similar issue, I calmly asked what three colour rule he was referring to. Surprised at my apparent lack of knowledge he chivvied me on; “You know, that you shouldn’t wear more than three colours at any one time. No?” I nodded and changed the subject. I did so because I do not care to talk about ‘rules’ of clothing for any length of time. The red mist can so easily descend as I rage about restrictions on creativity, the shortness of life and the inanity of sartorial red tape. On this particular issue however, I was intrigued.

Three is a peculiarly bewitching number in our culture and the concept of trinity is one which pervades religion and myth. The second-hand wisdom from the young man gave me pause however as his words were not an encouragement to embrace three colours but merely never to exceed that number. By this logic, two colours and even one single colour are as acceptable as three. The trinity holds no special significance by this standard. However, there are a number of examples of similar rules which exist in certain cultures. The Congolese Sapeurs seem more intent on combining three colours than shying away from exceeding three, although some suggest that many of them combine as little as one or two distinct colours; dark pink shoes with a light pink suit and a dark pink tie suggest one colour palette, not two.

It is by this logic that the young man might have been deceived into believing I was a subscriber as I was wearing a dark green tie, light green and grey striped shirt and light green and white striped pocket square with a blue jacket and white trousers. To his eyes, I was only wearing green, blue and white (although I was also wearing chestnut coloured shoes, do these not count?) I probably conform to this ‘rule’ more than I know. It is far from intentional as I am not a sartorial bible-basher or self-flagellator; the rule of three makes aesthetic sense in many circumstances but to follow it entirely for the sake that it is a ‘rule’ is to strait-jacket oneself.

It is simply too arbitrary; outfits with four or five different colours can be as elegant, sometimes more so, than outfits which never break beyond three. And to consider that the rule, in the modern lexicon, has veered from the power of trinity to a rather timid “Ok, so no more than three, probably best with two” tremble means that the future, by the strength of what this young man was suggesting, is not bright but instead, quite literally, rather dull. Go forth and colour your world.


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On My Soapbox: Summer Footwear
By Andrew Williams
June 22, 2010 (12 Comments)

I’ve said it many times, but I am really not a fan of summer fashions. Sadly, most men seem to regard summer as an opportunity to forgo all sartorial standards by donning grotty shorts and assorted dirty collarless T-shirts.

Two items of summer apparel I’d single out for pent-up ire and vented spleen are sandals and flip-flops (jandals/ thongs if you’re antipodean). Both items seem to have become acceptable street wear, and now that designer labels have jumped on the band wagon they seem set to remain so.

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I just don’t understand the appeal of these items. For starters, next to the male member there is no less attractive part of the human anatomy than feet – even more so in the case of men. I’m not much keener on female feet, but at least, for the most part, they come without hairy toes. And unlike we men, women will often beautify their toe nails, which although not a vast improvement is nonetheless an improvement on nature. So why anybody would want to put their feet on display is beyond me.

In a bid not to appear unsporting while in NZ last Christmas, when forced by my girlfriend’s family to wear flip-flops I reluctantly relented. I quickly realised that far from missing out on a new level of summer-time comfort and practicality these pieces of footwear were anything but. Not only did the bit between your toes irritate, but anything approaching a greater rate of acceleration than an old man’s shuffle and likely as not the thing would fly off your foot – gracefully arcing across the sky before decapitating some unsuspecting passer by. This was unless you curled your toes as you walked. Unpleasant aesthetic aside, sandals may be more practical but judging by some designs not that much more.

Obviously I’m not advocating socks and shoes in summer, but it is possible to be comfortable without sacrificing your dignity.

Fellow columnist Stephen Pulvirent recently advocated the Italian driving moc, a sound choice. However, I have relatively flat arches so prefer a little more structure. In that case I’d take a serious look at Italian loafers. London based Fin’s and Shipton & Heneage offer an eminently affordable range to a reasonable standard. In the case of Fin’s, they offer a limited edition Amalfi collection combining nubuck and linen.

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My own personal default setting is the boat shoe. The brands Sebago, Redwing and Timberland are excellent choices in my view, with offerings in nubuck, leather and suede to play with. Online retailer ASOS do a very affordable range. However, wishing the shoes to be as light and as aerated as possible I’m tempted to invest an offering from the daddy of all boat shoe makers, a canvass Sperry Topsiders. Versatility personified they sit as well with shorts as they do chinos and cotton jacket.

Whatever the time of year, many men live in training shoes. Not normally a shoe I’d advocate, but it is possible to incorporate these into the summertime wardrobe provided you pick the right style. I’m not talking Nike Air or other over staked brightly coloured offerings but of course canvass pumps. These ought to be plain white in my view and two offerings that caught my eye are the classic Superga Cotu and Albam’s new Gourmet Tre C. Either will sit well with white jeans, easy cut linen trousers and light khakis, while being more than suitable for shorts.

There are of course Espadrilles. But don’t even get me started on those…


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Ralph Lauren Wimbledon Collection
By Winston Chesterfield
June 21, 2010 (4 Comments)

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It may seem odd to some that one of the most noticeable symbols of the most high profile racquet sports tournament in the world is a polo pony. Ralph Lauren, celebrating its fifth year of kitting out the court at Wimbledon, would contend that the eponymous logo is not a representation of the sport it depicts but merely a recognisable icon of its own brand, a brand which has dominated the high American aesthetic for decades; a multi-billion dollar behemoth that reincarnates, rather spectacularly, an improbable Gatsby-esque existence.

Ralph Lauren likes spectacles and spectacular people, so it was scarcely surprising that they had secured the services of flame-haired tennis champion Boris Becker who struts his considerable stuff in Lauren labelled attire as brand ambassador. As part of his duties, Boris recently conducted a Legends Clinic, held at Dukes Meadows in Chiswick, West London broadcast live on RalphLauren.com. Having acquired a formidable bank of knowledge from his successful career, the still-fit Boris eased through the gears whilst simultaneously offering a level of garrulity and wit rarely seen in the television studio, let alone on the tennis court.

Boris appeared on court in a pair of plain white shorts, polo shirt and cable cardigan, sporting a strange pair of socks that looked more like bandages. The cable cardigan was the stand out item; trimmed with navy and yellow, it looked like a heritage piece from the era of Fred Perry. Underneath was a creamy white polo with a varsity style green and yellow chevron and an alarmingly enormous polo player logo, which now seems to be the default for Lauren’s polo shirts. This year’s aesthetic for Wimbledon is much the same as last year’s offering; Merchant-Ivory costumes covered in antiqued insignia. It’s a formula that works well – the derivative but handsome garments appeal to the aesthete, the logos and branding to the fanboys.

Boris told me, enthusiastically, that Ralph Lauren is a perfect fit for Wimbledon; “It’s things like the cardigan, you know?” he said smiling “Heritage things; that’s what I love about it.” Asking him to compare his former sponsors Fila and Ellesse to Ralph Lauren, Boris said diplomatically that Fila and Ellesse were good for sportswear, whereas “Ralph Lauren is completely different.” Such a generic comment, from a man of great conversational art, indicated he did not want to get too drawn into yah-boo-sucks commentary on brands, which for a brand ambassador was refreshingly diplomatic.

I think Boris is right. Ralph Lauren is the perfect partner for Wimbledon. Whether they like it or not, they are both brands which complement the other perfectly; Lauren leans on associations with ancient tournaments to give credence to the heritage aestheticism and Wimbledon, though never lacking in glamour, finds comfort in clinging to an official sponsor grander than Slazenger. The collection itself is simply a wistful man’s fantasy of how Wimbledon should be; a cross between Strangers on a Train and Brideshead Revisited. It’s probably too perfect in conceit, particularly when compared to the hideous dross that is paraded by the court athletes themselves, and some of it is more caricature than character. However, it’s still another warm and poetic reminder of our own heritage – something Ralph Lauren has managed to perfect.