Hunter, Desii, Tartan: Florence’s surprising range of vintage

Posted on 18/07/202218/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

Florence is a surprisingly good city for shopping, quite apart from any menswear shows that happen to be going on.

It’s always been a hub for craft, and even in the city centre you’ll often walk past a little workshop with someone restoring antique furniture, doing some engraving or demonstrating traditional marbling.

In fact it’s one of the most surprising things about Florence - that despite the fact it’s barely more than a small town, and absolutely flooded with American tourists much of the year, it still retains a this character. It has (so far) resisted becoming overwhelmed in the same way as Venice.

There are a lot of cheap leather shops, of course, selling Chinese-made bags. But it’s not too hard to spot places with genuine craft going on, and indeed to spend an hour learning how to do engraving or marbling.

Out of season, I’d recommend it as a holiday destination for this craft, alongside the art, history and food.

I’ve written a list of shopping recommendations in Florence before - you can see it here, part of the travel series that eventually became a book I published with Thames & Hudson.

But I didn’t include any vintage shops back then, because I simply hadn’t visited any. Since then I’ve spent time in a few, so I thought it was worth adding those, in particular the collection of Tommy at Hunter Vintage and the confusing double shop that is Desii.

Hunter Vintage

Via del Moro, 56

@huntervintagefirenze

During the various Pitti fairs (there are equivalents for women, children and materials - baby influencers anyone?) there is a slightly odd installation on the corner of Santa Maria Novella square.

The antiques shop Bottega di Corte invites in a few local stores, including men’s and women’s vintage clothing. As a result, you’ll often walk past and see something odd and attention-grabbing in the doorway, like a bishop’s cassock or a full WWI uniform.

The menswear in there is contributed by Tommy Pampaloni of Hunter Vintage (above), who also has a small showroom around the corner on Via del Moro. During a show, this is closed but it’s worth asking him if you can go round and see the dedicated shop. At other times, just go see the shop itself.

Tommy’s great-grandfather was a legendary car collector, and the family has hundreds of cars and motorbikes in the countryside out of town. Many of the cars have been used in Hollywood movies.

Tommy was the one who had a passion for menswear, and started Hunter. He has a great range, though it’s fair to say it focuses on the more unusual, the historical or inspirational (unlike Desii).

So there will be a pair of beautiful leather pilot’s trousers - largely useless for wearing today, but great inspiration for a modern designer. Or a first pattern US Army shirt, which is rare and beautiful and very beaten - perfectly wearable, but delicate and not one for the long haul.

There are more regular pieces too - field jackets, Harringtons, duffle coats - but I’d still say this is a place to go with a mind open to any inspiration, rather than in search of something particular.

I almost bought a 1930s German horsehide jacket (below) because the fit was so good and the patina amazing. But on reflection there were no times I would have preferred to wear it rather than my existing black horsehide.

Desii Vintage

Via de Conti 17-23

desiifirenze.it

@desii.vintage

Desii is a Florentine institution, having started as a shop in 1947 and gone through various incarnations and three different generations.

Today there are four shops: new clothing (Desii Store) a sale shop (Desii Ognissanti) and two vintage shops next to each other (Desii Vintage).

The vintage shops do sell some new clothing as well (mostly American, mostly workwear) which is where the confusion can start. But it’s mostly vintage from a wide time range - 1940s military to 1990s streetwear.

The smaller of the two vintage shops (on the right as you look at them from Via de Conti) is just menswear, and is the place to start. The impressive thing is the amount of stock - if you want jungle jackets, you’ll find eight or ten, rather than one or two. There’s a stack of American-made chinos from the 1960s to the 1980s; rayon shirts in various sizes and styles; canvas jackets from very wide fishing designs to longer chores.

It’s the best place to go if you’re after something particular. I was interested in a rayon shirt, for example, and old chinos. I didn’t find either, but there was a better selection than I’d seen almost anywhere else. I still can’t believe there isn’t anywhere like this in London any more.

The bigger shop, on the left, is a mishmash.

It’s theoretically new clothing and womenswear, but there are vintage jeans, chinos and military clothing in there as well. It’s worth browsing both if, again, you’re seeking something in particular.

It’s also very good for luxury brands - Vuitton holdalls, Gucci loafers, Hermes scarves and so on. All genuine and reasonably priced.

There isn’t much I’d buy from a selection like this, but one thing I’m always interested in is Hermes menswear (and scarves for either gender). It was here that I found an absolute treasure - a yellow suede popover jacket from the 1970s. Only gently worn, in the most delicate goatskin. Even the old label was beautiful.

Tartan Vintage

Via dei Palchetti, 5

Tartanvintage.com

@Tartan_Vintage

Tartan is tiny, and rammed. Run by a charming lady who’s obsessed with the UK, it’s nearly all British or British-inspired clothing. The Beatles, The Stones or Oasis will usually be playing.

Being so British-focused is actually a nice change from the American military and workwear angle of most vintage stores. It means you get a lot of tweed raglan coats, Aquascutum raincoats, flat caps and knit ties. There are braces and straw boaters, silk cravats and spectator shoes.

It’s slightly more modern, in that you won’t find much before the 1960s, but the quality level is decent and the owner is always very helpful (and speaks good English, as you might expect). I got a couple of belts there a while ago - the intricate one featured here, and a simple webbing one.

There was nothing special about the latter, but it was as good quality as you’d find today from Drake’s, Anglo etc, and a lot more attractive for having the patina of wear. Tarnished brass, variegated cognac leather, dulled webbing colours. That style of belt always looks a little old-fashioned to me when new.

There is a handful of other vintage stores around Florence, but they’re much more modern - more thrift, more streetwear. If you’re interested in those, then Epoca on Via de Fossi is one of the best.

Interestingly, the WP store on Via della Vigna Nuova has also recently introduced a vintage section. WP is the Italian distributor for several menswear brands (including Filson, as discussed recently), and was the first to bring many American heritage companies to Italy in the 1980s. There are seven stores around Italy.

During Pitti, to celebrate the company’s 40th anniversary, they had a small display of vintage pieces from their archive, and a section for sale at the back of the store. It was expensive, but also highly curated.

The guide to morning dress: Part three, the final suit

Posted on 15/07/202215/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

The guide to morning dress: Part three, the final suit

Friday, July 15^th 2022Tags:

94 Comments

by Aleks Cvetkovic

Having now been to my first Royal Ascot, it strikes me that the hardest thing to do with morning dress is to get the details right, and in so doing capture a kind of comfortable ‘old school’ elegance without looking like you’re playing dress-up. There were a lot of men at Ascot who clearly didn’t care for their clothes, and a few who wanted to enjoy some Edwardian cosplay - here’s the look I put together for the day itself. Here’s hoping it offers a third way and a handy reference for you.

Let’s pick up where we left off. The morning dress that Whitcomb & Shaftesbury cut for me has more than lived up to expectations, not just in its cut, the traditional proportions of which – slim tailcoat, wide-lapelled waistcoat and fearlessly high-waisted trouser – work together seamlessly, but also in how the three different cloths we chose complement each other.

Having this outfit made has more than confirmed my suspicion that the proportions of modern ready-to-wear morning suits, with low rise trousers and elongated waistcoats, really are missing a trick. The whole kit is extremely comfortable to wear, even in mid-June heat, and the way the coat’s tails curl so neatly around my legs to hang cleanly at the backs of the knees is very impressive.

Special mention should go to Whitcomb’s finishing, which has been consistently superb each time I’ve worked with the team.

Notice the subtle details that have been added to this suit, which only a bespoke tailor could offer: the exquisite laid-on braiding around the coat’s lapels and cuffs (the braid is vintage silk, kindly sourced for me by il maestro, Bob Bigg), the delicate bar tacks sewn by hand that reinforce the trouser pockets, and the fineness of the hand-sewn watch catch (the central buttonhole from where you fix your Albert chain).

The buttons are antique fish bone, which is traditional for formalwear and no longer readily available. Again, Bob kindly dug these out of his vintage stores. The white Marcella cotton waistcoat slips are lovely too, and something that most skilled alterations tailors could add to a ready-to-wear waistcoat – well worth doing, both for the old-world glamour and the way they contrast with the darker coat and trousers.

Speaking of ‘old world glamour brings us nicely to styling a morning suit.

The balance to aim for, whether for the races as seen here, or a wedding, is one that embraces the majority of the dress-code quirks and foibles, but stays on the right side of neo-Edwardian fantasy. Morning dress might be unusually formal, but it’s like anything else in your wardrobe. If you want to look elegant, don’t dress up – just get dressed. To me, that means choosing which parts of the traditional rig you feel comfortable with, and which to pass up.

So, what did I opt for? Jewellery-wise, I went the whole hog. I brought my antique pocket watch out of retirement, having not worn it for years, and complimented it with an antique ‘ruby’ tie pin. It’s 1960s costume jewellery, but I think it does the job.

Perhaps the most noticeable extravagance in this outfit is the silk-plush top hat, which is a 1920s example made by Lock & Co. I got extremely lucky with this. Silk plush toppers are sadly no longer in production (the last machines that made the cloth were broken up in the 1970s) and as a result antique top hats have become highly collectible. Some command silly prices: when I started looking for a topper I was quoted between £3,000 and £20,000.

I found this one on a market stall called The Last Stop for the Curious in Spitalfields, and after some negotiation paid £850, which is steep but a relative steal compared to many of the hats I saw elsewhere.

It’s also a fabulous object, with its iridescent sheen and sweeping curves, and a once-in-a-lifetime purchase that I plan to wear to the races for many years to come. If you are determined to source a silk topper too, give yourself plenty of time to go hunting and try obscure places – market stalls, vintage hat shops and antiques dealers. If you’ve got £3k or £4k to spend, Oliver Brown has a large collection available in-store.

So far, so traditional. But, I did decide to contemporise the outfit in two regards.

The first is the shirt I’m wearing. As mentioned in Part One, I considered wearing a starched detachable collar to Ascot, but in hindsight I’m very glad I didn’t. Instead, faced with 25-degree heat I opted for a collar-attached shirt from Ede & Ravenscroft, with a white cutaway collar and fine dark blue horizontal stripes.

It was far more comfortable to wear than a starched collar would have been, and it looked much more contemporary. The only starched collars I spotted on the day were worn by eccentric characters toting canes, spats and cigars, who seemed to be there more for the dress than the racing.

Importantly, this shirt has double-cuffs in the same cloth as the body. A contrasting collar is correct, but contrasting cuffs are a bit flash for morning dress.

The shirt’s dark blue stripes picked out the navy in my Prince-of-Wales check tie from Budd. The tie is part of Budd’s excellent new Wedding Collection and available here.

And the final detail to note is the pocket hanky, which adds a nice bit of colour contrast. I wore an old favourite from Drake’s, in printed silk and modal. Its rusty hue gives an otherwise sober look a touch of warmth.

A brief word on colour more generally, echoing the advice in Part One. Stick to a pastel-coloured shirt (baby pink or blue are safe bets) with a white collar, a dark finely patterned tie, and a fun contrasting pocket hank, and you won’t go far wrong. Avoid bold stripes, loud checks and bright colours. They look incongruous against a classic black coat or morning grey.

The other area in which I played with convention was the choice of footwear. I opted for a relatively racy, yet permissible choice,: black Kempton III demi-boots from Crockett & Jones’s Hand Grade line.

I am a huge advocate for Crockett’s shoes, which offer exceptional value for money and – in my experience at least – better fitting qualities than many considerably more expensive brands. The Hand Grade range is beautifully finished on excellent lasts with a significant amount of handwork. Kemptons also worked for me because they appear as Chelsea Boots beneath trouser cuffs, but cover less of the ankle so aren’t as hot to wear.

Crockett’s 367 last with its soft chiselled toe felt appropriately ‘English’ for the occasion too. If I’d been a dress-code pedant, I’d have opted for button boots, but these feel too Victorian to me. I could have gone for classic black Oxford cap-toes, but I don’t have any use for trad black Oxfords, and I’ll wear the demi-boots a fair bit.

The results, I hope you agree, are elegant but not antiquated, and relatively conservative – as morning dress should be.

Of course, this is my own personal take on the dress code (informed by a fair bit of research, it should be said) and there may be some who disagree with the choices I’ve made, as well as some purists who will rebuke me for neglecting a starched collar and chamois gloves. If that’s your thing, go for it, but I’m a huge believer in dressing for your time, no matter the place or dress code.

Above all, I hope this series has been enjoyable to follow, useful for those who are new to morning dress, and provides some helpful food for thought. Don’t hesitate to reach out with any questions, and happy dressing!

Aimé Leon Dore launches in the UK – worth a visit?

Posted on 13/07/202214/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

There has been a fair amount of excitement in London at the opening of the new Aimé Leon Dore shop in Soho – their first outside the US.

I can understand why. New menswear stores are rare at the moment, the dominant narrative being of stores closing or brands slipping in that direction.

And ALD is one of those brands men interested in style will have followed for years (it’s older than you think), with interest among classic menswear fans funnelled from its collaborations with Drake’s and its fresh-feeling combinations of traditional pieces with streetwear.

To an extent, ALD has been a victim of its own success on the styling side. Many brands now look similar, from start-ups to bigger brands like J.Crew. We talked about that ‘no trend’ trend last year, here.

This influence also been a result of personalities moving around. Brendon Babenzien, co-owner of Noah and previously at Supreme, is now creative director at J Crew. ALD’s Teddy Santis is designing the ‘Made in the US’ line at New Balance, and you can clearly see his influence in the ‘everyman’ shoots on display in the Oxford Street store.

I’ve liked a lot of this styling, particularly as regards more casual clothing. Of course little is ever really new, but the ALD lookbooks over the past three years have always had combinations that felt inspiring – whether it was sweatshirts with polo coats or flannels with trainers.

It also helped that they were so well-executed. The models were often friends, they appeared to have their own personal styles, and the whole thing looked relaxed and fresh.

Again, this might seem more normal now than a few years ago, but it’s still a pleasant change from most of what you get from both established classic-menswear brands – with their sterile-looking models – and from fast-fashion – with its hyper-masculine posing.

However, while I liked the styling, I was usually a little underwhelmed by the ALD product.

As with quite a few new brands, behind the shoots there seemed to little more than T-shirts, sweats and caps. There was rarely that much interesting in the product, whether in terms of cut, fabric, quality or simple creativity.

There were some nice pieces, often as part of collaborations. I preferred their version of the orange-Casentino fleece to that offered by Drake’s, for example. But these sold out quickly, and what you saw people actually wearing was sweats with a logo on them.

I should say that those sweats are better quality than most. A friend sources from the same factory, knows the grade, and you can feel the weight of the jersey when you feel them in person (one immediate advantage of having a store).

They’re not the same level as premium Japanese brands, such as The Real McCoy’s. But they’re a step above most of ALD’s high-street-wear competition.

Of course, they’re also more expensive. A simple grey sweatshirt from ALD is £175. There is a clear premium there for the costs of those shoots, the shops and the people. But you’re getting something more than just marketing for your money.

There’s also a point to make about contemporary design. One thing traditional brands often lack is a sense of being current, just in little things like the rise of a trouser, the chest size of a sweater or the use of colours. And so-called uniform brands like The Real McCoy’s can have the opposite problem – focusing so much on traditional cuts and styles that the results look anachronistic.

This is where high-street brands are often better – Uniqlo, perhaps, or Cos – as readers sometimes remark. And this is something you get from ALD. If you like the look of the hoodies people are wearing which are bigger, but a little shorter, with a close hood about the neck, chances are a current fashion brand like ALD will have that, and (with them) at a slightly higher quality level.

So how does this all boil down into the store experience?

I have to say I was impressed. There was more interesting product on display than I expected, and perhaps than you get a sense of on the website.

The recent collaboration with Woolrich had some nice knits, albeit with (fishing) flies embroidered on the front. There was a range of pyjamas in pleasingly wallpaper-like patterns. And DB seersucker suits made in the US, which had a great shape to the lapel.

Much of it still wasn’t my style, but the point is there was more originality – more like the creativity you see at a brand like Bode than at the sweatshirt start-ups that are far more common.

The shop itself is also very impressive. The design is luxurious, more like a gentleman’s club than a streetwear store. You could take all the product out (and the deflated basketballs) and fill it with Brioni tailoring without it being incongruous.

It also felt – and this is hard to describe – somehow authentic. Just as the ALD shoots celebrating people of Queen’s feel more real than square-jawed models, so the shop feels like it has a genuine vision and a genuine following.

The aesthetic, the staff, the customers, they all felt part of a whole. This is the kind of thing we perhaps get used to in classic menswear – in Anderson & Sheppard or in Connolly – but I think it’s rare in a brand like this.

Interestingly, authenticity was something the brand was criticised for lacking in its campaign to launch its UK-made New Balance: the models and the American music seemed at odds with the British terraces around them. That too shows people care: it’s a brand people feel protective about.

I think other brands should be scared. Compare the feeling of walking into ALD with other stores in London – not just the walking wounded like Brooks Brothers or Gieves & Hawkes, but Belstaff or Mackintosh or Barbour.

Those brands have genuine heritage and often quality, but there’s no sense of a following, no engagement or even knowledge among the staff. (Of course, that’s why those brands often do collaborations.)

And now ALD has investment from LVMH, they probably have the backing to do anything they want. Not, I suspect, the old model of explosion into 50 or 100 stores around the world, but to do things like make films about Robert de Niro's father or build community gyms.

For me, I can see myself popping in there now and again, to see what they’ve come up with recently and try things in person. I can also see myself buying some of the sportswear, such as a pair of the perforated shorts. The colours and cuts are so much more interesting, and again the experience so much better, that the likes Nike or Adidas.

The Aimé Leon Dore store is at 32 Broadwick Street. There is a café but it doesn’t open until 11, somewhat bizarrely. In the US there is a store in New York at 214 Mulberry Street.

Hand padding a bespoke jacket: How it’s done and why

Posted on 11/07/202211/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

The various parts of the front of a bespoke jacket are normally sewn together by hand. This hand 'padding’ attaches the canvas that give the chest its structure, and hand sewing shapes the lapel too.

It's often used as a sign of ‘real’ bespoke, along with creating a personal paper pattern. Very few ready-to-wear suits have it - so very little made-to-measure has either - and as a general rule of thumb this twin definition works.

However, as you might expect, there are nuances and exceptions. The point of a personal pattern is not that it is an end in itself, but that it suggests there will be a good amount of alteration during the fitting process. We covered that in a previous article in this Anderson & Sheppard series here.

Hand padding is the same. Because it’s so labour-intensive, it is a decent sign that other, less obvious handwork will also go into the suit. The fact you can see those pin pricks on the underside of the lapel suggests the iron will also have been used to shape the jacket in more subtle ways.

And then there are exceptions. There’s a good argument, for example, that there’s less point in hand padding with a lightweight make of jacket, as you get from tailors in the south of Italy.

The role of padding also varies with the style of a jacket. Henry Poole pads its lapels by machine, but does the chest by hand; Anderson & Sheppard prioritises hand-padding the lapel because unlike Poole, it wants a more rounded and rolling style to its lapels.

As with any complex craft, there are levels, and once you get beyond the first one or two even the tailors start arguing about the point of parts of the process.

However, none would argue that the shape of my Anderson & Sheppard jacket - which is the focus of this mini-series - would be possible without hand padding.

The general 3D shape of the chest wouldn’t be achievable without handwork, and the particular style of the A&S front wouldn’t be possible without their coatmakers’ particular techniques.

This point of this article is to illustrate them, with the help of coatmaker Frances (below), who put together the stonewashed-linen jacket we’ve been following through the series.

Frances works in the roof of 11 St George St, the longstanding tailor’s nest that has Whitcomb & Shaftesbury on the floor below. It’s five minutes from the A&S headquarters on Old Burlington Street.

The roof is great for coatmaking, as there’s plenty of light - half the ceiling is skylights. But this also makes it warm, and the four flights of stairs dissuade all but the most necessary trips to the outside world.

Frances sits on her bench as we talk, padding the chest of a jacket across her knee. Tailors tend to do this because it gives natural shape to the chest as they sew, zig zagging across the layers of material.

But it’s also good because you have to be close to the garment, making use of both hands. The finger of one hand feels the prick of the needle pushed through by the other, before redirecting it back up.

“It’s hard on the fingers,” says Frances, showing off the callous on the finger responsible for feeling the tip of the needle each time.

Frances will get down from the bench when she’s shaping a lapel, however, because she likes to do that around its outside edge.

You can see that in the photo above. When this is done, you can see the effect this and the hand sewing has on the roll of the lapel.

Anderson & Sheppard has always been known for ‘soft’ tailoring. I put that word in inverted commas because since the growth in popularity of southern Italian tailoring, A&S is far from the softest around - just one of the softest on the Row.

However, there is a substantial difference between A&S and its more structured peers in London. For example, the padding on the lapel of an A&S jacket doesn’t run right to the break line (the line where the lapel folds over) but stops a little short. This means it rolls more easily, and doesn’t stay as sharp.

Context is important again, because that rolling is still less than a Neapolitan jacket. Personally I like how the lapel rolls on a two-button A&S, but prefer the three-button roll on a Neapolitan, largely because it seems to fit more naturally with a Neapolitan’s straight lapel.

I’ve tried both with A&S, and opted for two buttons with this current jacket for that reason. You can see the roll in the image below, taken during a fitting.

There are other small differences too, such as the fact A&S doesn’t run the canvas under the armhole of the jacket. This makes it more comfortable, but detractors would say less clean.

Frances also pointed out the way she sews by hand around the inside edge of a collar canvas (below) to shape it. Some tailors do this just with an iron, but Frances says that can drop out over time, so she prefers to draw it in with sewing.

It’s hard for tailors to specifically compare techniques, because few use more than one, or see customers from multiple tailors in order to compare them. Even as an experienced customer, so many different crafts combine in the final garment that it’s often hard to say something was specifically caused by one technique.

Tailors tend to stick with what works for them, and Frances has certainly been doing that, after more than 30 years with A&S. In fact, the other tailor in the workshop when we visited was her son, who joined the industry a few years ago.

“I started off working in the West End, but then worked from home when I had children,” explains Frances. “Then years later my son wanted to apprentice here, so I came back in. Now we’re here everyday and it feels like nothing’s changed.”

This article is the fourth going in depth on the bespoke tailoring process, in the same way Permanent Style used to do when it first started. Those posts were shorter, but still, we did once do 13 posts on my first pair of Cleverley shoes.

The previous three articles in this series are:

All the tailoring I’ve had from Anderson & Sheppard

The cutting and patterns at Anderson & Sheppard

The fitting of a jacket at Anderson & Sheppard

The last piece will focus on the final resulting jacket.

Photography here: Alex Natt @adnatt

La Manual Alpargatera: How espadrilles are handmade

Posted on 08/07/202208/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

By Manish Puri

I’m sitting at a round wooden table in the back office of La Manual Alpargatera. The owner, Joan Carles Tasies, is holding a chilled bottle of ratafia in his thick right hand and pours a measure into a glass in front of me.

“One day I received a panicked phone call from Jordi, one of our staff,” he says. “‘Your mother is in the shop,’ he tells me, ‘she’s selling shoes and climbing up to the top of the stepladder’. This was the fourth time my mother had come out of retirement and I had to tell her that this could not go on. It was too dangerous for her.”

“How old was your mother at this point?”

“95.”

I did sympathise with Joan Carles. Even with 40 years in the business and his status as owner, how could he expect the woman who had worked in the shop since it opened (in 1940) to listen to anything he said?

La Manual Alpargatera (alpargatera being the Spanish word for espadrille maker) was established by husband-and-wife Juan Olivé and Emilia Martínez. The photo above shows the couple in their shop - but conceals two things.

Firstly, Juan was in fact Joan, but it was forbidden to use Catalan names at the time. Secondly, whilst Juan/Joan’s name is emblazoned across the store, it wasn’t really his business but his wife’s; but it was also unacceptable for a woman to run a business.

It was Emilia’s vision to bring the espadrille out of the country and into the city – preserving traditional techniques but refreshing the style to make them more fashionable. La Manual Alpargatera made wedge-heel espadrilles 30 years before Yves Saint Laurent (working with Castañer) sent them down a Parisian runway to worldwide acclaim.

When the shop opened in Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter it was Joan Carles’ mother, Juana Martínez (above with her husband Francisco Tasies – for the avoidance of doubt he’s on the right), working as a sales assistant, who sold the very first pair of espadrilles.

After the passing of Emilia in 1980, Emilia – having no next of kin – knew only one person she trusted with her legacy; the business has remained in Joan Carles’ family ever since.

The lineage of women as the driving force behind the business remains intact. Joan Carles’ wife Asilde Sanchez (both above) has helped run the shop for 20 years and is now the ever-smiling and ever-present general manager – during my visit I realised she’d helped me pick out my last pair in 2019.

La Manual Alpargatera is unique among local retailers in that they continue to make their shoes in Barcelona – either in a factory near Tibidabo mountain or in a small workshop towards the rear of the store, at a table which hasn’t changed since 1940.

The in-house team is made up of around 10 people and the sales staff are all trained to make espadrilles in the workshop.

The aim is also for everyone to be sufficiently versed in the process that they can answer any question a customer might have. A laudable approach to retail, but not without its pitfalls, as Joan Carles recalled a particularly curious set of customers.

“A Korean family visited the store one morning, asked a lot of questions and stayed until we closed for siesta. They returned later that afternoon and stayed until the close. The next day they did the same thing. On the third day they bought some shoes,” he says.

I too was a beneficiary of Joan Carles and Asilde’s generosity with time. What I thought might be a two-hour chat spun into a 10-hour discussion on espadrilles, Barcelona politics and getting locked out of your hotel room while naked. You’ll be relieved (or perhaps dismayed) to hear that this article focuses on the first.

The first espadrilles were made 7000 years ago using (and named after) esparto grass - a strong and wiry fibre which has the unfortunate quality of smelling “like a pig’s barn” when wet.

Later hemp was used for the soles. Its soft (feels like “walking on carpet”) and flexible nature seems ideal for espadrille making, but it too is not without issue.

Cultivation of the cannabis plant required to make hemp fibre was problematic in Spain for many years. The fibre used for shoe making is also quite hairy, which means it is difficult to work it with machines – one could use finer clothes-grade hemp, but this would be prohibitively expensive and any sole made from it would have little flexibility. Finally, hemp is remarkably good at sucking up and holding onto water – Joan Carles knows local plumbers who continue to use coils of hemp instead of Teflon tape to seal pipes – and so a wet hemp espadrille can feel like a Dutch clog.

For these reasons, jute has replaced hemp as the fibre of choice. It is softer than esparto (and gets softer over time), smoother (and therefore easier to work with) and soaks up less water than hemp.

Whilst on the topic of water, I gingerly broached the question of what to do with hand-sewn espadrilles that had, despite the best of intentions, gotten wet at the beach. I was asking for a friend. I anticipated sucking of teeth, a disappointed shake of the head and an invitation to leave the store and never return. But Joan Carles was serene.

The advice is to machine wash the espadrilles cold with a neutral soap (ideally with a towel or bathmat so they don’t get too bashed about) and then machine spin them two or three times to expel as much water as possible. To finish drying, leave them sole side up out of direct sunlight – they won’t dry properly with soles down and the uppers will absorb colour from the jute. To tidy them you can scissor trim the soles (“the moustache”) as desired. Water is less of an issue than persistent humidity, which can leave the jute “rotten” if it doesn’t get the opportunity to rest and dry.

Next, we stepped through each stage of making an espadrille. I highly recommend readers take a look at this video which captures the process, but I offer a simplified summary of a process that can take between two to three hours here.

Jute rope is coiled to form a loose outline of the sole.

A thick wooden-handled needle is used to pierce the rope coils and worm thread throughout it – each pull of the thread squeezing the roped sole closer together.

I was given the chance to drive the needle through a sole made up of around six coils of rope. I made it through two coils before nearly skewering the palm of my opposite hand. It’s tough work, as illustrated by the callouses on the hands of the artisan above.

The uppers - usually made of cotton canvas - are then stitched to the sole by hand and any other elements such as ribbons are finally added.

But what’s the benefit of all this handwork? Inexpensive machine-made and glued espadrilles are readily available (often hailing from Bangladesh, where the majority of the world’s jute is grown) and they look quite similar – sometimes deceptively so, as decorative stitching is added at the end of the gluing process to suggest handwork.

Asilde gave me a pair of handmade espadrilles and invited me to bend them using the very same muscles that had failed to push a needle through rope. Sure enough, I was able to bend the soles, which returned to shape once I released my grip.

She then asked me to do the same with a pair of machine made, glued soles. Nothing. It was stiffer than a glass of homemade ratafia.

A handmade and handstitched sole is flexible, which confers comfort as it bends with the foot – it’s better for the longevity of the shoe and the body. Also, a glued espadrille can’t be washed with the same confidence as a stitched one – the vigour of the machine, the water and the detergent all combine to soften the glue.

While Joan Carles repaired some gouges in the wooden fitting benches that curve around the front of the shop (another fixture that has survived from 1940), Asilde talked me through their men’s shoes. Though occasionally she had to hare up the ladder to fetch sizes or retreat to the workshop and hammer a last into the toe cap to return shape to a pair that had laid flat for too long.

There are currently 11 models in La Manual Alpargatera’s men’s range (pictured below) not all of which are available online. I’ve picked out the ones I think would most interest the PS reader but happy to answer questions on others below the line if that’s helpful.

The Barcemola, Manchester and Tossa models (the first three shoes on the left) are closest to what I would consider a classic espadrille.

The Barcemola is a little wider in the foot and the canvas is printed with designs inspired by Barcelona – the elegant ironwork of Passeig de Gracia or the city flower.

The Manchester (which is the model I’ve worn for the past few years and found to be large to size) is shaped so that there is no left or right side and thus can, if you want, be rotated (like tyres) to even out the wear and extend their lives.

The Tossa is squarer than the Manchester in both the toe and the vamp which might make them initially uncomfortable for anyone with a high instep.

The Mundet (fifth from the left and above) is a blucher and La Manual Alpargatera’s bestselling men’s shoe.

Unlike classic espadrilles, where Asilde advised me to fit them snugly to my bigger foot – assured by the fact that both the canvas and hand stitching will give through wear – the Mundet was immediately comfortable to walk in (and a blessing for my feet, which had just endured three days at a music festival).

The Pinxo, Taverner and Valls models (respectively seventh, eighth and ninth from the left) are all traditional Catalan espadrilles with ribbons woven into the uppers.

The Pinxo was favoured by Salvador Dalí (above) who was a regular customer - it is available with and without ankle ribbons.

A pair of La Manual Alpargatera’s Taverner espadrilles from 1955 resides in the Met Museum’s collection.

The Valls is made by La Manual Alpargatera for the Mossos d’Esquadra (the autonomous Catalan police force) and forms part of their costume dress.

Each of the models comes in various permutations of insole (bare jute, canvas lined and padded) and outsole (bare jute, crepe, vulcanised rubber and recycled tyre – all shown above).

Joan Carles and Asilde were unequivocal that “bare foot and bare jute” is the best way to experience an espadrille. However, they understand that the customer might wish to trade the tactility and breathability of bare jute for the instant comfort and increased durability of a padded insole with rubber outsole.

If the combinations online or instore are not to your liking, then La Manual Alpargatera offer a comprehensive made-to-order programme where you can even provide your own fabric - Joan Carles told me about one menswear writer that had a series of espadrilles made to match the colour of each of his summer shirts.

I’m toying with the idea of having the Pallars mule slipper made with a flannel upper and a bare jute sole; the combination of smooth wool and cool, crunchy jute putting me in mind of an inverted apple crumble and ice cream, for the feet.

Joan Carles impressed upon me the lead time for custom orders – at least two weeks during the winter and four weeks in the summer. I explained that the PS reader is a rare breed – a sartorial camel that can go months, if not years, waiting for commissions, sustained only by the memories of past triumphs and the hope that the next will be the best yet.

In the days that followed my visit I exchanged texts with Joan Carles, sharing photos and clarifying points of discussion.

“You know with all that talk I probably [didn’t] mention our goal for our business,” he said. We wish to be in every citizen of Barcelona’s shortlist of things [that make them] proud of their city. We’ll never be like Barça [the football team] or Sagrada Familia, but we’d like to be in their ‘second row’ after that.”

It is a lofty ambition to be sure; but so was Emilia Martínez’s.

You can read Simon’s article on why he loves espadrilles, and how he styles them, in a recent article on the subject here.

I would like to extend my warmest thanks to Joan Carles and Asilde for their time, hospitality and knowledge of Basque desserts.

Photos 2, 3 and 8-11 are courtesy of Joan Carles Tasies/La Manual Alpargatera.

All other photos (except 16) are by Manish Puri. Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Summer Top 10: Polos, more polos, and espadrilles

Posted on 06/07/202206/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

Summer Top 10: Polos, more polos, and espadrilles

Wednesday, July 6^th 2022Tags:

164 Comments

I wasn’t going to do a ‘high summer’ version of our seasonal Top 10. After all, the spring edition back in April included such things as panama hats and boat shoes.

But everyone’s stock has been arriving so late that the intervening months have seen lots of favourite brands launch polos, rayon and the like. And the weather has been so hot in the UK that I’ve been searching for things like lightweight linen trousers and floaty shirts.

So here’s a summer breakdown of my favourite things I’ve tried during those two warm months.

Rubato knitted T-shirts

SKr2560 (£205)

Rubato have expanded their summer range significantly, with knitted T-shirts (long and short sleeve) and knitted polo shirts. All are made with cotton/silk mix that's very dry to the touch (almost, but not quite scratchy) and use this to make pieces that have a solid handle, but are cool by virtue of being open weave.

The polo shirts are my favourite, in particular the stripes, but I find the short-sleeve T-shirts (such as the cream above) the most interesting. They're cut with a high neck and a body that hangs straight, rather than having any ribbing at the bottom (in contrast to those from The Anthology, for instance). This makes for a rather different look, quite blocky and modern.

I took the black (medium) and will be trying in with both casual and smart trousers. The long-sleeve is more like a sweater, with ribbing on the hem. Still light and dry though.

AWMS espadrilles

£69

This latest launch from Tony is a spin on a menswear standard, as we should probably expect by now, with the obvious thing here being the traditional ribbons that tie up the calf. I have to say I’m a little unsure about the style, but having tried them myself the ribbon does function very well, in that it keeps the heel firmly in the shoe, while allowing you to have a roomy fit - often I have to compromise on one or the other.

I also love the black-on-black colour option, which I’ve never seen before, as it makes them less obviously a beach shoe. They’re a basic make, again in common with what Tony does elsewhere, but this is clearly reflected in the price.

Perro crepe-cotton polo shirt

€145

I’ve never been that much of a fan of knitted cotton polo shirts, because the ones I’ve tried historically (usually from Smedley) have been oddly warm on the skin and crumpled easily. That was why our PS ones were done in a high-twist merino.

However, if you do like cotton, this version from Perro is the best I’ve tried in terms of performance. The crepe does something similar to a twist, helping the cotton to maintain its shape and make it more breathable too. A smallish collar and a straightforward make, but a great feel on the body.

Casatlantic ‘Anfa’ knit

€130

This new polo from Casatlantic I loved too, though in spite of its cotton rather than because of it. The material isn’t the coolest; it’s a fairly thick cotton. But the style is fantastic, particularly with high-waisted trousers.

It’s slim, short and fairly fitted at the waist (not unlike Rubato knitwear, though the Rubato polos are more generous there). The collar is large, and normally would be too dramatic a style for me, but it works in the black I went for, because the shape and collar are a little hidden. Unfortunately they all seem to have sold out quickly, and won't be restocked this summer.

Pherrow’s open-collar rayon shirt

£149

It’s a perennial problem, actually, trying to recommend products in a round-up article, when they often sell within two or three weeks. This rayon shirt from Pherrow’s for example, available at Clutch, is the first I’ve tried that I really liked - primarily because the collar is smaller and overall it’s a very simple, straightforward make. Good price too.

But many of the sizes have gone. I can see a medium in the black, an extra large in the natural colour, and one or two others. That’s about it. However, this is a style Clutch gets every year, so it’s one to note down and look out for.

The Anthology drawstring linen trousers

$295

I have a pair of olive-green linen drawstring trousers from Informale that I’ve worn a lot the past couple of years. They’re for hot days, when you want that extra comfort, and not for tucking anything into, so the waistband is covered.

However, I recently tried the similar style from The Anthology, and prefer them. It’s a single pleat, rather than double, so you don’t get all that pooling around the waist. They’re a better rise (for me) and the Japanese linen is cool while holding its shape better. I bought the navy, and am considering the olive.

Haulier canvas tote bag

$575

Haulier sent me one of these totes to try, earlier in the year and the slow-woven canvas is beautiful. The leather isn’t quite as good, and they are expensive, but it’s a really nice option for a beach bag.

I mention it because a reader specifically asked for a recommendation for a beach bag recently. However I realise not many readers will go to the beach often enough to be able to justify a bag just for that purpose, particularly for over $500. I prefer the proportions of the bigger (and so more expensive) version too.

Anderson & Sheppard linen holiday shirt

£245

I love wearing a linen shirt on holiday, but most of my bespoke ones aren’t really suitable. They’re more fitted, long, with a higher collar designed for a jacket. They look a little too smart on holiday, and certainly can’t be worn untucked.

For that kind of shirt it’s worth looking for something more casual, which can often be ready-to-wear. One of the best there is these from Anderson & Sheppard, which come in a big range of colours, and are nice and blousy tucked in, or loose and flowing untucked. They do come up big though - even the XS that I wear is roomy.

Simone Abbarchi bespoke camp-collar shirt

€210

The alternative to that is to try and design something with a shirtmaker, adding in all the extra room you want, the length, the softer collar and so on. Shirtmakers are not always great designers, and this can be a bit hit and miss.

However, when I tried it recently with Simone Abbarchi from Florence (who also visits London and New York) he nailed it first time. This model has a camp collar, a straight hem and a looser fit. He’s also making one with a one-piece collar, which he calls a transformable or Loro Piana collar (as they were the first to popularise the style in Italy).

Peplor shorts/trunks

€89

Peplor is based in Florence, a young brand using old Italian military fabrics to make various accessories - and these shorts. I wouldn’t normally wear camouflage, but this is very subtle, and the cut of the shorts is really nice, short and roomy without being an extreme of either. It’s based off an old gurkha style, thankfully without the double-buckle business.

I did have one issue with them, which is that the drawstring broke, but apparently this was an early batch where the string was made in three parts. It’s now just one. They’re also pretty stiff, and won’t really soften much over time, so that won’t be for everyone.

Among other shorts out there, RRL has a couple of higher rise canvas options, and Buzz Rickson has some styles around that are great, if expensive. Clutch received those recently.

As ever, if you have questions on any of these products, including sizing, let me know. Also how they compare to other similar things in the market.

If you only had five pairs of (casual) trousers

Posted on 04/07/202204/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

I began the companion piece to this one – looking at smart trousers – by saying that it was the hardest chapter to write in our Wardrobe Building series.

I was right. I thought this one would be harder, but it’s not.

The problem with going from smart clothing to casual is that the number of styles – the social ways of wearing clothing – go up dramatically. This is something people often don’t appreciate when trying to give advice or ‘rules’ on anything casual.

However, the trousers are actually fairly consistent. There are baggy jeans and bootcut jeans and drainpipe jeans, but they’re all jeans. Same with chinos, to an extent. Even cords have been co-opted by different groups, such as skaters.

The things that separate one style from another are usually a matter of cut, not category. So difficult as it might seem to suggest five pairs of casual trousers that will work for everyone, the difficulty is often in the details.

Here I suggest five, plus some extras, as in the smart trousers list. I also try to add in some thoughts on details like material, cut and colour. But an article like this could never contain all of them – so do ask questions in the comments, and if it seems like it justifies it, I’ll also work on follow-up pieces.

Dark blue jeans

I personally wear mid-blue more these days, but there’s no denying the versatility of a pair of dark-indigo jeans. Still smart with a sweater and loafers, but always more casual than tailored trousers, they became the uniform of guys that didn’t wear a suit to the office.

As far as style goes, to hit the notes for a PS aesthetic they’re best as a mid-rise (nothing that looks unusual, essentially) with a straight leg or slight taper, finishing with around a 7.5 to 8-inch hem. Like the Rubato ones, which I’m loving since I got them at the pop-up.

Mid-blue jeans

I wear mid-blue jeans more because I’m rarely looking to be smart with my denim. For that smart/casual crossover I’m more likely to wear flannels or a smarter chino.

I also particularly like how well a mid-blue wash goes with colour, whether it’s the red of a sweatshirt or green of a tweed jacket. It’s a style thing, basically, but pretty much everyone can make use of having them as well as the dark indigo.

Chinos to suit you

Most people are going to have one or two pairs of chinos in a capsule of five. As we’ve seen in our series looking at different makes, however, there are different styles resulting from different cloths and cuts.

So here I’d recommend either a smarter chino like a Rubato or an Armoury Sports Chino, or a more casual one like a Real McCoy’s or Bryceland’s, depending on which suits your style more. The most versatile colour would be in bone/beige/khaki range. Pale and muted.

Casual linens

It’s a lot to ask, but these trousers have to work for warmer weather too, so we need a pair of linens. However, go for a lighter weight, perhaps Italian linen that’s softer and instantly more casual. Much as I love the starchier Irish linens, they’re so much smarter.

The most useful colour would probably be bone/beige again; versatility can often be pretty boring. A second pair could be navy or olive.

Cords

I struggle to explain why, but corduroy is much more of a chameleon than other tailored cottons, such as moleskin. In a dark colour, like a dark olive or dark brown, they escape the rural associations that often plague them and – although a set of only five trousers is not the place for it – they’re the best material out of all of these for strong colour.

In a set of five like this I’d probably find olive the most useful, but end up going with brown or cream because I enjoy them so much.

White jeans

Here are five more casual trousers, in fairly quick succession. First, white jeans – not for everyone, and better as ecru than white – but if you like them then very useful.

The other type and colour of chino

If you chose workwear cotton above, go with smart here, and vice versa. Or you could go with a second colour, if for example you only wear chinos more casually. You get the drift here: it’s about adapting these suggestions to your personal preferences.

More for summer

Another summer option would be nice, to help out those linens and presumably a couple of pairs of shorts. It could be another colour of linen, a lightweight chino or even a cotton/linen mix. A drawstring is nice and relaxed too, just don’t tuck anything into it.

Black jeans

I have a pair of black jeans, but find I rarely wear them. They’re not really my style – I always reach for one of the other three colours of denim instead. Still, the faded black that’s basically grey can be really useful – great with brown-suede, for example.

Fatigues

The faded green of old US Army fatigues is a really versatile colour, good with grey or navy on top as well as bold colours. They’re fairly easy to find vintage, and usually better that way, unless you’re going to wash them a lot at the outset.

As always, let us know which casual trousers you find the most useful, and any brand recommendations if you want to. Also shout if you want details on any of the trousers shown here – they’re all taken from previous PS posts.

Some interesting Pitti picks

Posted on 01/07/202202/07/2022 by Simon Crompton

It was nice to see Pitti back in some kind of working order recently, when I attended for the first time in two years.

Attendance was still down, with many brands absent and indeed an entire building empty. That was a little shocking to see - just a barrier where the entrance used to be.

And there was a distinct lack of Japanese and Koreans. Apparently there are still some restrictions on them travelling - or at least getting back once they leave.

But still, it was nice. I really miss the concentration of creativity that happens at a menswear show. Everyone out in their best duds, reflecting their combination of a particular style subculture, the trends within it, and then their personality within that. Often I find the streetwear guys just as inspiring as the sartorialists.

I also miss the cataloguing of the looks that used to happen in the major magazines. They were so useful. You’d trawl through 93 images but always find 10 or 15 that were worth saving.

Nowadays this mostly happens on Instagram, sometimes only in stories, and it’s often drowned out by images of what everyone had for dinner. WWD has a set, but it’s very fashion.

So here are a few I liked at Pitti this year. It’s a deliberate mix of formal and casual, and I really wish I didn’t have to remind everyone, but it still feels necessary - this isn’t about copying looks wholesale. It’s about little touches of inspiration, whether a colour combination, a cut, or even just an attitude.

Women can get away with more than men when it comes to style (it’s all about associations), but still this is a great combination. Textured grey, white, tan, brown, beige. Of all those, I think it’s the brown/grey suit cloth that brings it all together.

I wouldn’t wear the hat and I’d go for loafers rather than monk straps, but that’s the point: a different style on a different person, but something that can inspire me none the less.

There’s something contrary in me that always wants to pick the unusual choice. Not the guy in the nice suit and nice shirt. But the guy in a T-shirt and khakis that has easily missed ideas for a nice suit and nice shirt.

Here I like the colour combination of white, washed-out green and washed-out grey (in the shirt). Goes well with his hair colour too.

Maybe the theme for me this year was ‘tonal’. I’d never wear this outfit, but I was attracted by the combination of black, grey, white and a petrol blue.

Looking at those that wear more casual clothing is also often an interesting exercise in proportion. Big T-shirt, but tucked in; big trousers, but cut short. It’s often length that makes something sloppy, rather than size.

OK, here’s a nice bit of tailoring. Hi Andreas! An impressive amount of tonality going on here, with three shades of brown and a yellow (cream?) polo shirt.

I’m not sure I could pull off quite that level of brown tonal. Maybe it helps that Andreas’s tan and hair almost seem part of the combination. Anyway, one I’ll put into the ‘try and see’ folder.

This is probably more what I’d wear. Tan cotton suit, T-shirt, brown sunglasses adding something extra.

I didn’t expect the burgundy-coloured Vans though. They really added something to the outfit, in the absence of any other colour or accessory. Helps a lot if they’re beat-up.

Women again. My God they do the tonal thing well. Not because it comes more naturally somehow, but because we often don’t appreciate how much they think, have to think, and copy images even more wholesale. That’s based on a few conversations, but a subject for another day.

Here it’s just beautiful white, beige, tan and black. I will definitely be copying that. And no, guys, it doesn’t matter if your bag doesn’t match your shoes.

Wearing colours that are close to each other, but not quite the same, is something men often feel is a bad idea. It can certainly be risky, and not as smart, but it’s worth playing with in more casual clothing.

I love this simple navy on navy. It looks like a working outfit, ready for a practical day in the heat, at a trade fair. But with an elegance nonetheless.

There’s something similar here with Kevis, but rather more exaggerated proportions and, as a result, what feels more like a fashion look.

High, wide trousers; deeply unbuttoned shirt; big hat and glasses. It’s these things that make it the kind of outfit many PS readers won’t like - but it’s about proportions, not the fact there’s a big ship on the front of the cap.

I deliberately haven’t included most of the big hitters of menswear here - Ethan and Kenji, Anglo guys, Armoury guys etc. You’ll have seen most of those around anyway. And I haven’t included this picture for Tommaso either (on the left).

Rather, I liked Eugenio’s orange slippers. Only at a pool party, and only with everything else very restrained, but I love it. Better than an animal print or a big monogram for me, personally.

Here’s a lovely suit and tie. One of the few times I’ve found I like a ‘fun’ tie as well. Not too fun, not ironic, but deliberately more playful than a small geometric pattern.

Nice details too, like the bracelet, the sunglasses in the pocket. Still seems like a better way to go than a pocket square or a tie pin to me, most of the time.

To be honest, I’m not sure why I like this one so much. Maybe it just seemed very authentic - his way of wearing a suit.

I couldn’t imagine the same look with a collared shirt, or with a polo tucked in. The full cut of the trousers, and the jacket permanently unbuttoned, are also part of the same attitude. The attitude and the personality make me very happy.

I know, I know. The proportions are a bit silly: those jeans are so low the jacket barely overlaps them. But the purple, the purple under the navy is great. As is pale denim and the black loafer.

I’d take that and try a navy shawl-collar cardigan over a purple polo, with similarly pale jeans (slimmer leg, higher rise) and black loafers. That could look great.

The thing I love most about simple colour combinations is that it gives you more room to experiment with other things (if you want to).

This is basically just black and olive drab. But it makes it easier to wear a leather sandal, carry a little drawstring bag, add some jewellery.

Back to tailoring, with a combination I have actually worn and will again. Maybe that’s why I include less of these, because I feel I already know them, and have shown them on PS too.

Anyway, it’s beige/oatmeal, white and tobacco. I’ve done that with my Brioni jacket and my canvas Caliendo, the choice depending on how casual I want to be. And usually with the trousers from my Dege suit.

Last but by no means least, a guy doing some western workwear very simply and nicely. It’s the much-more-wearable alternative to what you normally see in Brycelands imagery.

Pale blue work shirt, khaki khakis, and a western hat in the actually-rather-tonal colour of silverbelly. If you’re going to try a western hat in the sun, this is the way to start.

All photos, Alex Natt, except Andreas and Eugenio, Skolyx, and three guys on the street, Pontus Jonsén of Baltzar.com

The canvas chore coat – and buying vintage online

Posted on 29/06/202229/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

I increasingly find that for the kind of casual outerwear I wear at the weekend (for taking the kids to the park, and similarly hard-wearing activities) I always prefer vintage.

There are exceptions, of course. A Bryceland’s white chore coat, for example, bought because I love the design and know how well executed something from Ethan is.

But nigh-on everything else is vintage, largely because of the way the pieces have worn in and aged. They look so much more attractive than anything new.

The tough materials will have faded and softened. There will be little nicks and scratches, and even home repairs - which I love for the care they show someone else took with the clothing.

Now I think about it, a lot of the casual outerwear I’ve featured over the years has been like this - particularly shorter jackets. There’s my M65, my black horsehide, the jungle jacket and the old kendogi (though the latter is a bit delicate for kid-herding). Reminders of all those below.

Today’s piece is a chore coat I recently got from Broadway & Sons, which I love and is interesting to discuss because the style has become fashionable recently.

As with all fashions, I start from a position of scepticism. But I still try to stay open-minded - if you’re really interested in clothing, I think it’s worth striving to remain so.

It’s refreshing and often instructive to watch a trend evolve, to see where it goes and ponder whether, at any point, it could work with how you dress. Being closed-minded is so cold and dull.

Carhartt’s brown-duck jackets and double-knee trousers started to become trendy a couple of years ago. It made sense - they fitted with the nineties revival, the popularity of looser fits, and with both workwear and skatewear.

When I visited Le Vif in Paris earlier this year, Arthur showed Alex and I a few double-knee trousers (be aware - new/old ones are so coarse they’ll take the hair off your legs) and said Carhartt was suddenly incredibly popular.

I’ve always liked the way duck canvas ages, particularly the fading you get from sun exposure, which manages to be both subtler and more extreme than on an old bleu de travail or similar cotton.

On the one hand it’s extreme because the colour fades a lot, from mid-brown to a more recognisable straw colour. The original remains beneath things like pocket flaps, as in the image above, so you can always see how far it has come.

Yet at the same time, this creates subtle effects on the outside of the coat. This isn’t easy to see, but in the image below the shoulders of my jacket are lighter than the body, gradating slowly down onto the chest.

Also from a style point of view, the nice thing about this canvas is it’s a different colour option for casual clothing, yet remains very versatile. Similar in that respect to denim, or the green of military fatigues.

Indeed you could have both denim jeans and a denim chore, duck trousers and a chore, and green fatigues and a field jacket, and rotate combinations of them to your heart’s content. Add a white and blue T-shirt, and you have an instant capsule wardrobe.

So, I had these thoughts as I watched the trend emerge and evolve. One thing I will freely admit is that I’m a snob to the extent of not wanting to wear the same thing as everyone else - so a new Carhartt jacket was out of the question (although I understand the modern quality is still good, in the unwashed, original weight).

What I really wanted was a vintage one. It would have all the character described lovingly above, and because it could be a model that was no longer available, would solve the snob situation.

Unfortunately most of the vintage duck jackets I found were hunting varieties - a separate category really, and while more unusual than a chore, too short and wide for my style. You have to be a bigger man, like layering, and probably wear your high-waisted trousers for those to work.

Eventually, I found a likely model at Broadway. My usual approach is to check in on sites like that every month, by the way, or when I get an email announcing a new drop that looks interesting.

I keep measurements of jackets, shirts and trousers that I already own, so I can quickly see whether a new vintage piece is my size. With jackets, for example, I know that my M65 is 22.5 inches pit to pit, and that’s the minimum I need. Up to maximum of 24.

I also know I need a back length that is at least 30 inches (the field jacket is 30.5), although this is also a question of style. Those hunting jackets are styled to be shorter, and would be huge if they had that back length.

I’ve been shopping vintage for long enough now to know that my success rate is rarely more than 50%. There are just too many variables - fit, material, condition - to be consistently higher. It does vary between stores, and you can be narrower in what you buy and try, but then you also miss out on pieces that it was hard to get a sense of online.

With this Broadway order, I bought five things and returned three, keeping this chore and an old Italian airforce sweater, but returning trainers, a shirt and a red hunting jacket.

Broadway leans a bit more towards the thrift end of vintage compared to other stores. This is great for pricing, but I find also means the condition and style can be more patchy.

Also, I should make clear that this is only the second time I’ve ever bought from them - I don’t buy five pieces a month! But once you’re ordering one or two things, you might as well add in the others you’ve been looking at for a while too, just in case. The shipping doesn’t change.

To anyone that’s used to shopping from a regular shop on a high street, this could all seem a big fuss. But often it’s the only way to find good vintage. And, it has the advantage that if something’s hard to find, other people are unlikely to have it.

Plus, if you’ve been shopping for menswear for a few years, chances are there’s nothing you really need. You can easily wait and chase down that perfect piece. Indeed, it might be helpful given your consumerist tendencies to put some barriers in your way.

I don’t have much interest in buying vintage smart clothing, particularly tailoring.

The materials aren’t the same - fine suitings and shirtings are not designed to be worn heavily over long periods, and look the better for it. Heavy outerwear, such as a tweed raglan coat, is probably the only area that could be interesting.

Casual outerwear, however, always looks great. Every time I see a cotton chore jacket in a store now, I just wish it was 40 years old and had been worn every day of that time. It is a matter of - as we so often say - how great things age.

The jacket is from Big Ben, the workwear label under Wrangler that dates back to the 1920s. It was made in the US, probably in the early 70s. It is marked as a size 42, but fits me well over a sweatshirt, as here.

The jacket cost €95 from Broadway & Sons. Despite my winding journey to this one, they’re not always hard to find and often not expensive. Usually getting the size you want is the issue. Worth making that list of measurements.

The red sweatshirt is a vintage Champion, bought at Le Vif. The quality is not the same as, for example, a Real McCoy’s one and I wouldn’t necessarily buy it again, but I do like the fit and colour. The jeans are my vintage Levi’s. Out of shot are suede boots.

Photography: James Holborow

My battered Barbour: A rewaxing service to recommend

Posted on 27/06/202227/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

By André Larnyoh

When I first got this Barbour jacket, I remember wondering if it was really me.

I was around 19, taking all my inspiration from Pinterest boards and The Ivy Handbook. A waxed motorcycle jacket seemed off the beaten track. But it was on sale, so I took the plunge.

In the eight or nine years since, while I’ve been fortunate to have acquired some other impressive and objectively cool things, nothing else I own has as much character as this. When people see it they frequently ask if it's vintage. It’s not – it’s just lived a life.

I’ve worn it a lot, and everywhere, from city to woodlands. It has become tattered, bruised, torn, had numerous random items shoved into its pockets but, in doing so, has become my personal gem.

If the jacket could speak, it would tell you a good few things about my life. Like how I used to carry a Swiss Army knife in the top pocket “just in case”, but that never extended past opening a box or bottle of Coke (or once my own hand). When I realised this, it later became the home of my iPod Classic (R.I.P).

Or that time I left it behind at a party after having a few too many cheap margaritas, and found it the next morning hanging off a railing outside. Later, after discovering someone had left their contraband in the pockets, I spent the day worrying I was going to get nicked at any second.

Before I bought the Barbour, I was actually lusting after a classic trench coat or a hardy black leather jacket. But I could never find a vintage Burberry in my size, and when I finally mustered the courage to walk into Schott, I walked right out again. That price tag? It’s what dreams are made of.

My hopes of looking like a spy or a street tough were dashed, but seeing as I was not and still am neither, it was no great loss. The Barbour ended up being the ultimate compromise. It was hard wearing, it had a belt, there were a lot of useful pockets and it set me apart - something which really mattered at the time. I was studying abroad back then, and everyone in NYC has a leather jacket of some kind. But I never saw someone in a waxed jacket like this.

Back home in London though, Barbour’s country jackets were a symbol of our national class divide for me. They were - and to an extent still are - the finishing touch for the displaced generation who were too young to be Sloanies and became entrenched in Clapham instead. The battered Babours these people had stolen from their parents' country house was sometimes the only interesting thing about them – an object that could survive so much wear and abuse over the years and look wholly original.

Mine comes from a collaboration between Barbour International and the motorcycle manufacturer Royal Enfield. (Good luck trying to find one - it’s long since stopped being produced.) I was drawn in by the olive green, different to the normal black or brown of the International line, and by some subtle differences that set it apart from most Barbours.

There are three buttons at the patch pockets instead of two, a soft moleskin collar instead of corduroy, and reflective strips - which were entirely useless to me until recently, when I started spending all my time riding around town on a bicycle.

There was even once a detachable synthetic fur lining that was occasionally used as a gilet under a coat, during some very cold winters.

Over the years I’ve had to send my jacket off for repair only twice. I’d usually send it to Barbour, who would take forever to repair and re-wax it.

Eventually some of the damage to the elbows and pockets became so extensive that they resorted to panelling over it with discarded bits of waxed cotton or replacing the pockets entirely. I was told this over the phone as if it were a great tragedy, but I was delighted: they were effectively Frankensteining my jacket! More character! More charm!

Still, the service provided by Barbour was slightly disappointing. Mostly the fact that all the damages were never covered: each time only half would be done. When I asked why, I was told that each jacket is only allowed a certain number of hours of work per visit.

As repairs aren’t cheap, it's safe to say I was annoyed. Meanwhile there were two large tears in the shoulders that were growing wider each day, and the stitching of the cuffs was fraying again. I didn’t want to spend more just to get another half job, so for a while the jacket just sat in the back of the wardrobe, only being worn when it felt safe to do so without causing further damage.

That all changed when someone recommended a place called Oily Jack, where apparently my precious piece could get the true TLC it deserved and desperately needed.

A small family-owned company in Kent, all they do is rewax and upcycle waxed jackets from Babour, Belstaff and other manufacturers. They quoted me 90 pounds for the rewaxing and various repairs, and said it would take a week. Seemed pretty short, but I was already committed so I held my breath.

When Oily Jack sent me images of what they had done to my jacket after a week (above) it was like one of those reality TV moments.

You know, the contestant wants a makeover and they spend the whole episode going over what's going to be done to their hair and their outfit, before finally revealing the new and improved contestant to their family and the world at large.

Gasps, tears of joy, incredulity at how different they look. All of those emotions flowed when I saw the results. It was like they had given this tired, worn-out jacket a new lease on life.

Using cloth from an old 80s Solway model, they had created new patches and piping across the belt where it was starting to fray, while material from a 70s model replaced some of the metal hardware. The rewaxing also completely changed the colour, making it a very dark shade of olive rather than the aged brown it had become.

Initially I was worried that this scale of change had removed all the charm the jacket had acquired over the years. But as soon as I put it on again, for a cold snap we had this Spring, I came to see it as necessary to extend the life of the old thing. It wasn’t being worn otherwise.

And who knows how it’ll age after this process? I guess I'll only know in another nine years. All I know is that I’m not going to be gentle.

Portrait of André, Will Milligan. Other before images, André; after images, Oily Jack.

oilyjack.co.uk

Peter Nitz hand-sewn briefcase: Review

Posted on 24/06/202220/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

Peter Nitz is a Swiss craftsman based in Zurich. He does a lot of teaching of hand-sewn leather techniques, including classes, videos and individual training. He also sells leather-working tools. (When you’re a bespoke craftsman, it’s good to have multiple sources of income.)

It’s the bags he makes himself I wanted to highlight, however, as I recently had a briefcase made and it is one of the loveliest pieces of leather work I’ve seen.

I chose a classic flap-over briefcase style, specifically in a Barenia leather and raw brass hardware.

Years ago I bought a wonderful Sac a Depeches briefcase from Hermes, but in a ‘shadow’ leather that doesn’t age at all really, and palladium hardware.

While I have loved using that case, I always wondered whether I should have got the brighter and less conservative - but perhaps more beautiful - Barenia. This is me finally putting that to the test.

I did want to cover Peter’s workshop, but I wasn’t going to get to Zurich any time soon.

So I reached out to a couple of friends and PS readers who live there - Paul Fournier and Andrew Borda. Paul turned out to have the time that week, so he popped along and acted as our roving reporter. That’s him on the left, below, with Peter.

“Peter was a great host and his team is lovely - quite a gem of a find I must admit,” says Paul.

“I won’t thank you though, because I then placed an order I definitely hadn’t planned!”

Paul questioned Peter, and discovered that although he’s been in the leather business for 12 years, he didn’t start at an early age, as most do.

Rather, Peter began in textiles, buying and selling vintage fabrics, then clothes and accessories. Usually he would scout pieces in Paris and then bring them back to Zurich to sell.

He eventually had two shops, one in each city, specialising in vintage. But then, during a trip to Paris he met an Hermès craftswoman, who made him fall in love with saddle stitching and leather work.

Peter began teaching himself at night, as well as asking the craftswoman to travel and teach him in Switzerland. This experience, he says, is one thing that makes him keen to teach others.

Peter eventually acquired some notoriety, featuring in Vogue France and working with Colette.

For my bag I was keen for a classic briefcase, but Peter also convinced me to try his particular twist lock (above), where a claw-like piece of brass is twisted to secure the front, but slips through a shaped hole in the brass plate to open.

I’m glad I did, for the lock is very satisfying to use - it slips through effortlessly when opening, but locks into place perfectly when you turn it.

The mechanics of hardware are surprisingly important, I find. As you use it many times a day, you’re constantly reminded of any lack in quality or small misalignment.

It’s one difference I always notice between my finer umbrellas from the likes of Heurtault, and less careful ones from Talarico.

More prosaically, we recently bought a new oven at home and even though it functions well in every other respect, the knobs to control the hob are flimsy and scrape slightly when you turn them. I would pay good money to get those replaced with something better.

(Of course, you could take this to an extreme and get annoyed at every such thing in life. But I think the emotions of it are really up to you. A better way to look at it is, when you have the choice, why not have something better - and reward the maker who made it that way?)

The reason I love Barenia leather is the way it ages. The bright tan gradually softens to a rich brown, and the nicks and scratches it easily acquires get worked into the surface, becoming fainter until they just add to the texture. A little like a calf shoe.

I’ve seen this happen with a wallet of mine, with a belt and also with the envelope we designed with Equus a couple of years ago.

So I know how this bag will look in a year or two, and I don’t panic at the scratches it’s got. The same goes for the brass lock, which I wanted uncoated, can leave to tarnish, and then will bring back up to a shine if and when I want.

The way these processes work is not an easy thing to communicate, and that’s why so many leather goods are made today with treated surfaces that will never change - but like plastic, have no character either. It’s also the reason so few of Peter’s clients are Swiss - all most of them want, according to him, is Dior and Chanel.

I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say it’s genuinely your role as consumers to show this, talk about this, and spread the word. Educated patrons are the only way such crafts survive.

The bigger question for me in commissioning this bag was not the leather, but whether I would actually carry a briefcase still.

If you’re still in the kind of profession where you wear a dark suit to work every day, a black or brown briefcase is a sensible choice. (For most, an attaché case is unfortunately too formal.)

However, if your workplace is becoming more and more informal, a tote bag like the PS bullskin one or a canvas briefcase, like the Filson we covered recently, is probably going to be more appropriate.

And for me? It’s unlikely I have a working week similar to any reader; but I also have a need and a desire to wear smart suits more often.

So far I’ve found I like carrying the briefcase a lot - partly because it’s something extra to add to an outfit when ties and handkerchiefs are so much less common.

In fact, this is one of the nice things about summer too, I’ve found in recent weeks. Sunglasses and hats are functional, necessary accessories, yet also add something decorative to daily wear.

I like carrying the bag with suits and smarter jackets, like the dark-brown Crispaire suit from Dalcuore pictured. It’s high contrast, and really adds something extra without those accessories.

But still, I carry other things like my totes far more often, and if I didn’t already have every base covered, it wouldn’t have made sense.

Peter’s work is fine and precise, and incorporates numerous little craft touches - such as one-piece gussets on bags like mine, with one gusset shorter than the other so it always stands up straight.

I’d recommend him to anyone that appreciates hand-sewn leather.

Most of his work is for women, and most of the social feed is of the teaching, but there are some lovely designs hidden in there. He does everything from watch rolls to wallets, handbags to travel bags, and cases for antique guns or cigars.

And of course, if you can get to Zurich - as I couldn’t - it’s worth seeing the workshop in person. Thank you Paul for doing that in my stead.

Atelier Peter Nitz is at Spiegelgasse 29. www.atelierpeternitz.com

Bags run from SFr4000 (£3300) to SFr8000. My bag was SFr6400. Exotic leathers range from SFr10,000 to 30,000.

Courses and tutorials range widely in time and price. Details on both at those links.

Dege & Skinner lightweight summer jacket: Review

Posted on 22/06/202221/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

Dege & Skinner lightweight summer jacket: Review

Wednesday, June 22^nd 2022Tags:

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This brown wool/silk/linen jacket was made in a lightweight model that Savile Row tailor Dege & Skinner introduced last year. It has a thin shoulder pad and no chest canvas, unlike their normal tailoring.

I can directly compare the difference, because the other piece Dege made me was a linen suit using their traditional structure.

Granted that was in an 11oz Irish linen, heavier than this 9oz from Caccioppoli (320156). But still, the difference is much greater than that, and importantly feels similar to any jacket from a Neapolitan tailor.

I wore the jacket last week at Pitti Uomo in Florence, where the temperature was 35 degrees (and felt hotter than that, given the airless valley the city sits in); it performed very well - not as cool as a short-sleeved linen shirt, but as good as any tailoring I’ve worn there.

In fact, there again I could make a direct comparison, because I commissioned the jacket to replace one that Biagio Granata made me three years ago. A lack of communication and some errors had made that jacket unwearable, but I loved the muted brown colour and slightly slubby texture of the cloth.

This Dege jacket felt just as light and breathable, so I can say with confidence that one reason Neapolitan tailoring has been so popular in recent years - its lightness in the heat - is now less exclusive. There is a Savile Row equivalent.

Of course, many will say that the Row should have done this earlier. Neapolitan bespoke tailoring started to become popular in the UK over 10 years ago, and a less structured jacket is not revolutionary. But still, we can be glad it’s here now.

The cut of the jacket remains very English: you don’t have the straight lapels or rounded fronts of a Neapolitan jacket. But I know there will be many readers that prefer this style.

It’s also worth noting that you do lose something of the English style by lessening the internal structure.

The layers of hand-padded canvas in a normal Savile Row suit give the jacket more 3D shape, with a firmer chest and sculpted shoulder. It’s inevitable that you lose that by taking out so many of the ways a coatmaker puts form into a garment.

But I feel Permanent Style readers are educated enough to weigh up these pros and cons. For me, I’d certainly go with this model if I knew a suit or jacket would be worn regularly in hotter European temperatures. If it wouldn’t be, the choice would be more marginal.

Dege’s head cutter Nicholas De’Ath has been talking to me about this lightweight project for a while, and I know it’s been through a few different permutations.

With my jacket, Nick originally put in an extra wedge of shoulder pad at the end of the shoulders, in order to lift the ends and reduce the effects of my sloping stature. But that made them look almost concave, to my eye, so we removed them.

There is still a small echo of that in the point of the right shoulder, and that’s something I’ll have Nick look at when I see him next. This was the jacket’s debut outing, and it was inevitable something would need a tweak.

(Before anyone asks no, I didn’t take straight up-and-down or front-back-and-sides shots of the jacket; the fit was not the point, and was always fundamentally good, given I had that existing pattern.)

The finishing on the jacket is beautiful, and this is something that Row tailors continue to do better than anyone in the south of Italy.

Regular readers will know how much more work it is to have a jacket unlined than lined, as lining can cover all manner of unfinished edges. Having every seam inside so precisely taped, as here, is attractively neat.

The overall outfit is very me, very tonal and unadorned.

At Pitti, it’s nice to wear something like this because you slip into the background. You can spend your time interviewing brands and makers with your clothes merely an elegant backdrop.

The trousers are a cream linen made by Whitcomb & Shaftesbury, in the slightly wider-leg style I wear most of the time at the moment (hem 20.5cm/8 inches).

The linen is 12/13oz from W Bill (60252), which holds a really beautiful, sharp line. The only problem is that it’s a little transparent, to the extent that you can see the pocket bags and inlay down the side seams.

I rather like this on the side seams - it almost makes them look like a dress trouser with grosgrain down the legs - but the linen is probably not the best for something like an office environment.

I also find linen that’s a little creamier is easier to wear, like the Holland & Sherry one I used for my Jean-Manuel Moreau suit. That’s currently not available, but I am working with H&S to try and bring it back.

The polo shirt is a sample for a new charcoal version of the PS Finest Polo. It does just about well enough under the still stiff collar of an English suit, although it will never stay quite as upright as a shirt.

The shoes are Sagan classics from Baudoin & Lange in black suede - my default for tailoring somewhere as hot as Florence.

And the glasses are the Californian model from EB Meyrowitz, in what they call amber mottle colour.

Dege & Skinner bespoke jackets are the same price, whether the lightweight or regular structure, which is £3800. Suits start at £5000.

Nick is in the US next from September 25 to October 12, in no less than 13 different cities. Contact Dege for details.

Photography: Jamie Ferguson

Dominique Lelys and Artumes: Taking on the spirit of Arnys

Posted on 20/06/202227/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

By Tony Sylvester

Roughly three years ago I wrote a piece for the Drake’s in-house magazine Common Thread. Given a free rein on any subject I wanted to talk about, I’d started ruminating on the similarities between French and English style, one of the prompts for which had been the recent announcement that Drake’s would be launching ‘a store within a store’ at Beige Habilleur, in Paris’s 16th arrondissement.

Beyond the obvious benefits to both brand and store, I started thinking about both the commonalities and differences in menswear either side of La Manche. For despite the historical focus on Italian, American and British style, relatively little time - in the English language at least - had been spent on the French approach to sartorial matters.

Times have changed a lot since then. The French magazine l’Etiquette is available in English these days, and last year Reginald-Jerome De Mans published Swan Song: an entertaining collection of essays on French makers and clothing establishments. Witty, romantic and often pessimistic (with a suitably Proustian allusion in its title) De Mans, an American who spent time in Paris as a student, ruminates on the disappearing world of French craftsmanship and style.

As soon as the book landed, I cracked it open to the chapter on Left Bank institution Arnys (above). Keener readers will already know of the now defunct brand; Simon covered them in the early days of PS, and they cropped up in my article last year on artists’ clothing.

The brand was swallowed up by LVMH-owned fancy-shoe providers Berluti back in 2013, a decision perhaps more motivated by their enviable retail position on Rue De Sèvres rather than their sartorial output, yet Arnys still holds a firm sway over menswear enthusiasts.

The brand fascinates me greatly. I was a little late to the party, missing out on the store in its heyday, so trips to Paris often involve wild goose chases in pursuit of vintage pieces or nuggets of information to help me flesh out my knowledge (and collection). This past Spring, I was lucky enough to sit down with one of the men responsible for a great deal of the visual appeal of the Arnys, the head designer and director of style for 30 years, Dominique Lelys (below).

I’m clearly not the only person besotted with the world of Arnys. One look at the stratospheric prices for their signature pieces on resale bears this out. So, how did they gain such a reputation?

Farid Chanoune’s bible on French style, A History Of Men’s Fashion, makes just one fleeting mention of the brand, referring to them as “a purveyor of French-style English fashion since the early 50s” and no more. Considering how much space he devotes to others long forgotten and sunk into obscurity, this strikes me as odd. Does the veneration of Arnys not run as far back as I’d been led to believe?

The store was opened in 1933 by two sons of a Ukrainian tailor, Leon and Albert Grimbert. Their arrival in the heart of the Left Bank coincided with their neighourhood’s reputation as the outpost of the new class of intellectuals, writers and artists. This was thanks to cheap rents and a café-based salon des idées culture on the surrounding streets.

The clothes sold at Arnys contributed to this new cultural force, helping in some part to give rise to the ‘BoBo’ (Bohemian Bourgoisie) look and mindset, in direct contrast to the more mainstream ‘BCBG’ (good style, good class) attitude on the other side of the Seine (below).

Post war, one of the many cultural luminaries Arnys dressed was actor Philippe Noiret (above). His traditional yet eccentric dress caught the eye of a young student, Dominique Lelys, who ventured into Arnys hoping to emulate his sartorial hero on his meagre income.

“I was working at Ralph Lauren doing their windows, as my background was interior design.’ Mr Lelys explains. “When I quit architecture school, I went to Hermes, but we didn’t really match.

“I had met Jean Grimbert (son and nephew of the original founders) because I was already a customer at Arnys, and he said he wanted to see what I was doing. I showed him my designs and he said ‘please make me a tie collection’. So I started with them - it was 1983. After that he decided to hire me as a director of style.”

“My style is very personal. When I was 10 years old my father, who was very keen on languages, decided to send me to England for a year. So I went to Barnstaple, in Devonshire, where I stayed with a family. I went to school, I learnt to play cricket, I learnt to play rugby, which I was very fond of. I understood very quickly the understatement, the English mentality and sensibility. I was very fond of this typical old England with its tweed and its kilts.

“I am French, and my father was very very French. So when I grew up he told me, you can keep what you’ve learnt but you have to adapt it to your nationality. So I made a mix: I know all the codes, sometimes I break them, sometimes I respect them. But I try to be what I am: A French man who went to school in England, who has two cultures. I have English friends and Scottish friends, but I’m too busy to travel these days. I think that England is gone.”

It is easy to see what impressed the house boss in Lelys’ eye for design - he gave a distinctive Escher-like feel to his repeating patterns in autumnal palettes, with motifs resonant of the good life; hunting, drinking. The ties became one half of the story for the renewed, revamped energy of the brand.

The final piece of the puzzle was an odd jacket in their archives: the so-called Forestière, originally made for the French-Swiss architect Charles-Edouard Jeanneret, aka Le Corbusier.

“The first Forestière for Corbusier was quite different to the model that everybody knows,” Lelys says, upending all the wisdom I’d heard about the jacket’s history. “It had padding and was quite straight. I saw one prototype when I began to work at Arnys. We decided to take the padding out and to lower the shoulder, just to see how it worked.

“It was an immediate success. Once we relaunched in the eighties, it became the best seller for Arnys, accounting for 50% of their sales. When we saw that this jacket was successful, we decided to make other offerings in the same vein and say “let’s go”.

And go they did. By the late nineties Arnys catalogues (above) were full of wild and wonderful pieces inspired by vintage military and equestrian coats, and all sorts of aristocratic clobber recalling a pre-revolutionary ancien régime mentality (for a reference, consider the painting above of Baron de Thiers).

It was unique, wonderfully eccentric and often a little daft.

I was speaking to Lelys in the home of his latest venture. We’re sitting on tweed sofas in the offices of Artumes & Co, a young French brand taking some of its cues from l’esprit d’Arnys but with a slightly greater focus on hunting.

The founders Thomas and Nicholas Drach’s father ran the English shooting brand Holland & Holland for their French paymasters Chanel in the nineties, and that country-sports influence is front and centre in Artumes. It was almost inevitable that Lelys teamed up with them.

“My silk maker said to me there is a company called Artumes & Co who do exactly the same thing as you do, and he showed me one design that looked a lot like one I had done for Arnys,” says Lelys. “So I called them up…now we are friends,” he laughs.

“When Arnys sold to Berluti, many of the old makers just carried on making the same designs that I had made with them. But that legitimate heritage belongs to me, so I’m very lucky to have found this world of Artumes to continue. I have brought my know-how to them, but they also have their identity. So I manage both and it matches very easily. I am home.”

Lelys is more interested in continuity than simple repetition of old formulas, so the two developments he made at Arnys are updated here in new, adapted forms.

His trademark patterns are present in the Tourdesoi (above), a series of lightweight scarves taking on the same role as his old tie range - brightening outfits and creating the visual interest between the lapels, albeit in a relaxed manner more reflective of the new brand’s ethos.

In lieu of the Forestière, he has developed the arTeba. Based on the Spanish hunting jacket the Teba, it has been recut, nipped at the waist, cut higher at the armhole and longer in the skirt. In checked tweeds and bright corduroy, it’s a natural heir in look and mood to the Forestière’s considerable charms.

Unfortunately for me, its narrower, slimmer cut is not a good match, as part of the Forestière’s personal appeal was its oversized ‘anti’ fit.

I leave with a notebook full of acquired wisdom, but without a replacement model for my beloved Forestière - something I had hoped to find at Artumes.

Hopefully another of Paris’s more interesting stores will be able can help a little in that regard. More on that next time.

Photography: Alex Natt. Below, Thomas Drach (left) and Dominique Lelys

Reader profile: Cedric

Posted on 17/06/202212/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

Cedric works in the art world, and as such is rarely formal. But he retains an interest in tailoring, has childhood memories of going to Huntsman, and is even talking to Fred Nieddu about his first bespoke.

He also has a depth of interest in American clothing that is rare among readers in the UK. This, the latest in our series listening to the stories of PS readers, is a profile of his style and how it has developed over the years.

You can see all of the previous reader profiles - eight so far - here.

Outfit 1: Semi-smart

What do you do for a living?

I’m a gallerist - by the time this comes out I will have just opened my first permanent space. I’m looking to exhibit artists that I think don’t get enough attention, as well as international artists who aren’t shown by other UK galleries.

Is that what you’ve always done?

No, I used to work in the City, for Bloomberg. I was there six years, and running one of their Swiss operations at the end. But I got rather tired of it and decided to pursue a passion for art - I did a Masters in Art History and then started working independently on various art and music-related projects.

That sounds like an easy way into it.

Right, I had a lot of freedom. This next stage will certainly be more of a challenge.

How long have you been into clothes?

I’ve always been interested in how things look, though it’s really grown in the past four or five years. My Dad was always a good dresser, and I remember he used to go and have fittings at Huntsman on Saturdays. It was like a family outing - we all went, and he loved the theatre of it, the fittings and everything. Back then it was a lot less expensive I think too.

He’s less into clothes these days, but I’ve become more and more. Drake’s had a lot to answer for at the start, and then John Simons, then places like Clutch and The Real McCoy’s. It sort of accelerates, as you find one good thing - perhaps something at McCoy’s - and then see something else you then want to upgrade to.

My Sunspel sweatshirts were fine for years, for example, but then you start to appreciate the difference a McCoy’s one brings, and you gradually replace them all.

What are you wearing in this first outfit?

This is pretty much as smart as I get today. The jacket is a Dunhill blazer (with Benson & Clegg St George & The Dragon buttons), the Big Yank plaid shirt is from The Real McCoy’s, the jeans are Warehouse DD-1001XX (about 18 months old), the belt is Rubato and the shoes are Alden unlined LHS loafers.

Playing with classic things like a gold-button blazer gives me a lot of joy at the moment. I used to wear things like this a lot straighter, a lot more traditional, but I much prefer something more playful like this now.

Outfit 2: Smart

This second outfit sounds like it’s a rarity these days then.

Yes, I don’t wear a suit anywhere near as much, but I still enjoy wearing them now and again. The impetus for this one was Ralph Fitzgerald at Huntsman’s wedding in New York a couple of months ago.

It’s a fresco suit from Southwick - the original maker of the American natural shoulder. Traditional cut, soft shoulder, undarted, single hook vent, working three-button cuffs, flat front trousers, 1.75” turn-up. The proportions and natural shoulder flatter me I think, and it works with the Mercer shirts, knit or madder ties and Aldens that I wear a lot too. I pretty much only wear Aldens.

Where did you get the suit from?

From O’Connell’s, the traditional Ivy shop in Buffalo, New York. I have a Southwick blazer too, which I went to The Andover Shop in Massachusetts to track down. Then after I got this suit, which is the same cut and size - so I knew it would work perfectly for me. All I had to do was hem the trousers (which I did at Hidalgo).

I love the atmosphere at O’Connell’s, and at The Andover Shop. They’re from a different age. They have that type of service that’s perfectly polite, but without a word wasted. I’d talk to them on the phone and it would be like ‘Thank you Sir, goodbye’ and bang, down went the phone.

You mentioned you've learned some lessons from tailoring and alterations over the years - what are they?

I guess I’ve learnt not to alter a carefully considered or classic cut. I now only adjust the sleeve length, or hem trousers. When buying clothes I generally try on the same item in two sizes to ensure I’m getting the right one - the same applies to shoes. To an extent I’ve learnt to disregard sizing labels and trust how something feels on.

Where did the interest in Ivy League clothing come from?

A lot of my essentials fit into this category: I was wearing Oxford cloth button-down shirts, Shetland sweaters, flat-front chinos and penny loafers long before I was aware of the term Ivy Style. I’ve always liked clothes that are relaxed yet elegant.

I’ve also got derbies, brogues and chelsea boots, but I tend to wear penny loafers the most. In terms of makers, I find Alden very comfortable and hard wearing; aesthetically I think they perfected the shape and apron stitching of the penny loafer with their LHS model.

Back to clothing more generally, when I discovered the book Take Ivy many years ago I was fascinated by how timeless those sixties American collegiate outfits looked. I also liked that there were no rules: casual blended in with more formal, and different cuts worked together.

Soon after I began looking into the origins of these items and realised many have a British history: the button-down shirt was designed for British Polo players in the 19th century to stop the collars from flapping, the loafer originated as a British country house shoe, and so on. So although it’s widely considered an American style because they popularised it, it doesn’t feel too far from home.

Where are the rest of the clothes from?

The shoes are a pair of Alden 986s I inherited from my Dad, and they’ve just been resoled and restored by Alden. They’re 25 years old, but I think they look actually better than new - with the creases reflecting how they’ve been worn over time. Alden did a great job, repairing all the little broken stitches.

The shirt is the ‘button-less button down’ from Mercer & Sons, and the tie is from a Drake’s and Aimé Leon Dore collaboration - traditional Drake’s Mughal Hunter pattern but in different colours.

Outfit 3: Casual

This is a bit more unusual for the kinds of things we have on PS. Tell me about the shirt and T-shirt.

The shirt is from Jake’s, made in a Permanent Style Oxford cloth. This was my first one but I’m going to get the white and probably the blue stripe as well.

The T-shirt is also associated with you in a way - it’s an Allevol T-shirt from Clutch. I bought a few of them last year to get printed, and I love the quality.

So many of the loopwheel T-shirts I’ve bought over the years have lost their shape. I had a few that seemed to really give in the waist. I still have them, but I’d only wear them in particular circumstances, such as under a rugby or a full-cut shirt like this, where the fit doesn’t matter as much.

And what’s the print?

The ‘American Dream’ print is taken from a mid-20th century archival piece. I just thought it looked good - I liked that the text was handwritten, and oversized so that it’s not immediately obvious. I worked with an artist to re-create it and at the start of this year we handprinted a small run.

I guess The American Dream has a more conceptual meaning today than when it was coined in the early 20th century, but it’s still about having the freedom to pursue one’s passion in life, as well as optimism and equal opportunity.

The deck shoes are from Wakouwa, which Clutch now stock as well, though it’s a brand Anatomica created. The chinos are the Field model from RRL - I have a few, they’re so great and hard wearing, and higher rise than most RRL. I realise these things are more casual than Permanent Style would usually feature, but there’s a similar theme of quality and classic styles.

How long have you been reading the site?

Not too long. I first came across it when I picked up The Style Guide in Trunk several years ago - drawn by the ever-stylish Mr Kamoshita on the cover. But then I started reading more during lockdown. Your articles came up in searches, and I particularly like the journalistic / historic approach, focus on craftsmanship and how smart and casual sit together on PS.

When we met you also mentioned Tom Wolfe's ‘The Secret Vice’ - can you explain for readers?

The Secret Vice was one of Wolfe’s essays in his 1966 book Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, in which he describes how much young men of the time cared about clothes and their marginal differences, yet wouldn’t speak openly about them - it was their secret vice. He gets into a lot of Ivy references: the flap pocket, the button on the back of a shirt collar to hold a tie in place, etc.

Like Take Ivy, for me it’s a reminder of how much and how little has changed.

Acme split-toe shoes: Review

Posted on 15/06/202215/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

Everybody loves a bargain. I think one reader referred to it as the ‘siren song’ of cheaper-but-quality clothing.

The reference is often apt. Enthusiasts of anything expensive are drawn to the idea - like hypnotised Greek sailors - that they can get the same product from Uniqlo for a fraction of the price; only to find that it’s synthetic, treated, or simply looks cheap.

Chinese shoemakers seemed to be singing this song loudest over lockdown. Every month there was a new brand, promising the same quality as a European maker but at half the cost.

Over the past two months I’ve been trying the brand making at perhaps the highest level among those makers, Acme, and I can say that in almost every way, the metaphor fails. The quality of the materials and make are very good.

The only thing lacking is perhaps styles that appeal to me personally, and access to try those fits and styles, which are a little idiosyncratic.

The shoe I tried was their 8008 split-toe derby, originally in a brown suede. I thought I’d wear a loafer most, but they recommended not starting with that as it would be harder to fit.

This is true - but it also highlights the challenge with ordering shoes remotely. Trying their loafers would have involved a few shipments back and forth, particularly if I found they didn’t work for me and I reverted to something else like a derby.

This would have happened within half an hour in a shop or stockist in London. I would have quickly discovered that the loafers didn’t fit my narrow heels, or were too slim for my toes, and I would have moved on to something else.

The point is worth emphasising because although lots of PS readers have to buy online anyway - because they don’t live in a major metropolis - this lack of a physical presence is one reason the Chinese shoemakers are cheaper. Stores are not cheap, shoe stores in particular require lots of stock on site, and even trunk shows are expensive.

I know some readers will have had a chance to see and try Acme during the recent Super Trunk in London, but this is not a frequent event. Appreciate the fact there’s an Edward Green or Alden store near you, because it’s all part of the cost.

With my shoes, there was a bit of to and fro even with the derby. The initial pair fit me well in terms of width, heel and arch (great support there) but they were too long. My toes were finishing over an inch short of the end, and the vamp was breaking twice when it bent.

Thing is, I couldn’t size down because then the shoe would be too narrow. Which highlights the other (smaller) issue with many of the Chinese shoemakers, which is that they make a very slim, elongated shoe.

This is something I mentioned in my earlier article discussing the new Chinese brands, and has only been reinforced since. The market they’re aiming for is the sharper, perhaps slicker dresser that would normally look to Italian or French makers, rather than most English or Americans. It’s what the Asian market wants too, despite their feet being generally shorter and wider than those in the west.

Fortunately for me, Acme had a solution, which was a new version of their last. The shoes I had were on the N83, like most of their derbies. They were now developing a new one, N83+, which was 3mm shorter, a little wider and less angular.

As they were making a new pair of shoes, I also opted to switch the material, going for black calf with the expectation that I’d wear them more in that elongated shape.

The new shoes were an improvement. The upper was no longer breaking twice, and they were comfortable from the off.

They’re still a fairly long style, as I think comes across in the images, but they’re now on a par with something like my Corthay Wilfrids, rather than being longer.

I should also say again, the quality was very good. These are Acme’s ready-made shoes but they have both hand-sewn welts and soles. The stitching on the upper is fine and precise (unlike an example I highlighted on the previous article). And the finishing was great.

They were a little over-polished, with some of the surface coming away, but that’s fairly common and goes after your first polish at home. The work everywhere else was perfect, including on the sculpted waist of the sole, and that tricky segue between sole and heel on the welt.

The quality of the upper leather and other materials seems to be very good too.

The real test of the upper is how it wears over time - softening and taking polish - but you can tell quite a lot from the initial feel and the way the skin wrinkles. This all looks to be on a par with top European makers.

Acme are clearly looking for any little touches they can add, and the slightly flat, waxed laces finishing in brass aiglets are also nice. Personally I don’t like the brass on a smart shoe like this, but that’s easy to change and I appreciate the effort.

Same goes for the packaging, shoe bags and shoe trees. The boxes have a curved lid, the shoe bags are lined, and the trees are purple. Again personally I don’t care about any of those things, and they can easily tip into being gimmicky. But equally I don’t mind them, and I doubt many others will either.

My shoes cost $1650, which doesn’t sound cheap. But the comparison is with another entirely hand-made shoe, such as Stefano Bemer’s Tradizione line, which would be $2050 to $2350.

That’s the kind of discount you’re looking at with many of the Chinese brands - something like 30%-40% compared to the same from an English or Italian maker.

As I said, I can’t say they’re definitively the same quality, having only worn them for a couple of months. But right now I have no reason to think otherwise. I can certainly recommend them to readers therefore, and I’ll cover other, cheaper Chinese makers in the future too.

Personally I won’t be changing where I buy from though. That’s half down to style - I wear that type of shoe so little today, and when I do I have bespoke from the likes of Cleverley - and half f down to lack of access.

I like to see shoes in person and try them if I can, rather than doing multiple deliveries and returns, and my budget and location means I can do that. It’s also no small factor that I have a relationship with the brands, the shops and their staff, and the styles of shoes I like.

But I know others will differ, in their situation and their priorities, and I hope my experience here is useful to them.

Photography: shoes, on their own, and video below, Acme; shoes on me, Milad Abedi. And yes, my trousers are short in the top image. I'm lifting them up to better show the shoe. The trouser material is brown Crispaire, from this suit.

How to avoid getting burnt out

Posted on 13/06/202213/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

It’s very easy to feel burnt out in fashion, and in menswear too. So much ‘new’ is thrown at you, all the time, that you get used to the stimulation.

If at some point it stops hitting home, stops being refreshing and exciting, the reaction is often to feel exhausted and jaded. Social media only makes it worse.

I have friends in menswear who have said in recent years that they feel burnt out. They say nothing excites them any more.

I’ve felt that now and again over the past dozen years, but it occurred to me recently that the thing that always keeps me fresh and focused is readers.

No matter where you might feel in terms of fashion cycles, or your personal style evolution, there is always a guy out there that’s trying to buy some decent, good-looking clothes for the first time.

There’s a guy starting a job in an office. There’s a guy who’s tired of T-shirts and hoodies and wants something a bit more grown-up. There’s someone else who’s discovered he’s 40 and doesn’t have any idea what he actually likes.

In fact, there’s millions of them, and they don’t really care about whether a brand’s lookbook is better than the last one. They want you to tell them what will suit them, suit their place in the world, and provide good, lasting quality.

They would like someone to navigate all those fluctuating brands, stores and fashions, and suggest how to achieve their aims.

Last week I was sitting in the Starbucks at Victoria Station, having an espresso macchiato (why is Starbucks the only place where you have to specify it’s an espresso macchiato?) and waiting for Alex.

A reader tapped me on the shoulder and introduced himself. He was from Canada, immediately excused himself for not being better dressed, and said thank you for PS, adding that there were lots of people he knew that were trying to dress better.

It’s always nice to be thanked for what you do, and people do come up to me fairly often, which is frankly amazing.

But more importantly, feedback comes all the time through other channels.

About 50 times a day readers comment online, adding views and asking questions. Once or twice a week there are in-depth conversations through consultancy sessions. Then there’s a burst of it during a pop-up.

It’s very valuable, as all feedback is. However, I’m realising it’s particularly important to me as an ever-present reminder that there are people who aren’t swirling down an Instagram plughole, who have real questions and few places to turn to.

It also means I never run out of ideas. There are usually two suggestions for a new post in the comments of every post, so the list only seems to get longer.

I used to do articles all the time when PS was first starting, announcing traffic totals. I don’t really do that much anymore, partly because articles have got longer and also there never seems to be room in the schedule. I think the last one was about a year and a half ago.

So this is a brief update. The last 12 months saw 1.46 million unique visitors to Permanent Style, an increase of about 12% on the previous year, which is wonderful.

Thank you all, not just for coming to PS and telling friends and making it what it is - but for always asking questions and keeping me focused on what it’s for.

When there’s a guy in DC trying to work out what a smart/casual wardrobe looks like, another in Hampshire who wants your advice on bespoke now he’s finally made partner, and someone called Jack who asks a question on the site every single day without fail, it’s impossible to feel jaded about the world of clothing. Everyone just wants to dress better.

In the next couple of months we’ll be doing some design work on the site, and some functional improvements. I do hope you like them. I don’t have to ask for feedback though. I know that’ll come whether I ask or not.

The slouchy cardigan

Posted on 10/06/202210/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

Most cardigans that classic menswear fans admire fall into one of two camps.

First is the cardigan to be worn under a jacket, frequently sleeveless. This is often quite thin, and is practical as an additional layer for warmth. It can look a little old-fashioned without sleeves, but functions better under a jacket that way.

Drake’s in its early years did a lot to show how this style can be creative and fun, particularly when loosely buttoned and in more unusual colours.

The second is the shawl-collar cardigan. Rather than being designed to wear under a jacket, this is a jacket substitute itself, with its prominent collar and chunky knit. That style has became perennially popular because it is so flattering, particularly on a slim guy. It helps that Daniel Craig wears them now and again too.

I feel like the dominance of these two is a reason why another style is sometimes looked down on.

When I discussed the cardigan pictured above - the ‘Art Cardi’ from Connolly - one reader said “the oversized fit reminds me of days when cardigans were almost exclusively worn by OAPs”. Another commented “the baggy cut is unflattering bordering on ugly”.

Fair enough. This type of cardigan is not flattering like a shawl-collar - which seems to give all of us bigger shoulders - and isn't fitted like a sleeveless cardigan, which is flattering in hiding the waist, particularly under a jacket.

But it can have great style. It is relaxed, easy, even louche. It isn’t fitted, but instead in the right fabric it drapes beautifully.

Several things make it different from the cardigan your grandfather might have worn - and here we’re into the subtle art of knitwear design.

One is the weight. Often that old-fashioned cardigan was a thin thing, really designed to be worn under a jacket like the sleeveless model described above. That never had enough good material to drape well.

Of course it’s not just the weight, but the density, the ply and the fibre, which determine how straight or softly it falls, how liable it is to crease and wrinkle.

Then there’s the cut. A looser cardigan is better with a generous sleeve. Not so wide that you would notice, but enough to keep it in proportion with the body, and continuing the feeling of luxurious size.

With Connolly's Art Cardi, this aesthetic is echoed in the straight cut at the front (ones for tailoring often have a kink above the first button); the low position of the buttons; the turn-back cuffs; and the saddle shoulder, which creates a smooth run from shoulder to sleeve.

I love learning and thinking about design like this. It’s so subtle, so much less obvious than discussions of cloth weights, patterns or fibre. Often it eludes even close examination - like an art, it requires education, someone to point things out to you.

And it’s very hard to put a price on, in the way men with their logical minds often want to.

All credit here to Connolly’s knitwear designer Lorraine Acornley.

Personally, I like this drapier look most when the rest of the ensemble is quite straight or cinched.

For example in this outfit, I’m wearing tailored flannels in my normal mid-to-high rise, with a belt. A more standard low-rise trouser would look sloppier, as would a non-tailored trouser. The belt emphasises both, creating a focus and a particular tied-up neatness.

Connolly do and have done different colours in this cardigan, but the cream suits me particularly as it goes with almost any tailoring - brown linen or olive flannel, navy serge or black cord. White is usually the best colour of shirt, but that can be an oxford, poplin or polo.

I don’t think it is at its best buttoned, and perhaps this detracts from its practicality. But it doesn’t stop it being something I reach for all the time at home.

One thing it does require, on me, is a shirt. Others can wear them with a T-shirt, but it becomes too unflattering on me without a collar.

The mohair cardigan from The Real McCoy’s I featured recently is the same, although there is also a whole alternative aesthetic with mohair cardigans, which have become fashionable again recently and are often worn with just a T-shirt underneath.

Still, for me it always looked best on Kurt when he had that soft shirt on - undone, with jeans.

As noted in this year’s Spring Top 10, I also bought Connolly’s ‘knit waistcoat’ (below), and the point about its loose, drapey look is the same.

If you didn’t try this on, or perhaps look closely, it could seem the same as that classic sleeveless cardigan we described earlier. But everything beyond the surface is actually different - the body shape, the ribbing tension, the shoulder width, the ribbing, the placket size, the collar height.

This, again, is what design is all about.

In fact the Connolly vest is almost cut more like a workwear piece than a tailored cardigan. It’s terrible under a blazer, but great worn like a gilet, over a shirt on a warm day, or layered under a chore jacket.

It reminds me a little, actually, of the waistcoats I remember seeing men in north Pakistan wear over their shalwar kameez, when I travelled there years ago. Thick, straight cut, and often worn loose during the day. It was a really stylish look - practical and easy.

So if you feel like it, perhaps reconsider the slouchy cardigan. It can be lovely, elegant, even alternative.

And given how much the super-tight, super-short, stretchy-fabric look seems to be hanging around in menswear, I think it's important to talk about how attractive draped fabric can be.

Below are images of the black Real McCoy’s mentioned, the Connolly knitted vest, and the Art Cardi layered underneath my suede belted jacket from Fred Nieddu.

Studio photography, James Holborow. Other internal shots, Jamie Ferguson.

Thoughts on my tattoo, three years later

Posted on 08/06/202208/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

Back in 2019 I had my first tattoo, and wrote a long and very personal article about it.

As predicted it drew some very strong responses, but the curious, engaged PS reader came through - the knee jerks were a minority compared to the intrigued and open-minded. There was even a smattering of my all-time-favourite comment: ‘this is not for me at all, but I found it really interesting reading about it, thank you’.

Of course, as I pointed out at the time, this was intensely personal. It shouldn’t matter what other people think about it. And it doesn’t - to an extent. I’ll get into that in a minute.

To begin with, I just wanted to answer the readers who've asked in the previous three years how I felt about the tattoo since having it done. Do I regret anything about it? Is there anything I would do differently?

Happily, the answer is no, I don’t regret anything, and I can’t think of anything I would have done differently. I will certainly have more as well, though I’ve deliberately left it a while before starting on that journey again.

Today, my tattoo simply feels part of me (no pun intended) and I only ever think about it when someone asks. It doesn’t feel strange, doesn’t feel alien. It's like it’s always been there.

In one way this is probably inevitable - I’ve just grown used to it. But I also think a few things I did, and then wrote about, made this more likely. I know some friends who’ve had tattoos have regretted their choices.

The key thing, I think, was I spent so much time thinking about it. It had been on my mind for several years, and for more than two years I'd been taking photos of designs in the things that inspired me - wrought iron and stone carving - sketching and playing with them, building up a notebook of ideas.

This amount of time and thought meant that the final decision didn’t feel big at all - just a natural end to a process.

And I had confidence in the decision because of the artist, Mo Coppoletta. As I wrote three years ago, he got my ideas immediately and began creating his own versions of them much more fluidly than I ever had.

If someone asked me for my advice today, it would be largely those two things - put the time into playing with what you want, and pick an artist you admire.

Let's return to that interesting question: how much does it matter what people think about having a tattoo?

I hope it doesn’t at all; but it’s impossible to ever know for sure, because it does always get reactions. The most common is ‘Blimey, Mr Permanent Style has a tattoo, I didn’t expect that’.

This is sort of both annoying and pleasing. Annoying because no one likes having presumptions made about them, and I still find it odd how many people make assumptions about my tastes or lifestyle because I love craft and tailoring. Everyone expects you to drive a classic car (I hate cars) and have Kind of Blue playing on the stereo (rather than Kyuss).

The pleasing aspect is that it's nice to subvert some of those expectations.

In terms of society as a whole, I recognise that it influences how I feel about my tattoo that they’re increasingly common. This was something I wrestled with in that first article: I’m a snob to the extent that I hate to be part of a trend; but I also recognise that I wouldn't be thinking about them otherwise.

As I said, I’ll never know how I would feel about a tattoo in isolation, outside society. But I think it's relevant that while they're more common, very few of my family and friends actually have them. In my social context, it doesn’t feel like part of a trend.

So what’s next?

I was warned that tattooing can be addictive, and I really felt that. There is an excitement in having it done, partly because it feels so risky. I remember cycling back from the parlour, my forearm wrapped in cling film, with this big smile on my face. It's a thrill.

I could easily have started planning another, and had one or two a year. Given the size of the pieces I like, that would have taken over how I look very quickly.

So I set myself the arbitrary limit of not getting another for five years. This stopped me thinking about, at least for a while. I also liked the idea that after such a length of time, any future ones would end up representing different points in my life.

Three years on, I’m glad I did that, but I’m ready to start again. It might well be five years before I actually get it done, but my mind is spinning through questions and ideas.

The biggest one is - do I get something in a similar vein, or rather different?

It would still be a piece of decorative art, because it's what appeals to me most. But do I look at something more angular, maybe Art Deco, maybe Islamic, or do I stick with a variation on the theme?

At the time, Mo said it would be cool to have a similarly sized and styled piece on the opposite forearm, and I can definitely see that. It would be more harmonious, more like a single, overarching plan.

But would it not also be a pity, to not reflect something else, another artistic tradition I admire? To use a clothing metaphor, would it be like wearing just one suit forever? And does that apply to using the same artist, or not?

Then there’s where to have it. I like having something I see all the time, but it might be nice to have another choice about what to expose - perhaps a piece on the right upper arm, which would only when I was wearing a T-shirt.

I’ve talked to several people I know who’ve been through this process themselves, but if any readers have experience or advice they’d like to share, do shout.

This is the beginning of another journey. I don’t expect it to be short, but I know it will be pleasurable.

I'm aware others would be more instinctive, and think things over less. But I also know now that this process works well for me, both in terms of enjoying it and in terms of the final result.

Time to get doodling again.

The guide to morning dress: Part two, cut and make

Posted on 06/06/202207/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

By Aleks Cvetkovic

Welcome to the basted fitting for the bespoke morning suit by Whitcomb & Shaftesbury that we referenced in the first instalment of this series.

As mentioned previously, the coat is cut in traditional black featherweave worsted, the waistcoat seen here is in fitting cloth (the actual dove grey gabardine chosen can be seen below) and the trousers are a distinctive, mid-grey marled cashmere stripe.

The striped trouser cloth is perhaps the most interesting choice of the three. On the advice of morning-wear guru Chris Modoo, I chose a lighter, richly textured trousering over the flatter, darker grey stripe that is commonly used for morning dress. This slightly paler cloth has more character, and it contrasts with the coat while harmonising with the waistcoat at the same time.

Both coat and trouser cloths are from Smith Woollens’ ever-dependable Formalwear bunch, while the waistcoat cloth (a twill, rather than the more traditional plainweave) is from Holland & Sherry. The latter has a lovely drape and a saturated tone to the dove grey, which is nicer than other pale greys we looked at.

The black featherweave has a smooth handle and subtle sheen, which is really lovely too. It’s 12oz in weight, which is heavier than conventional summer cloths, but morning coats don’t really make-up well in thin fabric.

But why these colours, let alone the fabrics? Let’s start with the decision to go for a black coat and cashmere-stripe trousers, as opposed to a three-piece morning grey.

As discussed in Part One, morning dress isn’t a dress code to push boundaries with. Rather, there’s a huge amount of pleasure in playing with its subtle nuances and archaisms. While I’d have loved to experiment with a morning grey, a black morning suit is appropriate for any formal occasion and the safest place to start.

I also think that Whitcomb & Shaftesbury’s finishing is second to none, and the thought of trimming the morning coat’s lapels and cuffs with black silk braid clinched the deal.

I chose dove grey for the waistcoat because I find buff a little dull, and didn’t want to wear a sky blue waistcoat with a blue shirt underneath. Pink linen or cream worsted would have been fun, but I felt these were perhaps colours to experiment with at a later date.

In terms of make, the suit is being made using Whitcomb & Shaftesbury’s signature Classic Bespoke service, where the garment is cut and fitted in London, and tailored in India. All my pieces from W&S have been made this way, from a tweed ulster coat to my olive-velvet smoking jacket, and the results have been consistently excellent.

I have very little time for those who are snobby about where in the world a bespoke garment is made. Skilled artisans are to be found all over, and some of the best pieces I’ve seen or tried have come from tailors working in unexpected places. Edward Sexton’s Offshore Bespoke service is another good example of how well this hybrid approach to cutting and tailoring can work.

Whitcomb’s tailoring is made at the house’s own dedicated workshop in Chennai, where Suresh and Mahesh have gone to great lengths to provide ethical, gainful employment for local craftspeople. The workshop is a co-operative and staff benefit from perks like free education for their children and competitive, secure salaries (as opposed to piece payment, which is more common in India).

Whitcomb’s Bob Bigg, who’s helped to advise on the styling of my morning suit throughout the process, flies out to Chennai regularly to manage quality control and train the workshop’s staff, and the results speak for themselves. These pictures show the coat coming to life in Chennai under Bob’s supervision.

Cutting a morning coat is, as you might imagine, a technical feat – even with what Sian and Richard delightfully call a repeat client’s “mature” pattern, like mine.

One of the most obvious challenges is getting the coat’s balance right, while ensuring the coat snugly follows the shape of the wearer’s spine. Sian explains how the pattern accommodates this: “The morning coat is a type of body coat (like a frock coat or tailcoat), derived from traditional riding coats. Body coats have additional side panels cut into the back, compared to a lounge suit. This creates two extra darts through the back waist that can be suppressed in order for the coat to fit closer into the spine.

"Extra back balance (length in the back) is added to the pattern to help with this close fit. This extra balance also helps to control the coat’s skirt and keeps the tails from kicking out.”

Sian explained to me that a morning coat’s panelled construction is also a challenge – although it does give a skilled cutter options to tweak the silhouette.

I’d always assumed the horizontal centre seam of a morning coat is a straight line around the body, but it’s actually cut with a subtle curve from the spine around, up and over each hip, which is accentuated by shrinking and working the cloth with an iron.

This clever bit of wizardry helps the coat to hug the wearer right around the body, and helps the back of the coat to hit the small of the spine. You can see from the fitting snaps that we experimented with the coat’s waist and balance, and we’ve also decided to nudge out the lapels another centimetre or so in-line with my predilection for full lapels.

Suresh pointed me to some of the coat’s other thoughtful details.

Whitcomb & Shaftesbury forego the traditional padding that commonly featured in early 20th century morning coats for the sake of weight and comfort, but they do sew two discreet hip pads into the side of each coat tail, just below the waistline. These help your tails sit neatly over the seat – especially if yours is ‘prominent’ like mine.

The tails themselves feature a slim hidden pocket between the outer cloth and lining to keep your chamois gloves in. I don’t plan to wear gloves with my morning suit; they’re one of those accessories that feels a little bit ‘dress up’ to me, but it’s a lovely feature to retain nonetheless.

The fitting of the waistcoat and trousers were both straightforward; my trouser pattern in particular is spot on at Whitcomb & Shaftesbury.

You’ll notice the brace-top trousers are as high-waisted as can be, and finished with a nod towards a fish-tail back. We’re foregoing side adjusters on these, because I’ll only ever wear them with braces and they will look cleaner without.

Single forward-facing pleats and on-seam pockets are both common details for morning trousers, although as mentioned previously, there are fewer prescriptions than you might think for how a morning trouser should be tailored.

We’re going to taper the trousers just a touch from the knee downwards. They felt a little bit swishy at the fitting, and a slightly narrower leg will complement the coat’s clean lines. The waistcoat length is also coming down just a touch to ensure the trouser waistband is always covered, but no other changes were necessary. The waistcoat’s lapels are coming out a little too, as with the coat, but that’s purely to satisfy my own tastes.

In the third and final instalment of this series we’ll talk about the finished suit, some key styling decisions that are worth keeping in mind with your own morning dress, and where I sourced the other elements of the finished outfit.

Till then,

Fabrics:

Coat: 13oz, Smith Woollens Formalwear bunch: 7829
Trousers: 12/13oz, Smith Woollens Formalwear bunch: 7843
Waistcoat: Holland & Sherry Black Tie bunch, 976038 (no weight info available, I’m guessing 9-10oz)

Price: £2,970 ex-VAT, £3,564 including VAT.

Filson briefcase: How great things age

Posted on 03/06/202203/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

Of all the things we cover in the ‘How great things age’ series, a bag such as this probably has the most potential – because it is made of canvas, leather and brass.

All those three materials age differently.

Brass, presuming it’s not coated, will tarnish at the edges where it isn’t touched, and get sharp highlights where it is – on the edge of a zipper, on the top of a stud.

Leather, when veg-tanned and stuffed with oils like this bridle, darkens but also cracks on the surface, exposing the lighter layer underneath.

It also moulds – the handle of this bag is wrapped in a strip of leather that has been the shape of my hand for years, and makes fastening the two sides feel like something it actually wants to do.

And lastly canvas. Canvas gets dirty (but can largely be scrubbed clean) and then slowly wears down, thinning, fraying and finally wearing through. But then of course it can be repaired, and in some ways looks better for it.

I’ve had this Filson briefcase for about seven years, but didn’t buy it new. Much as I adore all of these signs of ageing, I wouldn’t use a bag like this enough to cause this degree of wear.

But, it has worn more since I’ve used it. The handles have moulded, as mentioned, and it’s required a couple of good cleans. It might not have been mine to start with, but I feel I’ve given it a good home, kept it going when someone else had no use for it, and gone some way to making it my own.

I know there were some people who saw elitism in the English Country House Look we discussed on PS recently. But most understood the central lesson – that there is a dignity in great things worn to ruin, and a particular style in mixing those with luxurious, newer items.

That’s why I love carrying a bag like this with, for example, a fine suede jacket. The latter is more luxe and not designed to age in the same way, but it’s leant a sense of authenticity by its heavily aged companion. Perhaps it brings the fine suede down to earth.

Other combinations in this vein could be vintage jeans with a cashmere camel coat, or frayed tennis shoes with drapey linen trousers. It’s a species of high/low dressing, but to my mind not as obvious or obviously deliberate. Which also makes it less risky.

You do still need to keep an eye on formality – I wouldn’t carry this bag with a navy overcoat, or probably a double-breasted suit – but it’s not hard to get a sense of what makes for pleasing contrast.

OK, back to the bag.

As I said, I’ve had it for about seven years, and have carried it everywhere. The volume of compartments is extraordinary – it will hide a laptop in the back slot while overnight gear (a washbag, a T-shirt, some fresh underwear) expands the middle section to its limit.

It also has that crucial modern element – an outside compartment on the back.

We use our phones, headphones and other things so often these days, that it becomes frustrating if you have to undo the flap of a bag to access them each time. I’m sure that’s one reason tote bags have become popular.

So a discrete flap on the back allows you to drop your phone or wallet in there, and get it out quickly at the turnstile for a train, or when it pings with yet another message.

I’m actually having a beautiful Barenia briefcase made with the Swiss craftsman Peter Nitz at the moment, and I realise now it’s something I should have asked for. It’s particularly useful on a more formal briefcase like that, where you need two hands to open it.

Filson still sells this style of bag, or pretty close. It’s now called the Padded Computer Bag and has an added foam-padded section.

Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to be available on the European web shop, only the US one, which perhaps reflects that Filson uses a licensee – WP Lavori – to run the European side. More significantly, the repairs service is also not explicitly offered through this site, though I’m told bags can still be sent to the US for repair.

I feel this is significant because back when I bought the bag, repairs and longevity were a big part of Filson’s marketing. When I interviewed then President Gray Madden back in 2015 at Pitti (above), the stand was full of old bags as well as new – putting their history but also their repairs front and centre.

The shop on London’s Newburgh Street (which soon became two) also sold second-hand, repaired bags alongside new ones. Both those shops have since closed, and there have been reports about various parts of their US production shutting down or cutting staff in recent years.

I really hope this side of the business can survive. Although not inevitable, it’s much less likely that repairs will be offered if production moves outside of the US. I can’t think of any large brand that offers it from Asia, but several, such as Barbour and Mulberry, do in the UK.

Of course, the best way to help that kind of service survive is to patronise it, to demonstrate the demand. Hopefully articles like this – showing how attractive ageing can be, as well as publicising the brands that enable it – help a little as well.

I think this kind of canvas bag is great option for a guy today that doesn’t work in a suit every day.

It can still work with a suit – in the slightly absent-minded way a battered Barbour does – but its natural home is with the man who is more likely to wear chinos and a shirt to work, with a knit or coat over the top when required. I think that accounts for the majority of professionals I know.

It also has a pleasing bulk, which is something I think some men forget about when picking a work bag. Smaller and thinner bags – including Filson’s Original Briefcase – can look a little dinky, particularly when carried by a larger guy.

The downside of a canvas bag is that it gets dirty, but it’s not the hardest or most time-consuming thing to scrub with soapy warm water every few months. In fact rather like polishing shoes, I think it makes you appreciate the thing, and produces a feeling that has something in common with the thrill of buying new.

Other clothes shown are the PS Herringbone Donegal coat, old Armoury chinos, and Alden Color 8 cordovan Norwegians.

Photography: Jamie Ferguson

Fitting a bespoke jacket – in de Le Cuona stone-washed linen

Posted on 01/06/202202/06/2022 by Simon Crompton

The first fitting is where the craft of bespoke tailoring most reveals itself.

Imagine lifting up the point of one shoulder. That shortens that side of the jacket, so it will have to be lengthened. It changes the angle relative to the other shoulder, so that has to be changed. It affects the entire, three-dimensional shape, and each panel has to be tweaked accordingly.

Of course, that presumes you know what has to be changed in the first place.

Readers often ask about the wrinkles you get below the back of an armhole. Some are needed to allow movement in the back, but if you wanted to reduce them, how would you do it?

You could raise up that side of the jacket. Or you could pull it horizontally, cleaning the excess into the side seam. It may even just be a case of lowering the armhole, because the customer’s arm is pushing down on it.

Any of those might be best, or indeed some combination. You start to see why it’s hard to suggest how to improve fit without seeing a jacket in person. No self-respecting tailor I know would do so.

And you can see why some MTM start-ups struggle to get a good fit. In my experience, they usually clear any excess into the armhole and side seam, just because it’s easiest. It avoids those 3D considerations mentioned above that come from lifting one side or the other.

The problem is, that often just makes the jacket tighter. If only customers understood that a tight jacket is rarely elegant.

All of this by way of contrast to the fitting shown here, on a new jacket at Anderson & Sheppard, being made for me by head cutter Danny Hall (above).

I’ve had several suits and jackets from A&S in the past, as we documented in the first article in this series here. But Danny has never cut for me, and drew his own, fresh pattern (as covered in the second article).

Yet almost no changes were required at this first fitting. A little bit of cleaning up in the chest and back - solved by a combination of all three changes mentioned above - and we decided to shorten to length.

But everything else was minor, such as shortening the sleeves. The collar was already sitting nicely on the back of the neck, and relatively high up as A&S usually does.

Bespoke regulars will note that this is not a standard first fitting. Usually, the first fitting is less finished - more of a ‘baste’ where the jacket is loosely sewn together using prominent white stitches.

Anderson & Sheppard traditionally goes straight to the second stage, often called a ‘forward’, and skips the first one.

However it’s important to note that this is only for easier body shapes, such as mine. If the customer were harder to fit - with a large belly, or a prominent stoop - Danny and the other cutters might start with a basted fitting instead.

This is not so that more adjustments can be made, just that they can be made more easily. Nearly anything can still be changed to my jacket after this forward fitting, including fundamental things like the length. It’s just quicker if no such changes are required.

I often get questions from readers about the number of fittings they should expect from a tailor.

This is driven by the fact that cheaper tailors and MTM houses often try to minimise their fittings to save costs. It can be seen as a way to judge whether something is ‘real bespoke’, or the quality of MTM.

Unfortunately, in my experience there’s no clear correlation between number of fittings and the end result, at least among good bespoke. Although most tailors use two or three, A&S has always been good for me - as has Ciardi - with really only one fitting. Others, such as Joe at Chittleborough & Morgan, stretch into four or five without a clear difference.

The important thing with bespoke is to give the tailor time and space to work the way they want to. Respect their craft and don't rush.

Among cheaper offerings, MTM will nearly always produce a finished suit at the first ‘fitting’, with no fundamental changes possible. That doesn’t vary too much. With cheaper bespoke, it’s best just to judge by the end result. Ideally on someone you know has already used them, before you commission something yourself.

In our previous piece in this series I also promised I’d talk about the cloth. It’s a heavy stone-washed linen, produced by the interiors company de Le Cuona.

When I covered Bernie de Le Cuona a few months ago, I wondered whether their linens and velvets - so different to what tailoring mills offer - would work for tailoring.

The silk velvet proved to be too lightweight, but this linen was beautiful. Called Artist Canvas, it is heavier (15oz) and denser than tailoring linens, but is washed with pumice stones to soften it and give it a soft, flowing drape.

It comes in a great range of colours, many also different from what mills normally offer. This one, called terracotta, is a soft orange/red.

I was a little nervous about using it with A&S, given it was an experiment, but it looks like it’s going to work out well.

Some fabrics used for interiors are treated, and many are too heavy or stiff to be used for tailoring - others too light or open. Caution is advised.

But with the right advice from the producer and an experienced tailor, it’s an interesting area to explore. Indeed, one fabric from Holland & Sherry that I’ve used before - ‘Pardessus’ - is now only available in their interiors collection. I had heavy (and quite soft) trousers made out of it; I know Andreas Weinas had a lovely coat in it.

Any cloths can be ordered from de Le Cuona by the metre, by emailing them. The Artist Canvas costs £170 a metre.

However, I might wait until my jacket is finished and I’ve worn it a bit before jumping in. Just to be on the safe side.

This article is the third going in depth on the bespoke tailoring process, in the same way Permanent Style used to do when it first started.

Those posts were a lot shorter, but still, we did once do 13 posts on my first pair of Cleverley shoes.

The previous two articles in this series are:

Articles looking at the making and the final jacket are forthcoming.

Photography here: Alex Natt @adnatt

Brut Archives, Paris: Evolving vintage

Posted on 30/05/202230/05/2022 by Simon Crompton

Brut is an interesting French brand, and store. Since it was founded by Paul Ben Chemhoun (below) in 2012, it has evolved from a vintage shop, into a home for rescued and reworked clothing, and now its own brand.

When I visited earlier this year with Alex Natt and Tony Sylvester, on a warm Thursday afternoon, the place was buzzing. It’s not exactly in a fashion location - the 3rd arrondissement, but a few blocks north of the Marais - yet there were seven or eight customers in the small shop, plus five staff.

“We’ve acquired this reputation for being quite affordable and quite forward-thinking, which seems to bring people in,” said Paul. “This used to a wholesale jewellery store, but there’s more and more retail around us now - a skate shop just opened down the road.”

That reputation has largely been driven by Brut’s ‘Rework’ programme, where they take old vintage clothes that no one wants, and turn them into something new.

“The best example is probably the 1950s French chinos,” says Paul. “We had hundreds of pairs, but all size 36. The material was so great, and so was the hardware, so we cut them down and both gave them a modern fit and created a range of sizes.”

Quite a lot of the Rework pieces are too streetwear, or perhaps just too unusual, for me.

The gilets made out of old made-in-USA blankets, for example (below), are a random patchwork of red, yellow and blue stripes. And their most recent release is a range of trousers made out of US Mint coin bags - each featuring descriptions of their original contents.

But resizing the French chinos makes complete sense (second image below). Material like that is really hard to find today, and vintage examples are often in unwearable conditions or sizes. It’s also a step deeper into sustainability - not just reselling clothes, but remaking ones that won’t sell.

Brut’s most popular project was reworking unwanted Barbour jackets into shorter versions - more of a fishing-jacket length (third image). And some ranges have been closer to intensive repairs, like the ones Ben at Hang-Up Vintage (sadly now only online) has done over the years. These included French workwear trousers made out of cutting down overalls.

Let’s briefly go back to that evolution of the brand though.

Paul grew up around vintage, and early on began collecting vintage clothing and then selling it. Eventually this grew to the point where - as often seems to happen with vintage dealers - his collection was something designers and researchers would want to examine and borrow from.

This was separated off into Brut Vintage Archives, and today has its own showroom (top image below).

Then three years ago a team of three of them opened the shop, mostly selling vintage. Over time the Rework programme grew, taking over rails in the shop until now, when you visit, almost half of what you see on Rue Réaumur is reworked pieces.

But it’s about to be changed again, with the vintage clothing moving downstairs and the ground floor becoming entirely Rework and Brut-branded clothing. They’ve also increasingly done collaborations with brands.

This is all reflected in the website, which has been redesigned since we were in Paris. There are now separate areas for ‘Brut Collection’ and ‘Rework’, as well as for Vintage and a specific area for Army surplus (though some areas do overlap).

“It hasn’t been easy for the website to keep up, as we’ve expanded and changed,” says Paul. “We were three people when we opened the shop, and now there’s a staff of seven. But hopefully the new site makes everything easier to understand.”

Personally I think it’s really refreshing to see a brand evolve in this way. Vintage shops in particular can get into a bit of a rut of dealing with the same ageing customers and going down rabbit holes of rarity.

It’s great that the vintage side remains at Brut (I picked up an orange down gilet when I was there - the vintage selection is a little more modern and broader than somewhere like Le Vif) but the team is branching in different directions every few years too.

Whether it’s driven by financial necessity or a restless creativity doesn’t really matter. Given the state of retail at the moment, I think it just pays to remain flexible and open-minded. It might mean selling some vintage clothing as well as new, or hosting a particular set of trunk shows, but it’s the attitude that matters.

It’s particularly easy for menswear stores to get locked into a certain approach and a mindset, given their fairly narrow range of styles and categories of clothing. As a customer and a commentator, its energising to see something other than new collections change.

Thank you to Paul, Clement and the team for their hospitality.

Clement (pictured above, far left) runs his own brand content business, Crafted Paris, which is responsible for a lot of the great imagery Brut has produced. Some examples I particularly like below.

Photography elsewhere: Alex Natt @adnatt

The guayabera shirt: A report from our man in Mexico

Posted on 27/05/202230/05/2022 by Simon Crompton

By Manish Puri

If the average PS reader is anything like me (and after nearly a decade of reading I’ve no reason to believe they’re not) then the standard holiday wish list might read something like: good food, a nice drink, a museum visit, a friendly chat with some locals (which often follows the nice drink) and a nose around the menswear stores.

Which is why, during my recent travels around Mexico, in between drinking in culture and drinking in Mezcal, I was hoping to look at and, baggage allowance-permitting, acquire a guayabera.

The guayabera is a men’s summer shirt to be worn outside the trousers and the clásico style - as worn by Ernest Hemingway and Gary Cooper (top) and a market trader in Izamal (above) - is traditionally finished with:

Four patch pockets
Five sets of vertical pleats called alforzas – two running the length of the centre of the left and right front panels of the shirt and three running down the back.
Buttons on each of the four pockets and at the top and bottom of each set of pleats.
A western yoke across the back of the shoulders which, coupled with the three sets of alforzas, resembles the Cuban flag (more on that later).
A straight hem with button vented sides.
Most commonly made in white algodón (cotton) or lino (linen), which is the more expensive option.

Whilst cheaper guayaberas might have pre-pleated strips sewn to the shirt panels, the best will have the pleats carefully folded directly into the fabric. These pleats are a beautiful adornment to the shirts and showcase the skills of the makers, but they also allow the shirt to flex accordion-like as the wearer goes about their daily tasks.

Of course, in keeping with so much of the classic clothing covered on Permanent Style, this traditional design isn’t the destination, merely the starting point.

Today you’ll find a multitude of variants in the guayaberias across Mexico: no pleats, wide or fully pleated fronts (the Presidencial style below), every colour under the sun, vented and unvented sides, two pockets, jetted pockets, no pockets…the list goes on.

I also found shirts made from henequen (sisal) - a fibre derived from the agave plant. Mayan culture has a long tradition of using sisal (also known as green gold in these parts), its natural strength making it ideal for producing ropes, nets, rugs and hammocks.

The sisal shirts were soft and creamy (their natural undyed colour) and had a thick, crepe-like handle.

Most styles of guayaberas have a standard shirt collar but banded-collar shirts called Filipinas (more on that later as well) are also popular - as worn below by a young man (and the immaculate chap in the background) I saw at the weekly Serenata de Santa Lucia music event in Mérida.

Guayaberas come in both short sleeves and long sleeves, which gives them something of a split personality.

The former is for daily use, both socially and professionally for waiters, hotel staff, big band musicians and so on. This is one of the reasons why even the finest shops will stock poly-cotton blends – there is a large demand for inexpensive and durable makes.

The latter is considered appropriate for the most formal of occasions.

Indeed, in parts of Mexico the long-sleeve guayabera is worn by businessmen and politicians - former president Luis Echeverría was an avid proponent (above with Queen Elizabeth II in 1975, sporting a guayabera with French cuffs).

It’s also typically worn by men at weddings - made from the best fabrics and replete with intricate and colourful embroidered panels.

For me, nothing symbolised the guayabera’s formalwear status more than this amusingly familiar icon of ironic non-conformance - a guayabera printed on a t-shirt.

From what I could tell, the only design component that was a constant across all models was the straight hem - curved hems are only found on the shirts made for the growing women’s market.

I won’t go into detail on the history of the guayabera - I don’t purport to be an expert or anything other than an enamoured outsider.

However, there are numerous theories on its origins. Is it a distant relation of the Filipino Barong Tagalog? Was it originally a Cuban workwear shirt designed to carry guayabas (guavas) and brought to Mexico by the wealthy Yucatecans who shopped in Havana’s glamorous El Encanto department store? Was it named after yayaberos - the name given to people that lived by the Yayabo river in Cuba (and where there is now a guayabera museum).

The truth, like the alforzas, is difficult to unpick.

The first part of my travels took me through Mexico City, Puebla and Oaxaca de Juarez, where I saw very few guayaberas in the wild until we stumbled across a magnificent Oaxacan wedding party in the square outside the Templo de Santo Domingo de Guzmán.

Most of the male guests were wearing crisp, white guayaberas and black trousers; as was the groom, whose shirt was finished with yellow embroidered panels to harmonise with the stunning yellow and white traditional dress worn by his bride.

Despite this sighting, my research suggested that, while I would certainly find guayaberas in these cities, they wouldn’t necessarily be the best places on my trip to find them. Most of the shops I visited were camiserias - shirt shops that stocked guayaberas as part of their wider range. I also found a lot of the shirts were made of poly-cotton or cotton and struggled to find any in linen.

However, I did take some encouragement from these visits: most of the better quality guayaberas had labels stitched into them that said “heche en Mérida” (made in Mérida).

Mérida is the state capital of Yucátan and I was flying there after Oaxaca de Juarez. I’d been told that I would have little difficulty finding high quality guayaberas in the city and throughout Yucátan - the state having become a centre of production after the end of the Cuban revolution made it harder to procure shirts from Havana. Indeed, in Mexico the guayabera is also known as the camisa de Yucatán (Yucatán shirt).

The scent of guayaberas thickened in my nostrils upon landing at Mérida International Airport. I noticed that a few men (young and old) were wearing them. Whilst waiting for our backpacks to be unloaded from the plane I dashed off for a comfort break and my heart cheered when I saw the pictogram for the men’s toilet was also wearing a little guayabera. The game was afoot.

Once in town, guayabera stores were liberally dotted around Mérida’s Centro district - Calle 59 and 62 in particular. In keeping with shopping in the central zone of any tourist-friendly city, one has to be careful of buying not-so-good garments masquerading as good (I was specifically warned about poly-cotton blends that are woven like linen and sold at the equivalent price), or buying good garments at inflated prices.

For a solid range of classic guayaberas in a variety of colours and cloths (including Italian and Irish linen) I liked Guayaberas Jack - prices from MX$500 to MX$2000 ($25 to $100) and they ship to the UK and US.

A lot of their stock is made on-site in a small workshop at the back of store, so when I enquired about the availability of a short-sleeve version of a long-sleeve shirt that I took a shine to, General Manager Billy pointed at four machinists taking a coffee break and said they could make the long sleeve into a short sleeve in 10 minutes.

However, of all the shops I visited the one that stood apart was Katab Guayaberas, a small boutique owned by Alberto Rello (below left) and managed by Maru Bautista (right) – prices from MX$1000 to MX$3000.

Alberto has been selling guayaberas for over 20 years and I spent a couple of hours with him and Maru discussing the brand; Maru performed sterling translation work and any gaps were filled with my Duolingo Spanish, hand gestures and Google translate.

Katab carry two labels. The first is La Plaza del Recreo which is their casual line, with most shirts made from cotton and poly-cotton and designs that lean towards the simpler, more informal end of the spectrum.

I loved the classic Cubano model (below) and since my visit I’ve been messaging Alberto and Maru about having a short-sleeve version made up in a mustard linen.

However, it was the eponymous Katab label that drew my eye. This is Alberto’s premium line with shirts made in Italian linen and linen-cotton blends and finished with polished mother of pearl buttons.

These guayaberas are for more formal occasions such as parties and weddings, so the details on some of them might be a little showy for readers – contrast collars and plackets, for example – but these can be changed with made to order purchases.

It’s worth noting here that these types of flourishes aren’t unique to Katab: a lot of the guayaberas I saw in Mexico were aimed at younger people that are keen to wear these shirts but are equally keen to avoid looking like an elderly relative. Alberto said most of his customers are 35 to 55 years old, but the 20 to 30 year old base is growing.

As these shirts are for special occasions they are finished with stunning hand embroidered designs, which are all the creation of Alberto and take their inspiration from pre-Hispanic culture and architecture – the pattern above, for example, represents an aerial view of the pyramid temple to the serpent deity of Kukulcán at Chichén Itzá.

It was this mix of a classic menswear garment, traditional handwork techniques and design rooted in local culture and mythology that really captured me.

Katab’s shirts are made in Mérida, and they are one of a handful of makers whose guayaberas are certified as Así es la guayabera. This is an initiative of the National Chamber of the Garment Industry to protect and promote the Yucatecan guayabera, partly in response to the impact on local makers from the influx of cheaper, Chinese shirts into the US.

Any shirt bearing this certificate has been manufactured by a legally constituted company, meets certain traditional design standards and is completely made from quality materials in the Yucatán.

Once the unembroidered shirts are ready, Alberto drives them, along with his designs, to various small towns and villages an hour or two south of Mérida – Teabo, Maní and Tekax. There he delivers them to local artisans who are skilled in katab (the Mayan word for cross stitch).

The art of cross stitch was extremely popular in Europe in the 19^th century and subsequently became one of the most prominent forms of needlework in Mexico.

The shirt above was decorated with eleven stunning hummingbirds which are believed to carry good thoughts between people, and have come to symbolise love and the remembrance of loved ones. I was told it would take around five to six days work to embroider a shirt like this.

Below you can see the reverse of a shirt and the neatness of the pleats and the precision of the cross stitch.

Alberto was rightly proud of his role in bringing work to the small towns and villages, and is eager to foster a connection between his customers and the artisans. Each shirt has a tag with the name of the woman that stitched the design.

It is still predominantly women that do this work - Alberto said that on occasion when he knows a man has done the needlework the tag is still returned with a woman’s name on it out of embarrassment. Ultimately, Alberto wants to incorporate a unique QR code in each shirt that allows the customer to learn more about their specific embroiderer.

I hope he’s successful with his ambition as it would help elevate these artisans and perhaps inspire future generations. Alberto’s rueful closing comments echoed conversations I’ve had with tailors in Europe: the generational transfer of these skills is tapering off. I nodded in agreement, “it’s incredibly hard work demanding skill, persistence and experience” I suggested. Alberto was quick to add a final essential quality: passion.

What makes quality jeans – and should you care?

Posted on 25/05/202211/03/2025 by Simon Crompton

A reader commented recently (I paraphrase): “Why should I care about old jeans? They were all mass produced and basically the same.”

There are a couple of things wrong with that. The first is that mass production doesn’t necessarily mean lower quality. It often does, but anyone that’s seen Loro Piana weaving, or Hermes silk, will know scale can also produce the absolute best quality.

The second, more important point builds on the first. Jeans have not always been the same. Mass production of denim used to be much better, both because of better materials and better processes.

That’s a reason for buying, for example, vintage from the 1960s rather than 1970s. But that same quality of production can also be seen today, if you know what to look for.

Today’s article is intended to provide a breakdown of what factors make quality denim; the effect each factor has on your jeans; and finally, which ones I would personally prioritise.

When you read that a pair of jeans uses synthetic indigo and is ring spun, you’ll know what that means – and have an opinion on whether you should care.

Cotton

The cotton that goes into denim is arguably the most important factor of all. Rather like cooking, if you start with good ingredients the end result will be good, no matter how simply it’s made.

I can’t take credit for that metaphor. That goes to Illya of Blackhorse Lane Ateliers, who along with designer Leanne, helped me with the technical details on this piece as well as giving me their opinion on what they would prioritise.

“With cotton the important thing is to have a long staple, which normally comes standard when you source from a particular area, such as Zimbabwe cotton,” says Illya. And what effect does that have? “It means the denim is stronger, but also softens better over time as well – that’s why those old 60s Levi’s are so soft after so long.”

I can see that with my various old Levi’s. An old 1990s pair I have has been worn to death – and looks great in that way – but the cotton has become stiffer and coarser over time. The denim on my 1960s pair, by contrast, is incredibly soft.

Being long staple also creates greater character: you get more noticeable variation in the denim. “Cheap cotton is made up of shorter fibres, and looks more uniform as a result,” says Illya. This is something that will come up repeatedly in this article: premium denim has more natural character to it (eg above), where others are smoother and more uniform.

Which you prefer is a personal choice – they’re just different looks. I prefer the variety of fading and colours you get with more characterful denim, but that’s my preference. I’ll explain why, then you can make up your own mind.

Other aspects of the cotton don’t matter as much as the staple length. Fine cotton isn’t a priority, unlike with luxury suitings or shirtings, and while organic denim is nice, high-end cottons are usually produced in a more sustainable way anyway. You need to use fewer pesticides and take better care of the soil to produce that type of plant.

Spinning

There are broadly two options here, ring spun and open-end spun.

Ring spinning is the original method, invented in the US in 1828, and involves thinning the cotton using frames before twisting it. Open-end spinning has been used by most manufacturers since the 1970s, and is like the methods used for making materials for shirts or tailoring.

Ring spinning costs more and takes longer, but produces a softer, stronger yarn, and one with slightly more variation – similar to the distinction between long and short-staple cotton. Open-end spun denim also tends to have a cleaner finish.

“Italian mills like Candiani prefer open-spun denim, because they want uniformity and consistency,” says Illya. “The Japanese, on the other hand, have largely stayed faithful to the old methods and produce more irregular, perhaps more interesting denim.

“We use Candiani as well as something Japanese like Kaihara, because we want to offer customers both. You can spot Italian denim from a mile off – it’s so much smoother and more refined.”

Both Leanne and Illya said they preferred ring spun, but suggested someone who was into tailoring might prefer something smoother. I found this interesting, because despite being a tailoring nerd, it’s the natural, organic look I love. To my mind the difference is more similar to fine shoes, where menswear enthusiasts value the patina the leather acquires over time, rather than a uniform surface.

Dyeing

There are broadly two options here as well: rope dyeing (above) and slasher dyeing. (This is dyeing the yarn, we’re not getting into dyeing the cloth or the finished jeans – piece dyeing or garment dyeing.)

Rope dyeing is the original, slasher dyeing an invention of the 1970s. Interestingly, many of the inventions were made in Europe, because Europeans had seen worn-in blue jeans from America and wanted that, rather than the dark, raw denim they had started as. Hence Italy’s dominance in this area.

The difference between dyeing and spinning is that a lot of denim today is still rope dyed. That’s because rope dyeing leaves more of the denim white, creating that fading that everyone expects from jeans – or wants immediately from washed jeans. With slasher dyeing – in sheets rather than ropes – the yarn is exposed to the indigo for longer and absorbs more.

When it comes to the indigo used in the dyeing, nearly everything is synthetic. This might seem surprising, given the emphasis on natural processes everywhere else, but synthetic indigo has been used since 1897, and took over natural indigo as the most popular choice in 1913.

As a result, all the denim we’ve seen uses synthetic indigo, and that’s what we expect. Natural indigo has a rather green cast, fades more slowly, and doesn’t produce high-contrast fades.

Weaving

Another dichotomy here: shuttle looms or projectile looms.

Generally, denim woven on a shuttle loom (above) will be woven slower and as a result have less tension and more slubbiness. Both characteristics generally favoured by enthusiasts – and which line up with long-staple cotton, ring spinning and rope dyeing.

However, there is more variation among mills here, with some good denims being produced on projectile looms – just with better ingredients and other processes.

Also, the split between types of loom is a simplification, as you can get faster and slower projectile looms, and even ones that intentionally reproduce the ‘loom chatter’ that Cone Mills looms used to get from sitting on wooden boards rather than concrete floors.

The issue is further complicated by the issue of selvedge.

The selvedge (self-edge) is the strip that runs down both sides of a piece of denim, stopping it from fraying. It’s usually used on the outside seam of a pair of jeans, and so is visible if you turn up the hem (above).

Selvedge used to be a guarantee of quality because it indicated how the denim had been made. But some brands have been known to put fake selvedge on denim, or simply to weave it with a selvedge but use cheap raw materials, because the selvedge is what people care about.

“The thing is, selvedge only indicates one aspect of how denim has been made, and you need all of them to produce great jeans,” says Leanne.

Still, at an absolute minimum, selvedge does indicate that the manufacturer has gone to some kind of effort to give the impression of quality. “And if you add that to the fact it’s Japanese, you pretty much know it’s going to be quality without knowing everything else about the processes,” Leanne says.

Some of the factors that go into denim are mixed up: quality cotton, for example, that is slasher dyed and woven on a projectile loom. But usually, there is a clear difference in the intended look: natural, varied, fading or smooth, consistent and homogenous.

I’ve illustrated the difference above – an Italian denim from P Johnson on the left, a Japanese jean from Full Count on the right. I can see how some people might think the left is easier to wear, particularly with smarter clothing. But to me it looks like an imitation.

Below, I’ve shown some close-ups. First of raw denim, comparing open-end spun/slasher dyed to ring spun/rope dyed; then worn examples. The difference is there, but not that marked, on the raw denims. Once they’re worn and washed it’s pretty obvious.

I’ve already pointed out the parallel with shoes, but perhaps there’s one with flannel as well.

The reason I don’t like worsted flannel is that in order to make the material lighter, most of the things that make flannel attractive are removed – its softness, its fuzziness, its handle. I don’t want to sacrifice all of those in order to get a flannel I can wear in summer, because it isn’t actually flannel any more. It’s something different.

The same is true of denims that are trying to be smoother and less varied. You’re making a denim that is easier to produce and sell, but at the expense of some of things that made jeans attractive in the first place. At the very least, it’s a different type of material.

Many thanks to Illya, Leanne and the rest of the Blackhorse Lane team for their help with this article. You can read about how jeans are actually made, and Blackhorse Lane’s unique take on it, in a previous article here.

We also covered raw denim, washing it and sizing it, quite thoroughly in a previous article here.

If you want more detailed technical information, Heddels is one of the best resources on the web.

Credit for the close-up images goes to Illya at Blackhorse Lane.

What shoes should I wear with brown trousers?

Posted on 23/05/202224/05/2022 by Simon Crompton

This might seem like a fairly simple question, but it comes up so often in comments that I think it’s worth answering in full here, and then directing anyone in the future to this post.

The reason people ask about shoes with brown trousers, of course, is that brown is probably the most common colour of (smart) shoe and that is presumed to be ruled out, being too similar to the trousers.

The classic alternative would be black, and a black shoe looks great with brown - whether chinos, cords or flannels.

The only problem is that black is also the smartest colour, and for a lot of people it’s a shoe they’d only wear to work, or to a similarly smart event.

Personally I think they should give black another chance. As we’ve discussed before, it’s great if you like to wear a lot of tonal, cold colours, as I do. And taken out of a work context, it can look very chic.

Go for a loafer or a boot, rather than a cap-toe oxford, consider different materials like suede, cordovan or grain.

Next, let’s talk about brown - wearing brown shoes with brown trousers.

First off, if the suit is a mid- or light brown, dark-brown shoes are fine. With my Dalcuore brown tweed suit above, the shoes are clearly darker than the suit, creating the distinction between the two that’s normally the aim with smarter dressing.

It’s nice too that the two are differentiated by texture, being shiny calf against matte wool.

However, if you don’t have the same requirement to be smart (and you may not, given black has already been ruled out) then it can be fine if the shoes are a touch lighter than the trousers.

Above, I’m wearing the ‘dark oak’ colour of leather from Edward Green as a loafer, with the darker brown of Fox ‘charbrown’ flannel above.

It helps here that the shoes and trousers are, as above, different textures. One is a reflective calf and the other a light-sucking flannel.

It also helps that the loafers contain more than one colour of brown. Burnishing by the manufacturer, and wear and polishing by the owner, mean that the shoe is now almost as dark as the trouser on its heel and toe. This fits in much more easily than a simple, flat mid-brown.

Then having understood the rules, we start breaking them for effect.

As Anglo-Italian demonstrate with their combination above, a brown shoe that is almost exactly the same as the trousers isn’t necessarily bad.

It’s just a look, in much the same way as the navy shirt with the navy jacket. This is no longer professional, office dressing, and many of the rules don’t apply as a result. It’s just a pleasing, tonal style.

The other option for shoes is a dark colour that isn’t brown or black. Horween’s Color 8 cordovan is, for me, king in this regard.

Color 8 varies a little naturally, and Alden famously redyes theirs when they buy it from Horween. But you want it to be as dark as possible, and that can be achieved with (tentative) use of black cream or polish if you want.

This colour is so dark that for many people, they don’t notice it’s not black. And yet it’s clearly richer and deeper than black, and doesn’t have that office-shoe look.

The colour is also quite purple, with some blue in there, which might be why it looks - for me - so much better than most colours referred to as ‘burgundy’. Redder tones can be OK with navy, but I like them less with charcoal or brown trousers.

I’ve never particularly liked burgundy or dark green in shoes. They stray too far into the dandy category a friend likes to call ‘coloured shoes’. By which I believe he means everything apart from black, brown and white.

Speaking of white, an ecru canvas shoe can be nice with a casual brown trouser, such as cotton or linen.

And speaking of canvas, black canvas can be great with brown chinos too. Something like the black Doek oxford, but with the black laces they come with rather than white.

I think that’s about it. I have seen tan leather shoes look OK with brown trousers, but it’s not something I would wear myself.

If black loafers feel a little dull with your brown trousers, maybe try some colourful (but dark) socks, rather than striving for brighter shoes.

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