Author: Manish Puri

Maison Hellard: Tasteful, experimental linen

Posted on by Manish Puri

Maison Hellard: Tasteful, experimental linen

Friday, September 6th 2024Tags:
Share
Subscribe
28 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri.

I’m in a car with Nathan Hellard - the founder of French linen merchant Maison Hellard - and we’re kindly being chauffeured by Nathan’s father, Philippe, from Pau to the commune of Assat, where the company is based. 

It’s a hot day, but the air conditioning offers some relief. As we chat about the imminent arrival of the Olympic flame in Pau, en route to Paris, Nathan starts to shift uncomfortably. 

He turns to his father and asks in French, “Did you put my car seat warmer on?” Philippe begins to laugh uncontrollably at the success of his prank.

What does this have to do with linen? Absolutely nothing except, perhaps, to serve as a reminder of one of the less-acknowledged reasons we spend so much time, money and energy on quality clothing: connections.

None of us enjoys feeling like the last link in a supply chain: a unit of consumption as mechanical and relentless as the assembly lines that churn out the goods. We’re worldly enough to understand that this is the way it is, but that doesn’t mean we don't long for something better. 

Imagine a business where the founder (in between designing cloth and replying to emails) pulls heavy rolls of linen down from the beautiful wooden shelves that his father (in between cracking Dad-jokes) made by hand. Once set down on the table, his mother (Michèle) inspects, presses and cuts the cloth to order. Now imagine your relationship with a jacket made from that cloth. Their maison and yours are connected.

Nathan’s route to founding Maison Hellard began (after serving in the French army and working for Airbus) at Zegna, before a move to Scabal was cut short by the pandemic. However his time at these brands was enough to convince him that his future lay in his own cloth business. The question was, what cloth?

While Nathan had lived in Paris and Asia, most of his life was spent around the southwest of France. “There are lots of farmers in this region,” he told me, “and I wanted to honour that by making something using French growers. In the end, we settled on Normandy linen.”

To help ensure they source the highest quality linen and support local growers, Maison Hellard have partnered with Terre de Lin - a co-operative that represents over 600 farmers in the region.

Their linen is dyed and woven in Italy. It’s often said that Italians have a penchant for bolder, stronger colours when it comes to linen (heck, if English summers were as routinely sun-drenched as Italian ones, I might too). But Nathan’s preference is for softer, subtler shades - he uses the word “muted” a lot through our conversations.

Perhaps it’s the six years he spent in the military or his fondness for walking his chocolate-brown cocker spaniel Vaillant (the unofficial mascot of the business) in the French countryside, but the Maison Hellard shelves are filled with army greens, dress uniform blues and earthy browns.

How this is achieved is one of Nathan’s proudest accomplishments, and I think the key thing that sets Maison Hellard apart. Rather than rely on the standard colours offered by most Italian spinners, each of the Maison Hellard yarns is dyed to their own colours which are exclusive to them. 

Their choice of colours - a sample of which can be seen on the pinboard above - is narrow when compared to the gatefold-brochures of industry colour charts, but it’s carefully defined and establishes a real lingua franca. In my view, it's what makes Maison Hellard's range of linens - plain or patterned - so tasteful.

“We’re not reinventing the wheel here - ultimately we’re just laying one yarn on top of another,” Nathan notes with characteristic understatement. But with such beautiful source materials, you can see how lovely the possibilities are - we spend the next 15 minutes crisscrossing different yarns to a chorus of “oohs” and “ahs”.

The board also allows Nathan to illustrate one of his newest developments: two-ply linen (a yarn where two single strands are twisted together). While multi-ply linen is available on the market it's often piece-dyed, so the whole fabric is dyed after it has been woven. The Maison Hellard two-ply is yarn-dyed, which allows threads of two different colours to be twisted together. 

Compare these similar coloured linens from Maison Hellard’s collection - Provence (above left) and Horizon (above right). They're not directly comparable, given the Provence is a plain weave and the Horizon is a twill, but the two-ply of the latter does help show the extra body and visual interest that this yarn can offer.

A yarn-dyed two-ply also makes it possible to make patterned cloth out of yarns which already have some really interesting things going on. It means a basic two-colour check pattern could consist of four different coloured individual strands - just imagine the depth and variety of colours that could be woven into a more complex design.

Other Maison Hellard cloths that caught my eye were the linen, cashmere and silk blends with a subtle sheen from the silk, and a luxuriously soft handle from the cashmere allied with the texture of linen. I also really liked their 18oz linen denim, woven in Osaka and available in jet black, natural and indigo - the latter of which I recently saw made up as a crisp jean jacket by Whitcomb & Shaftesbury (below).

It’s clear that Nathan relishes experimenting with different cloths, developing collections and reviving old designs. “We’re too small not to take risks,” he says. The diminutiveness of the business has another benefit: unburdened by cloth agents, marketing and other intermediaries, they can quickly produce small runs of cloth when inspiration strikes - something I’ve observed first hand.

Earlier this year, I happened to be in Taillour’s atelier at the same time that Nathan was visiting. While browsing their stock of vintage cloth, he became enamoured with a 1970s tweed - a biscuit Prince of Wales check that Fred’s business partner Lee had found in a dusty cloth shop in Portugal - and took a few photos of it for reference.

The next time I was in Taillour, just a few months later, I noticed a familiar looking, freshly-delivered bolt of cloth on the desk. It turned out that Nathan, inspired by the tweed, had designed a similar style in 100% linen (below). It is now available exclusively at Taillour and is named ‘Peck’s Yard’ after the East London street where their atelier is located.

Finally, on the subject of Taillour, I promised readers that I would save my thoughts on how my summer double-breasted suit, made from a Maison Hellard ivory 12/13oz linen (below), fared for this article.

I've never commissioned anything in Italian linen, which Maison Hellard might be closest to, but of the linens I have tried I’ve found Irish linen to be crisp and dry; Solbiati’s ‘Art Du Lin’ to have a matte, almost suede-like finish; and the Maison Hellard linen a pleasingly soft, almost brushed handle.

The cloth is a twill and, in my experience and all other things being equal, these often drape better than a plain weave. Stains can also appear less prominent on the ridged surface - a helpful property in such a light coloured cloth.

I’ve been fortunate enough to attend the summer edition of Pitti Uomo (where the photos below were taken) a few times now - sporting tropical wool, seersucker and Irish linen along the way - and the most comfortable I’ve felt in those sweltering Florentine days and nights was wearing the Maison Hellard linen.

Now, before we alert the media about my findings, I should acknowledge that this isn’t exactly a scientific comparison - Fred’s relaxed cut is a contributory factor here too - but, even so, I’ve no compunctions telling people that this linen wears fairly cool.

I’ve also been impressed with how the cloth holds up over the course of a day. It holds a crease fairly well and while it does accumulate more rumples than Irish linen, they tend to be softer and slightly quicker to fall out after being hung. The jacket holds up better than the trousers, but show me a cloth where the reverse is true.

Ultimately, you can judge its performance for yourself from the photos. The first one (where I’m sitting next to Nathan) was taken around lunchtime, and the second taken in the evening - after 10 hours of wear and 15,000 steps in 27 degrees celsius weather.

I’d characterise Maison Hellard cloth as the romantic’s choice. Those who are already unimpressed by linen’s nonchalance are unlikely to be won over by Maison Hellard (to those naysayers, may I suggest tropical wool?), but those who adore linen and embrace it without reservation or fear of crumpling will find a lot to love here. Of course, romantics long for partners, and in Taillour’s relaxed and breezy cut I think the linen found an ideal companion.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

My Favourite Madras Shirt: Original Madras Trading Company

Posted on by Manish Puri

My Favourite Madras Shirt: Original Madras Trading Company

Share
Subscribe
69 Comments
Friday, August 9th 2024Tags:
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

In 1973, Ranjit Shah left his hometown of Madras (now Chennai) carrying a suitcase full of cloth swatches and emigrated to New York City. Within a few years, he’d established Original Madras Trading Company (OMTC) on West 38th Street, and secured contracts to supply both cloth and finished garments to the giants of American menswear. 

Ralph Lauren, Brooks Brothers, Gant, J Crew, J Press, Tommy Hilfiger and L.L. Bean - all became customers of OMTC.

Fifty years later, and still based in the same headquarters in the Garment District, the business has passed to Prasan - the third generation of the Shah family. While Prasan is keen to preserve their legacy by continuing to supply machine-loomed cloth (madras being just one of them) to major retailers, he’s also reinvigorated OMTC’s foundational offering: authentic hand-woven madras.

All of the Madras garments released under OMTC’s own-label (established by Prasan in 2020) are hand woven on a handloom by a single weaver. 

Produced at a rate of one metre every two to three hours, hand weaving is 30-40 times slower than standard machine loomed cloth. So why do it?

First, it’s a sustainable process: handlooms require no power, and the overarching philosophy of hand weaving - slow, methodical, mindful - often results in less wastage than mechanised production.

Second, there’s a design advantage - machine looms are typically limited to eight colours of yarn, but there’s no restriction when it comes to handlooms, which opens up the possibility of unlimited variation and depth of colour.

However, as you might expect, the primary benefit lies in the quality of the cloth itself. Hand-woven fabric has a texture and personality that’s often lost to the uniform precision of the power loom. 

It’s for this reason, having worn them for the last three summers, that the OMTC shirt has become my favourite madras shirt, and an excellent warm-weather option. 

My N°5 classic button-down shirt ($185/£160) in a standard weave - the breathable yarn construction and finish traditionally associated with Madras - is fantastically soft and lightweight (2.85oz Indian cotton) without feeling too delicate. As a result, the OMTC Madras was the only shirt I felt comfortable wearing on a recent trip to Mexico, where the daily temperature consistently topped 35 degrees celsius. 

The fit helps in this regard too - comfortable through the chest and waist, with sleeves that can easily be pushed or rolled up past the elbows. A classic fit.

The soft collar is very lightly fused. Perfectly fine for casual wear, but those who want to pair the shirt with formal tailoring or demand a collar roll that coils up and over like a cobra’s head might need to consider other options.

The shirts are finished to a neat and tidy standard. Prasan told me that, as Madras is at heart a casual cloth, they use 16 stitches per inch (spi) - high for casual shirts but below the 18-20 spi one might see on dress shirts.

Regardless of how fine the finishing is, I will say that my OMTC shirts have held up great  over the last couple of years, even surviving the rigours of a Mexican laundry on my travels.

The one detail I’m not a huge fan of is the metal shank button at the bottom of each placket (above). However, having spoken to Prasan about it, I’ve since learned that each button is inscribed with the Tamil symbol for Om - a sacred symbol in Hinduism - and now I can feel my ancestors’ gaze burning on my neck (in my defence, I know the Hindi symbol). In any case, given that I seldom wear my shirts untucked, the button isn’t a major deterrent.

For a small brand, OMTC offers quite a lot of styles in different weaves and weights. They can appear slightly confusing at first glance, but their ‘N°‘ classification does help decode it. 

I’ve tried various models and I really like the pyjamas (especially the ones above), the dressing gowns and the short-sleeved shirts. Last autumn, I also picked up one of their winter Madras shirts - a heavier plain weave that has been softly brushed - which is very cosy and made a nice alternative to flannel overshirts. 

There are some designs that I’m not as keen on - such as the baseball shirt - but you have to respect OMTC’s efforts to broaden Madras’s appeal beyond the Anglocentric notion of it being just an Ivy button-down cloth.

If you like the idea of hand-woven fabric, but you're looking for something a bit different from the OMTC designs, there is one additional advantage of hand weaving that might help. The production minimums (the minimum length of cloth that needs to be produced for a run) are much lower for handloom than a machine equivalent.

This means OMTC can experiment with different weaves and styles, but also collaborate with smaller makers and retailers that might otherwise be deterred by the minimum volume of machine-woven cloth that they would have to commit to buying. I know Simon is working on something for Permanent Style, hopefully for next year.

Two current collaborators with markedly different offerings spring to mind. The first is The Armoury, who have reproduced their house button-down model (Isaac) in three hand-woven OMTC cloths (above). It’s a more classic style than the OMTC own-label version, with a generous collar roll to suit more tailored looks.

The Armoury have also released a version of their Model 11 jacket in an OMTC compact weave (above) - still pretty light at around 5oz, but much more densely woven than the standard weave. 

I asked Prasan whether they’d ever sell lengths of Madras cloth to be made up into jackets or other tailored clothing, and he said they’re working on something in the upcoming months. However, in the meantime if a reader is looking for a length, he invites them to contact OMTC via the website or Instagram and they can discuss options.

The second collaboration is with Nigel Cabourn Japan, who have produced a range of different products - shorts, hats, dungarees and shirts (below) - with a more regularly-patterned plaid made of bolder colours in a relaxed silhouette. This is the first such release in what’s scheduled to be an ongoing seasonal collaboration.

On the subject of pattern and colour - two of the defining characteristics of madras - I know it’s something that a lot of guys can be apprehensive about, especially those that dress more conservatively or classically.

It’s one of the reasons why I think madras shirts tend to have a lower ‘hit rate’ than other shirts. Show me five blue chambray shirts, and I might like four. Show me five in Madras, and I’ll probably like two, and you might like two different ones.

That’s because picking the right Madras is a highly subjective choice, and one that I think should be informed by what colours you like and, by extension, what colours are already in your wardrobe, because that can help guide how you can wear the shirt.

For example, if the look above (shot by Jamie Ferguson) was described to me, I’d be anticipating a hot mess.

Velvet slippers, dazzlingly white jeans, a blush-pink jumper and a multi-coloured shirt; in theory, every one of those garments sounds bold, and ‘the rules' might caution you to temper them by combining with more neutral and fewer attention-grabbing components.

In practice, because each colour is echoed and anchored by my OMTC shirt, this is one of my favourite combinations ever, and a perfect encapsulation of what Madras clothing means to me: a joyous and colourful celebration of summer - albeit an English one, where a jumper is never too far from hand.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Cream linen DB suit from Taillour: Review

Posted on by Manish Puri

Cream linen DB suit from Taillour: Review

Share
Subscribe
112 Comments
Wednesday, August 7th 2024Tags:
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

Even when scarred with multiple, dubious stains that were immune to the efforts of the finest dry cleaners, I soldiered on with my first ever pair of cream linen trousers - commissioned eight years ago at Graham Browne. However, eventually my outlay on beer and nice dinners exceeded the inlay in the back, and I had to accept that these were the strides of a distant echo of myself.

I spent all of 23 minutes mourning my loss before remembering that when God closes a door, he opens a tailor’s window wide enough for even my beer belly to squeeze through. Surely the logical step, the only thing that could help me move on, was to commission a replacement pair of trousers. But why stop there? 

At first glance, a cream suit might seem a frivolous indulgence - only to be worn at events where there’s a cast iron guarantee that no blood will be shed and no drinks thrown (which rules out family gatherings and dates). But it’s undeniably a beautiful thing, plus one of its strengths as a suit lies in its versatility, given how successfully it can be broken into separates. 

I was also enticed by the prospect of finding out how well a cream linen jacket could moonlight as a summer dinner jacket - something I might explore further in a future article.

With that settled, I elected to go for a double-breasted suit because I didn’t have a summer DB suit in my wardrobe. In fact the only DB suit I’ve ever had (bespoke or otherwise) is a recent commission from Taillour in a pinstripe flannel. 

I was very pleased with how that suit had turned out, and given a cream suit has the potential to be a little bold, I figured to myself it was smart to avoid more unknown variables: stick with a maker whose style I was already familiar, comfortable, and (most importantly) happy with.

I won’t retread the specifics of Taillour’s process, quality or fit - these are well covered in Simon’s reviews of his two commissions. However, I will echo what Simon said in his introductory piece, which is that Fred Nieddu (the head cutter) is “open to almost any idea”. The first discussion is always very organic and fluid - my somewhat disorganised thoughts on what I want smoothly translated into a drawing whipped up extemporaneously by Fred (below). 

Having observed how I fussed and fidgeted when an earlier single-breasted Taillour jacket was cut close to my body, Fred and I agreed on more generous proportions for my winter DB. An extended shoulder, fuller chest, broad lapels with a bit of belly, more room through the back, straighter trousers. Soft classical: English shape and drape in union with Italian ease and comfort. 

This was the template we followed for my cream suit, and it’s something Fred himself observed as becoming “more and more common in what we’re doing”, going on to say, “it's about as soft a style you’re likely to find in London, without going to a purely Italian-oriented maker such as Speciale [the Florentine-trained tailors in West London]”.

Interestingly, the canvas was cut on the bias (i.e. at a 45 degree angle to the weave) - a technique used to accentuate its natural softness and stretch, promoting better shape around the body- and was padded in an unusual manner, as one of Fred’s tailors Josh Tarimo explains:

"It’s based on an old Italian style we've dubbed a ‘swirl’ canvas (below) where, instead of doing directional pad stitch in a linear pattern, it's padded in a circular pattern and motion radiating outwards from around the nipple. It gives a lot of drape through the chest and will soften with the body over time, and that’s ultimately what we want: to not force the cloth too much and let it do what it wants to do.”

The result ranks among my favourite commissions ever. Bespoke’s base appeal is the promise of a superior fit and plentiful choice, but its siren call rests in the prospect of developing and refining your own sartorial identity. It’s simultaneously alluring and fraught with danger.

My previous commissions, as loved as they are, are stricter adherents to a house style or pre-defined visual template. This suit (and its flannel sibling) by contrast, are first steps towards exploring what that identity might be. 

Of course, I’m a long way from realising it, and some seasoned veterans of bespoke will tell me that ambition is a chimaera - the more your vocabulary expands, the more you want to say - but, with a skilled and willing collaborator such as Fred, it’s bloody fun trying. 

Having worn the suit a few times, there’s one minor stylistic point that I remain unsure of: the size of the collar - the piece that connects the two lapels around the neck. To my eyes, it seems a little large, almost swallowing the peak of the lapel whole. I’ve mentioned it to a few friends who’ve seen me in the suit, and they all say the same thing: I hadn’t noticed it, I’m not sure it is too big, but I kind of see what you mean.

My complaint here puts me in mind of something Frasier Crane tells his brother Niles after they judge a perfect meal to be marred by the absence of an outstanding cognac on the restaurant’s carte de digestif: What is the one thing better than an exquisite meal? An exquisite meal with one tiny flaw we can pick at all night.

I’ve already spoken to Fred about it (the collar, not the Frasier episode) and it’s an easy fix. My general stance on alterations that aren’t related to a fundamental problem (which this clearly isn’t) is to wait-and-see. If it still bothers me next spring, I can get the collar a little more scooped out before the summer season, but it’s nice to give something the opportunity to grow on you - and perhaps one day I’ll look at the collar as one of the defining features of this suit.

What’s more important to me is understanding why I hadn’t paid as much attention to the collar until the jacket was complete. I think it’s because a lot of tailors only attach a roughly shaped collar canvas (without cloth) for the first fitting or two, so the eye drifts toward the more ‘finished’ areas, which also happen to be the parts of the jacket which receive more attention naturally: the lapels, waist, buttoning point and length. 

I’d stress that this isn’t unique to Taillour; I’ve trawled the PS archives and can see that Simon has had many similar fittings. It’s a necessary byproduct of the construction, as Fred explains: “If we need to drop the shoulder or change the fit around the neck, we’d potentially have to recut a new piece of cloth which could be quite wasteful. We do chalk in a collar line on the canvas, but I’m sympathetic to the customer because it does require a bit of imagination to visualise the final garment”.

Some may say that my realisation here smacks of being unobservant or unimaginative. I’d say this is simply part of the learning curve of bespoke - which includes accepting that, even with a patient tailor like Fred who affords you ample time at a fitting, the brain can’t always evaluate every aspect of a garment that is, by its nature, nuanced, complex and unique. 

Experience (and imagination) helps of course, but I still find I often just need to take a suit out for a test drive to truly get a feel for it.

For the cloth, having previously made commissions in Irish linen, I was keen to try an Italian equivalent - something softer, with an ease and repose that befit the style of the suit.

I went for an ivory 12/13oz linen made by Maison Hellard - a French house that sources linen from Normandy to be woven in Italy.

I've been impressed for some time with Maison Hellard’s collections - specifically their taste level when it comes to colour palette and patterns - and I recently paid a visit to their maison near Pau in the southwest of France. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep my thoughts on how the cloth performed and what Maison Hellard are doing more generally for a future piece. 

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Finished suit photography: Alex Natt

The other clothes are:

 

London Invisible Mending: Preserving a Dying Art

Posted on by Manish Puri

London Invisible Mending: Preserving a Dying Art

Monday, August 5th 2024Tags:
Share
Subscribe
45 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

As the seasons change, it’s become something of a Sunday ritual for me to be paid a visit at home by Michael Norman (below). 

Long-time readers may recall that Michael runs a dry cleaning business specialising in bespoke and high-end clothing. I’ve used his services for a few years now and would heartily recommend him. Cleaned knitwear is neatly folded and wrapped in tissue, suits returned on proper hangers and pressed so beautifully it seems a shame to wear them.

I look forward to Michael's pick-ups and drop-offs. His knowledge and enthusiasm for caring for quality garments is clear, and he once gifted me a bag of conkers which he said was as effective a moth repellent as anything on the market.

So, I was intrigued when Michael informed me that he was setting up a second business called London Invisible Mending (LIM). I suspect I don’t need to tell you what LIM offers but, if you’re like me, you might need a little help understanding exactly what invisible mending is.

As long as people have worn clothes there have been ways to mend them - patching, darning and boro (above) are just some of the many techniques used to repair snags, tears and holes, but these are all visible forms of mending. Invisible mending (also known as French reweaving) is a way to repair and restore fabric without leaving a noticeable trace of the repair.

This is achieved by recreating the original weave (warp and weft) of the damaged fabric using individual threads harvested from the internal seams or hems of the garment. As you can imagine, trying to replicate the tension and thread placement of a machine weave is an incredibly time consuming, and hence expensive process.

For much of clothing’s history, that cost of repair was justifiable when compared to the cost of replacement. However, in recent times, with dramatic falls in the price of ready-to-wear and the increased use of synthetic fabrics (which can’t be repaired in this fashion because it's almost impossible to extract individual fibres for repair) the art of invisible mending has slowly disappeared. 

Even RAVEFabriCARE in Arizona - a large full-service cleaning company that has been recommended by Simon - has suspended its re-weaving service following the retirement of its weaver, until they can find a suitable replacement.

Somewhat ominously, they go on to speculate that “due to the age and cultural background of most skilled reweavers, the ‘golden age of reweaving’ may be over”.

It’s this shortage of skills that led to Michael leafing through his phone book - filled with the numbers of various garment care specialists accumulated over 30 years - and contacting two old colleagues to see if they still practised the technique. Happily, they did and lived around the outskirts of London, so London Invisible Mending was born.

I had a chance to experience the service after my favourite pair of charcoal flannel trousers fell victim to a heinous and unprovoked attack by a moth.

As the hole (above left) was on the inseam of the trousers, and therefore not especially noticeable, my first instinct was to get it cheaply (and visibly) repaired by a local tailor. The result (above right) was, frankly, something I could have done - a phrase I don’t use lightly, because when most people say that it’s usually patently untrue.

So, I handed over the trousers to Michael, and he and his team did a superb job (below). The herringbone pattern is slightly more prominent in the reweave, but (a) you have to look very very closely to see it, and (b) you’d have to know there was a repair made to try and find it in the first place.

Without that information, I think the reweave is virtually indistinguishable from the original cloth.

I chatted with Michael about invisible mending, any limitations and whether it always produces a good result. 

“Around 75% of the repairs we make are due to moth holes so we always recommend people look at ways to deter moths as best as possible. If the damage is caused by a moth, we recommend that you dry clean the garment first because that can reveal smaller holes that aren't initially visible - of course, we can clean it before repair.

"It’s important to say that invisible mending only works for woven fabrics - so it’s perfect for bespoke suits. I’ve had customers bring in their grandad’s Savile Row suit from the 1950s, and after a dry clean and invisible repair of the holes it looks brand new. The quality of some of the old stuff is remarkable.

“The repair isn’t always entirely invisible - but it’s as close as you’re going to get. For example, on superfine fabrics you might see the needle’s point of entry and exit. Also, as threads are taken from parts of the garment which aren’t exposed to UV light and wear, the colour might differ slightly. But on heavier weaves - like your trousers - or on patterned cloth it’s almost impossible to see.”

One of the beauties of Michael’s service is convenience. For example, the mending service most people know is British Invisible Mending Service, but they require drop-off at their Marylebone shop with cash-only payment upfront.

With London Invisible Mending you can either drop-off items at Graham Browne or have them collected and delivered anywhere across London (they offer a postal service for those outside the city) with the option to pay by card.

Obviously, the cost of repair can vary significantly but, to give readers some idea, a cigarette-sized hole costs from £90 to repair. A pretty reasonable fee considering it takes around six hours to fix, but perhaps not economically viable for cheaper garments. Turnaround times are approximately three weeks and LIM can provide a quote via WhatsApp if you share images of the damage.

“It’s shocking to see these old skills dying out,” says Michael. “I’d love it if places like the Savile Row Bespoke Academy taught invisible mending alongside pattern cutting and tailoring. After all, it’s all about preserving the integrity of the fabric”.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

You can contact London Invisible Mending via their website or on +447941155277.

Another option for invisible mending in London is The Valet - whose services we covered here.

For US readers, I’ve heard good things about the French American Reweaving Company in New York, but, as always, we’d welcome your recommendations.

How a cape is made – and would I wear one?

Posted on by Manish Puri

How a cape is made – and would I wear one?

Monday, July 15th 2024
Share
39 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri.

During a recent trip to Madrid, I paid a visit to Casa Seseña, run by Marcos Seseña (the fourth generation of the family), and one of the few shops in the world still dedicated to making capes. In part one, I covered their 123 year-old history. In today's article, I take a look at how their capes are made and who’s buying them.

-

The traditional capa española is made from fine merino wool - a commodity fiercely guarded by the Spanish until the 18th century (any attempt to export merino sheep before then was punishable by death).

When Seseña first opened in 1901, the wool they used to make their capes was sourced from flocks in the Salamanca region. However, these days half the raw wool is Spanish and the other half Australian. From there it’s sent to the Spanish mountain town of Béjar where it is woven, dyed and, most critically, washed…a lot.

The mineral qualities of the local water accentuate the softness of the material, while the multiple washes (which cause the wool to shrink in size by half!) permits a denser weave - which helps the cape retain its shape and is key to thwarting cold air and rain showers.

As an aside, the significance of the textile industry in Spain’s Golden Age was underlined some days later when I visited another Madrid institution, the glorious Prado museum, where two of their most famous works caught my attention (above). 

The first was Agnus Dei, completed between 1635 and 1640 by the Spanish painter Francisco de Zurbarán, where a trussed lamb evokes The Passion - the lamb depicted being a merino.

The second was Las Hilanderas (or The Spinners), painted around 1657 by Diego Velázquez, where a group of women are shown spinning wool at the Tapestry Workshop of the Monastery of Santa Isabel in Madrid.

Once the finished wool reaches Seseña, it’s cut in the back of the shop by cutter Carmen Fábrega who has been with the business for 17 years (above, working on a paisley design for a women’s model).

Their signature 1901 cape (laid out on the floor below) requires five metres of a single length of wool cut into an elliptical shape - not a circle, as some would have you believe, otherwise the hem of the cape wouldn’t hang at the same level all the way around the body.

At the front of the cape, the insides are partially lined (embozo) with cotton velvet which adds contrast to the (typically) black cloth, and offers an extra layer of protection for the face when the cape is swept up and across the shoulders. At the rear is a vent (escusón) which allows the wearer to gather the cape in front of them before taking a seat.

While all the finishing is done by hand (taking around 10 hours per cape), the hems are left raw (above), another byproduct of using such a dense wool.

The 1901 model comes with an esclavina - a topstitched shoulder cape that gives yet more protection from the elements - and is finished with a silver ‘charro’ clasp made in Salamanca (below).

While the clasp could, in theory, be used to fasten the cape, its presence here is purely ornamental. The need to secure the cape obviated by its sheer weight - typically around 5-6 kg, so if worn correctly it won’t be slipping off your shoulders any time soon.

With that in mind, Marcos took great joy in showing me how to properly don the cape. I won’t describe the process here (there’s a jazzy video online that does that), but I will say there was a pleasure and mindfulness that came from having to focus on putting on and setting a garment just so - a far cry from the passivity of 'chucking on a hoodie'.

And, once the cape was swept over me, I realised that (weight and length aside) it isn't entirely dissimilar to an Asian shawl (as seen below on Indian actor, Amitabh Bachchan) - which made the garment a little more familiar and less intimidating.

The standard length of a cape is 110cm, which should work for anyone around 175-180cm tall (5’ 8” to 5’ 11” in old money). However, as this is a handmade product, bespoke orders are common, with most customers adjusting the neck size and/or length. The RTW 1901 cape is €1100, and the Alfonso cape (which is less embellished as it comes without the esclavina and the silver clasp) is €1000. Bespoke prices start at €2000, and, depending on the design and season, orders take around a month to fulfil.

I chatted with Marcos (above) about his customers and was told they tend to be aged 35 and upwards - with a two-thirds/one-third split between international and domestic, and customers from the US making up 75% of the international orders.

Among the local buyers, Marcos touched on an attitude when wearing capes - a comfort with “standing out” and “being admired”. It’s a comment that stayed with me during my stay in Madrid - particularly in the well-heeled barrios where I spotted a number of elegant and sharply attired men. (And it’s something I’ll revisit in an article on Spanish style.)

Purchases are often intended for special events: weddings, parties, fashion weeks and even Royal or Presidential gifts. Marcos added that the common thread between his customers was that they were "people who appreciate the elegance and the handcraft of the cape".

I also spoke with my friend Linus Chu, who I’ve seen on a few occasions sporting a beautiful velvet cape he designed for his brand The Sustainable Man (above in an image taken by Mohan Singh).

"Most people react quite positively given how minimalist it is. Sure, it's a cape but it doesn't have any ceremonial elements, so I think it can be complementary to everyday tailoring - my go-to is to wear it with a black turtleneck and a 4 x 1 DB. I also sometimes wear it over my charcoal and navy suits, which makes the look less businesslike. My rationale has always been that it's the most 'simple' garment, it's almost like coating yourself with a leaf."

Linus's allusion to Adam and Eve brought to mind something else that Marcos said about capes being "the first garment - an animal skin on your shoulders."

Like Linus, I'd reluctantly eschew the more ornate capes (as beautiful as they are) for a simpler model like the Alfonso - as worn above by Steve Knorsch, the New York Managing Director of Cad & The Dandy.

If you ever try on a cape, the natural instinct is to rest it on your shoulders and stand stock-still like a petrified superhero - it's not the best look. Indeed, if we tried on other garments with the same level of inertia we'd buy fewer clothes; but we do up a button, we stick a hand in a pocket, we pop a collar - anything to efface the novelty, to neutralise the 'new car smell'.

Now, there are no buttons, pockets or shirt collars on a classic cape (unlike Marcos's modern designs such as the Darcy), but you can animate the cape by enveloping yourself in it and letting it take some of your natural shape and posture - which I think is the most beautiful aspect of Brassaï's photo of the two clergymen at the top of the article, and is exactly how Steve is wearing his. The cape will only look it's best when one starts to ease into it and get comfortable.

Of course, to do so requires a little confidence and verve - as Marcos told me, "the cape cannot dominate you; you must dominate it”. If you can't muster that, then it's probably fair to say a cape isn't for you.

I departed Casa Seseña, as I often do after visiting niche makers, filled with affection for the product, and an appreciation of the bloody-minded dedication that goes into keeping a business going when the prevailing winds of popular conventions are blowing so hard against you.

I didn’t leave with a cape this time, but I can say I no longer have cape fear.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Movie Stars and Matadors: The Story of the Seseña Cape

Posted on by Manish Puri

Movie Stars and Matadors: The Story of the Seseña Cape

Monday, July 1st 2024
Share
Subscribe
33 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

 

By Manish Puri

In 1957, Irving Penn arrived at Villa La Californie, the Cannes residence of Pablo Picasso, for an appointment to shoot portraiture - only to be told that the man of the house wasn't in.

Undeterred, Penn instructed his assistant, Robert Freson, to scale the villa’s gate, where they found the painter lounging in a grey sweatshirt. After some persuasion, Picasso granted Penn 10 minutes to take photos, donning a felt sombrero and a dark embroidered capa given to him in 1955 by the famous bullfighter Luis Miguel Dominguín (below with Picasso).

Penn's images of Picasso have become iconic, and despite being so tightly cropped they manage to encapsulate many of the qualities of the cape: powerful, enigmatic, dramatic yet somehow coy.

The garment in question was made by Casa Seseña in Madrid, whose capes, alongside the aforementioned Picasso (who was buried wearing another Seseña cape given to him by his wife, Jacqueline Roque), have adorned the shoulders of individuals such as King Alfonoso XIII, Federico Fellini, Luis Buñuel, Marcello Mastroiani, Placido Domingo and Catherine Deneuve.

During a recent trip to the Spanish capital I paid a visit to Casa Seseña, the only shop in the world still dedicated to making capa española.

I met with Marcos Seseña (below right) - the great-grandson of the shop’s founder Santos Seseña (below left), and the fourth generation of the family to run the business. We spoke about how capes are made and who the hell is buying them today (which I’ll cover in a separate article next week), as well as Seseña’s frankly fascinating history.

Founded in 1901, Casa Seseña was one of dozens of tailors in the Sol barrio. But whilst the other outlets were beginning to abandon the cape for more modern clothing, Santos persisted with offering capes alongside suits and overcoats, and even marketed the business as specialists in this area (see advert above from the early 1900s).

The Seseña cape gained popularity among the intellectuals that gathered in the cafes lining the nearby square, Puerta del Sol. Chief among them was the radical dramatist and novelist Ramón María del Valle-Inclán, who was quite the sight in Belle Époque Madrid: his long, greying beard sat proudly atop a black cape (as seen on the cover of his biography, below).

And by the way, isn’t it fascinating how often radicals and the avant garde venerate traditional clothing and craft? Although in Valle-Inclán’s case, having lost his left arm following a brawl at Café de la Montaña, the arm-less silhouette of a traditional cape may have driven his sartorial preference: an illustration of the cape’s ability to conceal a perceived weakness while still projecting strength.

By the late 1920s, stewardship had passed to the second generation of Seseñas, Marcos’ grandfather Tomás.

Tomás (below centre) was friends with a man named Pedro Chicote (in the pinstripe double-breasted suit), a bartender at the Hotel Ritz who opened Spain’s first American cocktail bar in 1931: the eponymous Chicote on the Gran Vía (the setting for the photo).

It was at Chicote’s that Ernest Hemingway (above with Pedro) drank Papa Dobles in between penning dispatches from the Spanish Civil War for the North American Newspaper Alliance. Such was Hemingway’s fondness for the bar that it was immortalised in his short story, The Denunciation, referring to it as "one of the best bars in the world" - quite the tribute from a man who had seemingly been to most of them.

Once the war had ended, in a bid to improve Spain’s damaged international reputation and to access US dollars, Franco became something of an “unlikely patron” of Hollywood, and his regime worked with American studios (who themselves were beset by rising costs, antitrust rulings and a boom in television) to relocate productions to Spain.

Lawrence of Arabia, Doctor Zhivago and El Cid were just three of the many films shot across the country, and with it came a constellation of stars such as Ava Gardner, Cary Grant, Gary Cooper, Tony Curtis and Orson Welles (below in his signature cape) - all of whom frequented Chicote’s.

Ava Gardner was so enamoured with Spanish culture (and the matadors that bestrode it) that she spent several years living in Madrid. 

While being haplessly pursued across the country by then husband Frank Sinatra, she engaged in romances with Mario Cabré (above left) and Luis Miguel Dominguín (who gave Picasso his cape, above right) - both bullfighters, both fine dressers, and both, of course, customers of Seseña.

A perplexed Humphrey Bogart remarked to Gardner that “most women would be willing to drag themselves at [Sinatra’s] feet, yet you go around with a guy who dresses up in a cape and ballet shoes”.

As Chicote’s parties raged into the small hours and the torrid affairs scorched bed sheets across the capital, Tomás was there selling Seseña capes to one and all from his shop on Calle de Espoz y Mina (captured above by Brassaï in 1950). 

Gardner, Grant, Cooper, Curtis, Hemingway - all became customers. A modest garment for immodest times.

The starry clientele helped bring Seseña capes to prominence with an international audience. A position which was consolidated in the 1960s, when the reins were taken up by Tomás’ widow Conchita Díez and her son Enrique (below), by focusing production solely on capes, and developing (for the first time) a women’s line.

In 2009, Marcos (above) became the fourth generation of the Seseña family to run the business, though not before Enrique had opened one of Spain’s very first online shops in 1998 - the first order placed by a man in Springfield, USA (no, I don't think it was Evil Homer).

Under Marcos’s direction, the range of capes has grown, with more styles, colours and fabrics. However, the classic capes endure - Marcos told me that while many new customers come in for the modern styles, they stay for the traditional ones - and the method of production remains unchanged from when Santos opened the doors over 120 years ago.

Who are those customers and how are the capes made? All will be revealed in next week’s follow-up article.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

A Guide To Chambray Shirts – Part Two: Modern Brands

Posted on by Manish Puri

A Guide To Chambray Shirts – Part Two: Modern Brands

Share
Subscribe
95 Comments
Sunday, April 21st 2024Tags:
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

In part one of this guide, I provided a brief history of chambray and why it became the de facto choice for work shirts, before turning my focus to shirts on the market that are reproductions of traditional US work shirt models.

In this second part, I’m covering chambray shirts made by brands that tweak and update the historical templates - shortening them for modern sensibilities, removing a pocket, taking in the waist etc - which can make them more contemporary, versatile and easier to pair with tailoring.

I should add that the guide is still focused on casual shirts - those with pockets, contrast stitching, roomier cuts and softer, smaller point collars.

The Anthology Workman Indigo Raw Chambray Shirt - $200

Of all the shirts in this guide, The Anthology’s Workman is the one that’s closest to a dress shirt.

The general fit, whilst not slim, is certainly tailored when compared to the more overtly workwear options. (You can see that in the flat lay images - the majority of the shirts are cut straight whilst The Workman is shaped through the waist). The collar band sits higher and is slightly stiffer. And the colour is also stronger than the more washed-out versions, which I think helps make it appear a fraction smarter (although it too will fade nicely over time).

On the other hand, the smaller collar points, contrast stitching, locker loop, flapped chest pocket and vintage cat-eye buttons (in mother of pearl) are all features inherited from the shirt’s workwear forebears, and soften the formality.

I think this union makes The Anthology shirt the most versatile choice in this guide, as it can quite effectively pull a double-shift as a (fairly) casual shirt that sits comfortably with tailoring, and thanks to the collar band, even a tie (above).

The other appealing element of all The Anthology’s shirts is they’re sold on an MTO basis (and, as a result, take three weeks to make). There’s a helpful video on their website explaining the process, but essentially it involves selecting your collar size (unusually for casual shirts, The Anthology’s collar goes up in quarter-inches for the most common sizes) and then adjusting the waist, back length and sleeve length by up to 4 cm from the default measurements. That’s over 8,000 size permutations (my maths teachers would be so proud). 

I think it’s an ideal choice for readers that don’t want to go down a full MTM/bespoke route but need to make a few common tweaks to get a better fit.

Whilst this guide is focused on the classic blue chambray, it would be remiss of me not to point out that I also have The Anthology’s vanilla chambray shirt (above) which I absolutely love (and actually wear more often than the blue). 

It’s off-white in colour and textured with tiny vanilla-seed like flecks. A great piece for tonal dressing and an easy way to ‘warm up’ an outfit in lieu of a white shirt.

Bryceland's Teardrop Chambray Shirt - £225

If you pop into one of Bryceland’s stores or their online shop, you’ll find not one but four chambray options. Each one with a distinctive design and silhouette, taking inspiration from a specific period in American history.

The half-zip shirt (£249) is a fuller-cut option that works well as a layering piece in winter or worn dégagé - unzipped and untucked with a nonchalant roll of the cuffs -  in the summer. 

The design perhaps partly inspired by the Big Yank Zipper Ace shirt (above right) that was released in the 1930s for “those that like the quick convenience of putting on a shirt in two seconds flat” (you can read more about that brand in part one).

The sawtooth westerner (£249) recalls the cowboy shirts of the 1950s with a broad chest that contours into a nipped waist. 

The denim version was the first Bryceland’s product I ever saw and purchased, and it instantly hooked me on the brand; although it does have an exacting silhouette for anyone (like me) that is straight through the trunk. There are days, usually those after I’ve spent the weekend at my Mum’s being force-fed samosas, that I would love the waist to be just a fraction more forgiving.

The USN chambray (£195) is stylistically quite similar to the Buzz Rickson 1940s model featured in part one of this guide. The main differences are the buttons (Bryceland’s are white) and the extra stitching through the left chest pocket to create a separate pen pocket. 

The other significant difference is fit - specifically length. While the Buzz Rickson shirt was a bit shy in venturing past the upper thigh rendering it potentially 'untuckable', the Bryceland’s USN has no such reservations. It runs long, Peter-Jackson-Extended-Cut long (for example, size 38 and 40 are around 35 inches), which is faithful to the original style of these shirts.

Bryceland's USN shirt is sold in both raw and washed chambray.

If this appraisal so far makes me sound like a sartorial Goldilocks - this one’s roomy, this one’s long, this one’s a little squeezy on my tum-tum - then can I say the teardrop chambray shirt is just right.

Patterned after one of Bryceland’s co-founder Kenji’s vintage Lee shirts, it's a comfortable and well-proportioned shirt that I think most clothing brands today would typify as “classic fit”. 

I chatted with Bryceland’s London manager Ben, and he thought, based on the manufacturer’s label, that the Lee shirt dates to the 1950s. That seems consistent with this ad from 1951 (below) where the khaki shirt in the middle looks to be identical to the teardrop.

I loved the easy simplicity of the design - symmetrical, neatly scalloped chest pockets and small gathers of fabric under the yoke are really the only embellishments. Combined with the solid construction and double stitching of the seams, it meant I had little hesitation in taking a shirt (size medium) home with me - even though I was only meant to be trying it on for this guide!

The teardrop chambray is also available MTO (meaning you can have it made up from hundreds of cloths including some really nice linen-cotton chambrays - a great option for readers in warmer climes) and MTM (which allows for a wide range of adjustments to the shoulder, sleeve, body, waist, etc) - both services have a 20% surcharge to the RTW price. In the first part of the guide, a lot of readers were asking about anywhere that offers custom work shirts (not chambray dress shirts), with most guys crying out for longer sleeves in particular. For those chaps, I'd recommend the Bryceland's teardrop chambray.

Drake’s Bleach Blue Cotton Chambray Button-Down Popover Shirt - £275

A button down, popover shirt is a foundational piece within the Ivy tradition. If you need proof, Jason Jules’ superb book Black Ivy is stocked with photos showing men in both short- and long-sleeved versions - including Miles Davis in a terry cloth popover (below left). 

At the same time, a popover style (especially in chambray) harkens back to the very earliest US work shirts and overshirts for sale at the turn of the 20th century - like the ones in the Sears Roebuck & Co catalogue from 1897 shown below right.

And so, to my mind, this shirt is a genuine Ivy-Workwear hybrid, making the Drake's one of the more interesting styles that I found on my hunt: a great alternative option for those readers that already have a more orthodox model.

Because popovers need to pass over the shoulders when you put them on/take them off, I’ve found it can help to have a touch more room in the body than you might for a full-placket shirt.The medium did fit - but in the same way that I used to like my dress shirts to fit a dozen years ago. Alas I’m no longer in my 20s and I’m not going for a night on the town at Tiger Tiger. 

The excellent staff at Drake’s had anticipated this (they clearly know their product) and had already discreetly deposited a size large in the fitting room - an altogether better option for me with a bit more room in the arms and belly.

So, unless you like a  particularly trim fit, I’d size up in this shirt.

Honourable mentions

Every year I see the Kenneth Field chambray shirt (above) land in The Merchant Fox’s shop, and every year I inexplicably delay purchasing it just long enough for it to sell out.

Admittedly, I’ve not actually seen the shirt in person, but the slubby texture of the Japanese chambray always catches my eye. The style is similar to the USN designs we’ve already covered, but with a flap chest pocket on the right hand side.

I’ve been told by The Merchant Fox that there’s limited manufacturing of this piece. However, a small restock is expected in the summer, so if you too like the look of the shirt I’d recommend signing up at their mailing list to avoid disappointment.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Read Part One in this series on chambray here

Are you a menswear snob?

Posted on by Manish Puri

Are you a menswear snob?

Share
Subscribe
67 Comments
Friday, April 12th 2024
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

Forgive me for starting with such a blunt question. 

I know that, in common parlance, ‘snob’ is a pejorative term. However, when it comes to matters of dressing, it’s worth recalling the words of Yves Saint Laurent who said, “we must never confuse elegance with snobbery”.

So, in this context, given there seems to be room for confusion, I don’t really consider ‘snob’ to be an insulting epithet - because surely my accusers meant I was 'elegant'. Right?!

Nonetheless, to avoid accusations that we’re cherry picking the meaning of the word, it’s incumbent upon each of us to apply the term fairly and consistently. 

I mean, what if you think you’re a menswear snob, but you’re really not? You risk being labelled delusional. And conversely, what if you don’t consider yourself to be a snob, but you actually are? Then you’re just selling yourself short!

Fortunately, I’m here to help. The following multiple-choice quiz will quickly, and with unfailing accuracy, identify if you’re a snob or not. 

To those that don’t make the grade, my apologies. You’ll find plenty of support material in the Permanent Style archives. Please feel free to read through it and take the quiz again in a year or two.

Good luck!

 

1. I like to shop…

a) In the sales

b) Responsibly

c) At establishments with Latin mottos

 

2. My tailor is…

a) Also my dry cleaner

b) A respected member of our local high street

c) On first-name terms with all of my immediate family

 

3. What goes well with a three-piece?

a) Fries and a Coke

b) A nice silk tie

c) A knowing smirk

 

4. Do you like a blazer?

a) Definitely! Me and the lads had one last Friday: a few pints, cheeky Ruby, and clubbing till 3am

b) I just repurpose my suit jacket

c) Does the Pope wear Gammarelli socks?

 

5. What goes through your head when the invitation says ‘Black Tie’?

a) No worries, I’ve got one from me gran’s funeral

b) I’d like to go, but it sounds intimidating so I’ll politely decline

c) I must have my bib fronts restarched

 

6. Complete this phrase: The bottom…

a) Of the ninth

b) Line

c) Button must never be fastened

 

7. Where’s Saville Row?

a) Do I look like a cab driver to you?

b) I think it’s somewhere off Regent’s street

c) Are you deliberately trying to provoke me by spelling it wrong?

 

8. What do you think of Drake’s latest drop?

a) He’s not done anything decent since 'Hotline Bling'

b) They’re such an exciting brand

c) I still love them, but they were better when they didn’t have a website and only sold ties

 

9. The Japanese make the best…

a) Lovers

b) Sushi

c) Denim

 

10. I dress…

b) To impress

a) My salads with oil and balsamic vinegar

c) Left

 

11. Four-in-hand is…

a) The technique I use to carry pints to the table

b) Presumably worth eight in the bush

c) Basic AF

 

12. The best reason to propose to someone is because…

a) You’ve got them into trouble

b) You love them dearly

c) You need a good excuse to commission a new suit

 

13. At a recent wedding, you made the Bride…

a) Put in a good word for you with the Bridesmaids

b) A hand-drawn card congratulating her on the marriage

c) Cry because you looked better than her

 

14. High-waisted is…

a) A good description of a weekend away with the lads

b) A trouser style I’m not sure I can pull off

c) For wimps. If they’re not touching the ribs I consider them to be lowriders.

 

15. MTM means:

a) Man to man marking in football

b) Mark to market

c) You’re too poor for bespoke

 

16. What’s your attitude to weight gain?

a) Just means there’s more of me to love

b) Nothing a little exercise and self-discipline won’t fix

c) Something for my tailor to worry about

 

17. Madras is…

a) My favourite curry

b) No longer the correct name. I think you mean Chennai?

c) The only shirting I wear on holiday

 

18. Complete this sentence: I love my single…

a) Life

b) Malt whiskey collection

c) Pleat underwear

 

19. What’s your favourite House style?

a) Electro

b) Georgian

c) A proprietary silhouette developed with an ex-Savile Row tailor who’s 80, blind and has a sewing thumb and index finger that have fused together like a crab. He’s also closed to new clients - not that I’d ever disclose his details to you.

 

20. My mother always used to say to me…

a) You’re a huge disappointment to me and your father

b) You can achieve anything you put your mind to

c) There. Doesn’t a higher collar band frame your face nicely?

 

21. My father drove me to…

a) Drink

b) Succeed

c) My first bespoke appointment

 

22. Whenever I type the letter ‘P’ into my web browser, the first website the autofill shows is…

a) Pornhub.com

b) Primark.com

c) Permanentstyle.com

 

Mostly a)’s

No offence, but how the heck did you even end up on this site? Also, you might have a few issues you need to work on with a trained therapist.

Mostly b)’s

You seem to know the odd thing about menswear, but I’m afraid you’re far too balanced and grounded to ever become a true menswear snob.

Mostly c)’s

Congratulations! You’re a complete and utter menswear snob. Drop me a DM if you want to go halves on a Palazzo at Pitti Uomo.

 

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

A Guide To Chambray Shirts – Part One: Reproductions

Posted on by Manish Puri

A Guide To Chambray Shirts – Part One: Reproductions

Wednesday, April 10th 2024Tags:
Share
Subscribe
98 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

Imagine a Venn diagram with three rings representing quality cloth, construction and design.

If you buy an item of clothing that sits in one of those rings you’re still doing better than half the landfill-peddled-as-fashion you’ll find on the average UK high street.

If you buy something that lies in the union of two of them, you’ve made a savvy purchase. But, chances are that you’re informed enough to be aware of the missing dimension - and it’ll niggle at you. (“I love the cloth and design, but it’s starting to fall apart”, or, “My tailor made a flawless, entirely handmade suit, but I picked an impractical cloth.”)

It’s in the intersection of that trio - that small landing strip - where you’ll find permanent style (both lower-case and capitalised). And, in my eyes, the subject of today’s guide - the casual chambray shirt, which, in essence, means those inspired by American work shirts - is as perfect an embodiment of those three principles as any article of clothing I can think of.

Let’s start with the cloth. Chambray’s origins go back to the 1500s, in the Cambrai region of north-eastern France,  where a lightweight plain-weave fabric was woven (initially in linen) to make shirts, handkerchiefs and delicate pieces like lace.

Eventually, that plain weave evolved into one with a coloured warp (usually blue) and a white weft - the defining feature of chambray (above).

Over the years, chambray became the de facto material for work shirts - it’s where the term “blue collar” originates from.

In 1935, Margaret Smith, a home economics specialist, summarised the fabric’s suitability for workwear in issue no. 1837 of US Farmers' Bulletin (above - an incredibly helpful and still remarkably current resource to help consumers determine quality):

“For outdoor work in mild weather, choose a material such as chambray, which is durable, firm enough to prevent sunburn, yet lightweight enough [to] admit air and be fairly cool.”

Cloth alone wasn’t enough to fortify the shirts against the rigours of manual labour, however. From mining to laying railroad to building skyscrapers, this was the uniform of the people that built a nation. 

So these shirts, by modern standards, were extraordinarily well-constructed. Double and sometimes triple-stitched seams, bar tacks on stress points, and extra-strong buttons were typical features - and you’ll see many of them replicated on the shirts in this guide too.

And, finally, what of design? I mean, a suit of armour is durable and well-constructed too, but nobody wants to sit at a laptop wearing one.

The shirts were cut generously through the body so they wouldn't cling to sweat, full in the sleeve so there was no encumbrance to range of motion, long in the tails so they stayed tucked in, and with pockets that were ingeniously designed and truly functional (rather than the affected signifiers of casualness that are are often stitched onto a top these days).

In short, each new design or advancement was brought about to make the shirt more durable and less obtrusive. It was a workwear manifestation of that oft-quoted Hardy Amies aphorism, “a man should look as if he had bought his clothes with intelligence, put them on with care and then forgotten all about them.”

This guide is very deliberately focused on casual shirts and work shirts: those with chest pockets, contrast stitching, roomier cuts and softer, smaller point collars.

The collar is often a barometer of how successfully a shirt works with tailoring. The softer and smaller it is, the likelier the prospect of it slipping under the jacket and not framing your face in the same way as a dressier shirt (like the PS Selvedge Chambray). How much this matters will really depend on personal factors such as the length of your neck, or how you like to present yourself when wearing tailoring.

My fellow PS columnist André (below) excels at wearing soft-collar (and even collar-less) shirts with tailoring and jacket alternatives. Perhaps the key is undoing an extra shirt button just to reintroduce the length that's lost by not having a higher and larger collar. Whatever the secret, even if his collar slides under a lapel, it always seems a natural and harmonious style choice for André given how easygoing his look is.

In the first part of this guide, I’ve reviewed a few shirts that are explicit reproductions of US work shirt models, as I think this is also a good way of diving into some of the design and construction points I touched upon in the introduction. In the UK, these shirts (and many kindred designs) are available at shops like Son of a Stag and Clutch Cafe. For international readers, you’ll find them at similar denim and workwear shops.

In the second part, we'll look at shirts made by brands that are less focused on strict reproduction. These shirts, whilst still heavily influenced by American models, have modifications such as a shorter length,  a pocket removed, different collars, waist taken in, etc - which can make them more contemporary, versatile, and easier to pair with tailoring.

Unfortunately, there will still be plenty of quality shirt options that aren’t covered in this guide: Full Count and Real McCoy’s are two that come to mind immediately. I’ve had to draw the line somewhere but, as always, your experiences and recommendations are welcome and valued in the comments section.

Buzz Rickson's USN Chambray Blue Work Shirt - £129

My first port of call when researching this guide was my local denim shop - the excellent Son of a Stag in east London - which carries a healthy range of chambray shirts in various weights, colours and styles.

I was keen to know which one the staff recommended, and was pleased that, on the basis of detail, quality and value-for-money, they opted for the Buzz Rickson USN chambray, because that’s the one I liked the look of too.

For the uninitiated, you’ll see the nomenclature of USN used by several brands to denote that their chambray shirt is styled in homage to those issued by the US Navy - who adopted the shirt as part of their uniform in 1901.

Over the decades, the Navy chambray shirts were quite varied - especially during WWII, when the number of manufacturers multiplied rapidly. However most of the reproduction USN shirts you’ll find today are patterned after models from the 1940s. And this is true of the Buzz Rickson model - which has a reputation for being one of the most faithful reproductions.

The cloth is a one-wash chambray woven on vintage shuttle looms and dyed to match the Navy’s exact colour specifications. The seams are reinforced with double-stitching. The inside of the collar even comes with a ‘contract label’ (above) which helped the Navy keep track of who made what, where and when.

The period-correct buttons are blue urea - urea-formaldehyde, a non-transparent thermosetting resin - which are altogether more durable than ordinary resin (polyester) buttons with increased resistance to abrasion, hot water washing (up to 120°C) and acid and alkali exposure.

The collar stand was one of the better reinforced amongst the reproduction shirts I tried. And so, I think readers should be able to pair this with more casual tailoring.

In terms of size, the 15-15.5” (medium) was almost tailor-made for me - to the point where I’d be nervous of it getting any smaller after a wash, but the Son of a Stag team were pretty confident that shrinkage would be minimal given it’s pre-washed.

That said, the sizing could still prove problematic for readers. The sleeve length finished smartly at my wrists, which, based on my experience of writing these guides, means it's shorter than other shirts of comparable size. Similarly, the shirt length was noticeably less than most of the shirts in this guide - not an especially large concern for me as I tend to wear high-waisted trousers.

And so, I’d couch the fit as slightly small to size (which is not an uncommon characterisation for Japanese brands). If you’re long in the arms, the torso, or like lower-rise trousers you’ll likely either need to size up (I tried the 16-16.5” and the fit was decent, but, as you’d expect, quite full) or try a different brand. However, if the sizing works for you I think this is an excellent value option.

Big Yank 1935 Original Chambray Shirt Blue (£240)

Reliance Manufacturing Limited was a Chicago-based company formed in 1897. Its founding principles, considered to be disruptive at the time, were based on “the use of quality material and workmanship in clothes for the working man”. Sadly, the concept still feels almost revolutionary today.

Despite having a reputation for making shirts that were “clearly superior to the ugly uncomfortable shirts then being sold”, the Reliance name had little public recognition as most of their production was white-label.

To rectify this, Reliance launched an in-house workwear brand called Big Yank in 1919, and advertising campaigns sought to position the new brand as synonymous with work clothing and the American way of life - as you can see in the advert above from 1942.

However, the main reason for the brand’s success and longevity was their appetite for pushing the envelope when it came to the design and functionality. A number of these design-elements are on display in the 1935 model I’ve chosen for this guide, which has been reproduced by 35ive Summers of Japan - who resurrected the Big Yank brand in 2011.

(They're also responsible for bringing back other American stalwarts such as Rocky Mountain Featherbed - which returned in 2005).

The most obvious and celebrated detail are the asymmetrical ‘convenience’ pockets. On the left breast, you’ll see the Gacha pocket (patented in 1930 - above left) which holds a packet of cigarettes and allows the wearer to extract a smoke without having to undo the button (above right).

In the 1930s, cigarette packets weren’t housed in plastic film and so were prone to becoming saturated by sweat in a standard single-fabric pocket. Inventor JW Champion’s patent application explains how his design eliminated this problem:

“My invention prevents this [saturation] by providing not only an additional ply of fabric rearwardly of the content of the pockets, but also providing an air space for ventilation between the rear wall of the pocket and the body of the shirt.”

The right breast holds an altogether larger utility pocket which (traditionally) accommodated a tobacco tin (these days it's equally adept at stowing that other addictive product - the smartphone) and a compartment for a pen.

The other innovation you’ll find in the 1935 shirt is the “elbow action” sleeve and the “storm cuffs”. The above patent design highlights the key features: a wider sleeve panel that is finished with a cuff band that doesn’t run the full circumference of the sleeve opening.

What this design affords is increased freedom of movement through the arm and elbow and the ability to roll the sleeve high up the arm without restriction or discomfort. 

The exclusion of a cuff placket and slit means there’s one less thing to catch and tear on machinery.  And, when buttoning the reduced cuff band, more fabric naturally concertinas over the forearm which helps to prevent the elements from getting in.

The earliest Big Yank shirts featured aluminium buttons, but by 1935 these had been almost completely replaced (save for a branded button on the Gacha pocket - above) by urea-resin buttons - presumably they were lighter and cheaper to produce than aluminium, without any noticeable compromise in performance.

In terms of construction, the shirt has bar tacks (above in green thread) and triple-needle stitching along the seams which help to reinforce key stress points.

By the way, anyone that’s interested in finding out more about the history of Big Yank should watch this video of 35ive Summers founder, Kinji Teramoto, talking through his archive of shirts.

I tried the 1935 Big Yank shirt at Clutch Cafe in London in my regular size of 15.5” and it was a very good, relaxed fit. In anticipation of reader questions about keeping a slightly slimmer appearance I also tried the 15” and it was absolutely fine - comfortable to wear, no tightness and I could even do the collar up.

To my mind, sizing down does run slightly counter to the aesthetic of the shirt, but I wouldn’t discourage someone from going a half-size smaller if that suits their style better.

It only became apparent once the shirt was tucked in how much lower the chest pockets sit; here they’re in line with the third button on the placket, whereas most modern shirt pockets sit 1-2” higher - somewhere between the second and third button. 

If you’re wearing especially high-waisted, pleated trousers the combination of that with the low-slung pockets might make your midriff appear a little busy and bulky, but, for everyone else, the chest pockets are more of a curio.

The colour of the shirt is stronger than the others in this guide, but I think it looked better in person and will hopefully fade out nicely. When I tried the shirt, I happened to be wearing a pair of navy worsted suit trousers - not the most natural of bedfellows for a chambray shirt, but a helpful reminder that one of the best ways to tame a brighter blue is with a darker one.

For those that want a crisper chambray in a slightly more muted colour, the 1942 Big Yank shirt (above) is a good choice and similar in most respects (including fit) to the 1935 shirt.

However, as it's a wartime garment, some of the construction details have been pared back, so, for example, you won’t find the triple-needle stitching here. The cigarette pocket (a new design called the mountain pocket) is also, presumably, simpler to manufacture given it doesn’t have a flap.

Honourable mentions

Bryan Shettig (above) founded The Rite Stuff with an aim of reproducing pre-WWII era workwear because, as he told UK stockist Those That Know, “as I continued to research [...], I found that in terms of workwear clothing the high point was the 1920s and 1930s. [...] The ‘40s and ‘50s were a period of maintaining, or slow decline, of the gains made in design and fabric quality leading up to the ‘20s and ‘30s”.

In writing this article, I spent a lot of time on Bryan’s website (and the associated blog) trawling through the considerable amount of research and archive material that he’s used to help him design his pieces. If anyone is interested in finding out more about the evolution of the American work shirt I’d highly recommend his two-part history.

Of The Rite Stuff’s chambray shirts, I really like the Uncle Sam in tan (above - it’s also available in blue) with its patented (naturally) E-Z Reach Double Cigarette pockets - they look really useful for those days when you want to travel light and keep your hands free. Uniquely, the shirt is finished with Corozo buttons, which were fairly common in the 1920s before being supplanted by Bakelite and plastic alternatives.

The Heracles work shirt (above) is another faithful reproduction of a 1920s/30s classic.

Whilst the number of heavy-duty design elements - the double-lined elbows and yoke, the ventilation holes, the extended chinstrap - might make the shirt less versatile for PS readers (who I suspect are just as likely to pair their chambrays with tailored flannel trousers as jeans) it’s an undeniably fascinating and expert construction.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to try any of The Rite Stuff’s shirts for this article, so I’d love to hear from readers that have experience of any of their products.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Readers can find more information on chambray in the PS archives: The Guide to Denim and Chambray Shirtings

Next week: In part 2, our favourite modern, adapted chambray work shirts

A. Marchesan, Stockholm: Curated Period Menswear

Posted on by Manish Puri

A. Marchesan, Stockholm: Curated Period Menswear

Share
Subscribe
42 Comments
Monday, April 8th 2024Tags:
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

There’s not exactly a shortage of quality secondhand and vintage stores in Stockholm.

Take a stroll along Hornsgatan for example - a busy road running through the Södermalm neighbourhood - and within just a few hundred metres you’ll pass Broadway & Sons, Herr Judit and Ruth & Raoul (to name just a few).

Interestingly, it was explained to me by local friends that Sweden’s higher disposable income coupled with a predilection for “the new” (trends, brands, styles) ensures a healthy supply-line of used goods (clothes and interiors, in particular) into those shops.

And it was one such friend, the ever-stylish Erik (the loveliest of fellas who possesses the irritating ability to go thrifting at a Boy Scouts jumble sale and still come home with an immaculate made-in-Italy, Ralph Lauren DB blazer in his size), who suggested I pay a visit to a vintage place called A. Marchesan whilst I was in town.

What I found, was an extensive selection of vintage tailoring and accessories, crowned by a very wearable range of overcoats. But let's walk through the store together.

The default mise en scène of many of the vintage shops I’ve frequented is a few wall racks groaning under the weight of assorted and unrelated garments. But A. Marchesan was far removed from this; the premises oozed old-world department-store charm and considered curation. 

The ground floor houses footwear and accessories. The shoes - displayed on a beautiful wooden, oval-shaped, tiered plinth - were largely Swedish (in the 1930s nearly 250 shoe factories operated in Sweden, employing some 11,000 workers), English and American - with brands like Alden, Allen Edmonds, Church’s, Edward Green, Florsheim, Foster & Son and John Lobb well represented.

The owner, Alexander Marchesan, told me that finding vintage shoes in saleable condition was an increasingly tall order. And so, it’s an endorsement of Simon’s recommendation of Crockett & Jones as a “good-value” shoe that one of the few new products that Alexander carries is a range of brogues and oxfords from C&J.

The dearth of traditional footwear has also presented Alexander with an opportunity to develop his own product, which he was eager to show me. As Yuki Matsuda, founder of artisanal shoe brand Yuketen, put it to Simon recently, “I think a lot of companies start this way - they want to recreate the vintage that they see but can’t buy any more”.

The A. Marchesan Balmoral boot (above) is inspired by a 1920s-1930s style worn in the heyday of Swedish shoemaking. Coincidentally, on my visit I was wearing a pair of Alden parajumpers which helped to bring the design specifics of the more formal Balmoral into sharper focus: an almond-shaped toe and refined waist, a narrower and shorter boot shaft, and more eyelets on the upper.

Made from French goatskin (as this shoe traditionally was) it’s a style that, even a century on, I think has a place in the modern wardrobe - especially in Stockholm where black boots in the winter seem to be de rigueur amongst the locals.

There were other in-house products under development (shirts and knitwear) that I was less taken with, but I’ll be keeping an eye open for the boots when they’re released later this year.

Past the shoes, towards the rear of the ground floor, was a large selection of hats - mostly made by the Italian company Borsalino alongside select vintage finds from Barbisio, Panizza, Preston, Stetson, Battersby, Lock & Co and Mossant.

Alexander joked that “there may be some debate about who made the best hats in the 20th century, but when it comes to the insides of the hats there’s not really a contest” (see above).

Adjacent to the hats was a healthy stock of eyeglasses, socks (also new, also English - sourced from Pantherella’s Vintage collection) and silk accessories: scarves, foulards and ties.

Simon wrote recently about his enduring love of ties and I’ve found that a vintage pick-up is often the perfect opportunity to try a different length/width or an unusual colour/pattern without breaking the bank.

Upstairs on the first floor is where you'll find the tailored offering. 

In 1950, Sweden acceded to the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trades (GATT), and the subsequent influx of clothing (from cheaper markets such as Italy) had a similarly detrimental impact on Sweden’s textile industry as it did on shoemaking.

As a result, the majority of tailoring sold by A. Marchesan dates to the late fifties and prior, with an emphasis on Swedish bespoke and quality RTW alongside a smattering of UK and US garments.

I won’t attempt to summarise the vast style of suits and sportcoats - distinguishing between 1920s, 30s, 40s and 50s tailoring would require a whole series of articles authored by a source far more knowledgeable than myself. However the drapey silhouette of several jackets did bring Anderson & Sheppard to mind.

There may even be a link there to Swedish tailor Per Anderson, who founded the Savile Row house in 1906 and helped to develop the Drape Cut it became synonymous with.

I can imagine some PS readers dismissing A. Marchesan as too “period” or “costume-y” for them. 

Whilst this is understandable, I think it would be a real shame to miss out on the range of cuts and vintage cloths available. Just take a look at the unusual two-tone stripe of the 1940s Swedish double-breasted suit above. I suspect you’d be hard pressed to find something similar in a modern bunch. 

Indeed, the closest I’ve seen is a Fox Brother’s limited edition cloth from their aptly-named Silver Screen collection - which has been expressly designed to “pay homage to the timeless elegance and sartorial excellence of [...] the golden years of Hollywood”.

When browsing the collection of looks on A. Marchesan's Instagram page, I’ve found that mentally expunging some of the period accessories - collar pins, hats and pocket watch chains - can make them a little more accessible and help cast them in a slightly less traditional light.

Above and below are just a few outfits that I think are great as is. I’d also love to hear from readers that have successfully incorporated period tailoring into their wardrobes with any tips on how to do so. 

(Above - 1930s Swedish three-piece tuxedo. Below left - 1950s Swedish tweed in a black and violet houndstooth. Below right - 1940s Swedish three-piece suit in Harris Tweed.)

Now, you might remain adamant that vintage suits and jackets made from a heavier cloth, to a fuller length, with a strong lapel and generous silhouette is not for you. And yet, those are precisely the characteristics many of us look for in an overcoat.

It’s here that A. Marchesan really shone for me; their selection of winter coats was as comprehensive as anything I’ve encountered elsewhere - both in terms of quantity (they numbered in the hundreds) and quality.

PS readers often ask where they can find value in classic menswear, and I’d argue that investing in a quality second-hand coat stands head and shoulders above all other options.

Considered purely from a financial perspective, a modest 20% saving on a good coat will be significantly more in pounds and pennies than a 40% saving on, for example, a nice pair of trousers or knitwear. 

On top of that, if a coat’s style and cloth has already prevailed over 70-odd years, there’s no reason to believe one won’t be able to squeeze a few more good years from it.

And also, an overcoat is usually far more forgiving to imperfections in fit than a suit or sports jacket.

I could happily have departed A. Marchesan with three or four coats under my arm (not that I would have had the strength to carry that much wool). Indeed, it's most unusual for a shop simply to have that many coats in my UK size of 38-40, let alone in the style and condition here.

After much deliberation, and careful examination of the excess baggage fees of my airline, I purchased a bespoke overcoat (below) made in 1959 by the now-defunct Stockholm tailors Janson & Wallgren, who at the time were holders of a hovleverantör (Royal Warrant).

The coat is fashioned from a deep, dark-navy wool, sourced from the mill of They-Don’t-Make-Em-Like-They-Used-To.

Forgive me, I’m being frivolous here, but it’s incredible how many people have looked at the cloth since (and the way the twill catches the light) and commented on its superiority. A view lent credence by the fact that the coat, apart from a little wear around the neck, appears virtually new.

Even the minor details help set it apart: hand-warmer pockets, a truly sumptuous heavy satin lining finished with piping, and the original coat hook still attached to the collar. (A note to all the High Street retailers that I used to patronise when I was a younger man: this hook has taken the weight of a 2.5kg coat - yes, I weighed it - for 65 years, and your hooks couldn't even hold a flimsy bit of schmatta for 65 minutes without it coming apart. Sort it!)

I departed A. Marchesan with a terrific new/old overcoat and a sweet reminder of what a funny little tribe we classic menswear folk are part of. 

A Goth teenager had wandered into the shop to rendez-vous with his friend who was busy trying on a suit in the fitting room. To kill some time, the Goth - inky black hair and smokey-eyed, nails marked with the chipped remnants of an oxblood polish, wearing a jet-black uniform of cropped jeans, T-shirt and chunky platform boots - perused the shop’s collection. 

He became increasingly bemused as he ran the rule over double-breasted waistcoats, top hats, silver-handled canes, monocles and spats. Our eyes met fleetingly, his face betraying a hint of incredulity. I knew exactly what was going through his mind: “And people reckon my style is out there?”

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Currently the only way to buy from A. Marchesan is instore or through their Instagram page. A webstore is under construction and Alexander hopes to launch it soon. I’ll update this article when it goes live.

Images courtesy of A. Marchesan.

Manish’s five bespoke lessons: Picking cloth

Posted on by Manish Puri

Manish’s five bespoke lessons: Picking cloth

Friday, February 16th 2024Tags:
Share
Subscribe
78 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri.

This article is the second in a series dealing with my personal experiences of having bespoke/MTM clothes made over the last six years. The first covered some of my tips for working with tailors, while this piece focuses on the lessons I’ve learned when selecting cloth.

There are also many articles around PS giving advice on cloth selection - most obviously the Guide to Cloth, but also a few others that I’ve linked to at the end of this piece. 

Unknown brother

My very first bespoke order of any sort was from the travelling Neapolitan shirtmaker Luca Avitabile, who, at that time, was hosting trunk shows at the Travelers Club in Pall Mall. My initial, tentative step along the bespoke journey is a memory I’ll cherish forever.

In the club's reception, I spied another Permanent Style reader who too was psyching himself up to see Luca for the first time; his eyes, like mine, betraying intimidation, panic, but mostly excitement for the adventure ahead. We latched onto one another and proceeded to take our appointments together.

Luca was charm personified, patiently guiding us through his swatches and cloth books as we sweated over decisions with the same eye-popping intensity as the FBI guy that has to choose whether to cut the red wire or the blue wire at the end of every 80s action movie.

Later that summer afternoon, still giddy from our first commission, my new friend Tim (in a jacket from Sartoria Caliendo - top) and I celebrated at the rooftop bar of the Picturehouse Central cinema - drinking pints, dissecting the Drake’s 2016 lookbook (still one of their best in my opinion - above) and making plans to collect our shirts together.

Now, I acknowledge that my friendship with Tim (still going strong after six years and his relocation back to Australia) was a stroke of sartorial serendipity spun by the goddess Clotho herself. But, if at all possible, try and find yourself a Tim - a buddy-cum-enabler that’s at a similar point in their menswear journey. Someone to visit shops/tailors with, share tips and dispense truths. And if you’re very lucky, you too could be awoken in the dead of night by the ping of your phone heralding a fit pic with the caption, “What do you think of this?”

Tighten up

This reminiscence is by way of introduction to my tips on selecting cloths, because my first few commissions with Luca (above with Simon) held a couple of valuable lessons.

The first, deftly summarised by Confucius (presumably after commissioning yet another pair of mid-grey flannels) who said “the cautious seldom err”.  

After 20 minutes stroking our chins over various cloths that we had absolutely zero intention of ordering - butcher’s stripes thicker than prison bars and gingham checks you could play chess on - Tim and I sheepishly pointed to the very first cloth Luca had suggested: a lightweight, blue poplin. “Bravo”, he exclaimed, as if we’d solved Fermat’s last theorem and not, as the case was, wimped out and selected the bleeding obvious.

Of course, when my shirt arrived a few months later it met every expectation - because, even as a novice, I was pretty confident how my cautious choice would look and how I would wear it. Without hesitation I pressed on with my sophomore commission: another blue shirt (more on that colour later) in chambray.

Despite the second shirt being made to the same specifications as the first it felt tighter in the armpit, the elbow and across the shoulders. The heavier and more closely woven chambray had exposed minor fit issues that the tissue-like poplin had masked. 

To be clear, this wasn’t a Luca issue. I’ve had a similar experience with other makers where a jacket in stiff Irish linen has stubbornly refused to submit to my body in the same way that a spongier woollen had.

So, my other piece of advice for those commissioning something for the first time and debating between two cloths, is to opt for the tighter weave. If the resulting product fits well then subsequent makes are likely to run more smoothly.

In reality, you’re going to want the cloth that you want; so, I’d just keep the weave in mind and perhaps ask yourself when you have the final garment, whether the fit is truly good or is being ushered from decent to good by the forgiving nature of the fabric.

Beginning to see the light

If the night is darkest before the dawn, then the swatch is surely darkest just before the commission.

That small, rectangular, inert piece of cloth, often presented sandwiched between not-too-distant cousins, is burdened from the get-go with all manner of expectations of colour, drape, texture, and of how it will play under light and perform over time.

So, alas, it’s not that uncommon for the finished garment, realised in over two metres of cloth that flows up, down and around one's body to look somewhat different to the original swatch, and (more importantly) to the suit engineered by your mind’s eye from that initial unassuming token.

The first thing to consider is that the full garment will likely appear a shade lighter than it does on the swatch - not much of an issue for patterned jackets, but potentially problematic if you’re fixed on a specific shade of blue for a suit or blazer.

The second thing is that the premiere of a new commission in public is like a third date - full of revelations. The blue in the showroom now has a purple cast. The soft cream suddenly looks like it’s been left out of the fridge too long and gone pale yellow. The black isn’t black enough dammit!

I’ve mentioned blue tailoring twice here (and, a heads up, I’ll do so again later) because, despite the promise of blue being an idiot-proof selection, this particular idiot has managed to get it wrong on more than one occasion. 

We all carry a personal notion of what the perfect blue is, and every tailor stocks a plentiful number of alternatives which form a tight orbit around that perfect choice. And so the potential for error arises simply because of the sheer weight of plausible options. For example, a navy business suit I once commissioned came out just a shade brighter and a smidge glossier than I’d anticipated - too characterful for an office but still too corporate for evening wear.

Sadly, there’s no surefire way to avoid this - although, when in doubt, opting for the darker blue is pretty sound advice and might have steered my blue suit in a safer direction. The truth is, in the pursuit of a bespoke wardrobe, virtually all of us will order something that we hope will make us look like Pierce Brosnan and wind up looking like Piers Morgan. 

Besides nobody likes someone who’s executed flawless commission after commission. It’s like people who pass their driving test on the first go - they’re not to be trusted. You now have a war story (if your definition of war extends to grown men consoling each other by saying "it doesn't look that bad"). Wear it like a badge of honour and use it to forewarn those naifs who will look up to you for wisdom. 

However, to minimise your risks, the first thing you can do is ask around. Permanent Style events, for example, are filled with people (myself included) politely waiting for the opportunity to tell you all about their most successful commissions. 

Secondly, expose the swatch to as many different (and relevant) lighting conditions as possible. Often that involves getting it under some natural light (which isn’t always in ready supply at trunk shows) but, if you’re commissioning a dinner suit in black barathea, how it looks under the midday sun is probably not that illuminating (no pun intended).

What I've recently taken to doing is getting a few prospective swatches that I can carry around with me. That way they can be examined under different lights, compared against similar colours in your wardrobe, combined into outfits at home, and, perhaps best of all, you get to ask everyone you meet “do you reckon this is a mid-grey or charcoal?”

If, after a week or two of playing around with a swatch you’re still excited about it being made up, then you’re about as prepared as anyone ever is.

Hot in herre

Reader questions about wearing heavier fabrics are quite common on PS, specifically around whether they wear too warm in an age of milder winters. As someone who works up a light sweat if they have to break stride to catch a bus, I would simply say don’t worry too much about it. 

In recent commissions I’ve favoured heavier fabrics - especially for trousers. I like the way they feel, the way they drape and the way they hold a crease. A particular favourite of mine is Fox Brothers Heritage Flannel which weighs in at 17/18 oz. (My current commission-under-construction by Taillour is a mid-grey chalk stripe flannel from this bunch - above).

Overheating in winter is a genuine concern for me. There’s no more forlorn sight in menswear than when weather finally becomes cold enough to wear beautiful layers of tailoring only for one to step into a toasty pub and have to start frantically disrobing like the forbidden lover in a Jane Austen novel.

However, in those instances, I’ve found I’m baking hot because of my overcoat and scarf, the chunky knit with the shirt underneath it or the extra thermal t-shirt underneath that. Seldom is the case that I sit there thinking, “I would be so much cooler if I just went for that 12oz flannel trouser”.

My way

In a sketch from the nineties South Asian comedy Goodness Gracious Me, a Hindu teenager asks his father how one goes about untangling their religion with its numerous ancient texts, surfeit of deities, and a billion adherents with nearly as many local dialects and customs. The father nods in agreement, before sagely offering this advice as the foundational pillar of the 4,000 year-old faith: “No beef”.

I often think of this sketch when I read guides to tailoring. There’s so much great information on finding the right tailor, selecting cloth and building a wardrobe, and yet so much of it boils down to “navy blazer”.

Now, I’m certainly in no position to deny the primacy of the navy jacket - I’ve commissioned a couple myself (a hopsack for summer and a lambswool twill for winter) - they’re supremely wearable and versatile. But, and this is often true of staples, whenever I try to wear it I found myself unconsciously mimicking the way other stylish people wear it. 

Of course that’s one of the strengths of the blue blazer - how easy it is to reference and incorporate into a uniform - but with each incremental boost to my sartorial surety those guide rails began to feel like constraints.

My ‘eureka’ moment came when I gave myself permission to deviate from a prescribed formula and commission something that wasn’t part of any capsule wardrobe, but, instead, was just something I liked.

I’d been bookmarking gun-club jackets on Instagram for a couple of years, and with no sign of that particular obsession fading, I commissioned The Anthology to make the jacket above from a tweed cloth by Fox Brothers. 

By gun-club standards, it’s actually pretty tame as it’s essentially different tones of brown (any hint of blue is a pareidolic illusion stemming from the pattern’s similarity to the Acquascutum check). The jacket has quickly become a favourite and (dare I say) a signature look.

Of course, ploughing your own furrow is risky when you’re new to tailoring - yet another reason why navy is such a great first choice: it’s a safe space for the uninitiated to play. But once you’ve found your footing, perhaps by your third or fourth commission, following your gut can be the glorious inflection point where a bespoke journey starts to become your bespoke journey.

Manish (below with Tim at a PS pop-up party) is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Some recommended PS articles to delve into this deeper:

Lost in translation: What menswear phrases really mean

Posted on by Manish Puri

Lost in translation: What menswear phrases really mean

Wednesday, December 27th 2023
Share
Subscribe
44 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

Powering up one’s menswear game isn’t merely about honing the perfect silhouette or mastering colour combinations. It also means becoming fluent in a whole new language. 

That will, of course, initially mean becoming familiar with the jargon: a key building block of any sub-culture. But to elevate your status, you must learn that those building blocks make structures and structures conceal as much as they reveal. Within menswear, the aficionado understands that a great many truths hide in plain sight.

In the pursuit of those truths, I’d like to offer myself up as a latter-day St Jerome (or at least José Mourinho) by providing translations of common menswear assertions. Below you’ll find a list of things that have been said by me or to me - doubtless you will have uttered or heard similar things. Alongside these statements I present their true meaning, naked and unadorned.

That’s the context for unpacking the subtext. But what’s the pretext? Well, it’s Christmas (translation: ‘tis the season to be jolly).

What I said What I meant
I favour a more relaxed silhouette these days I ate too much cheese at Christmas
I think gentlemen should start wearing ties and pocket squares again I bought too many ties and pocket squares at the last Drake’s sample sale
It’s a unique piece I have no idea what to pair it with
I think it will last forever Because I’m never ever going to wear it
Wow, I’ve been looking for something similar for ages You stole my look!
I don’t like to overthink my clothes I do like to overthink my clothes. I just don’t have an answer for that specific question 
It’s important to think in terms of cost-per-wear I overpaid
How do you keep finding so many great items for so cheap on eBay? I hate your guts
The Neapolitan look is over My Neapolitan tailoring doesn’t fit me anymore
Just look at how badly kids dress today It must be nice to have the energy for lots of casual sex
I’m thinking I should maybe have gone a shade darker with the cloth Oh my god!! What have I done?!

 

(Real things) people said to me What they meant
How many fittings did you have for your suit? The fit is terrible
Our house likes a longer coat, Sir You can get fucked if you think I’m shortening this jacket
It’s a classic look You look like your Dad
He’s a bit fashion forward  He scares me
Take your time. We don’t do a hard sell here.  Please don’t buy this
You're looking very distinguished Is that more tweed?
I’m thinking of switching tailors My tailor has put their prices up
I love the hunt for vintage My bank has put my mortgage up
I like to play with the conventions of black tie and make it ‘alternative’ I don’t know how to tie a bow tie
My preferred knot is a four-in-hand I didn’t even know there were other tie knots
I’m transitioning to a capsule wardrobe My wife said she’s going to leave me
Alright Chef, got your mise en place ready? I really do like your striped seersucker trousers, mate. I’m just masking it by making a world-class burn.

 

What my partner said to me What they meant
Don’t you look dapper? Why are you so overdressed?
What are you wearing tonight, darling? Please tell me I can wear jeans and a t-shirt
I'm so happy that your clothes make you so happy I prefer you in jeans and a t-shirt
How much did that really cost? I’ll take whatever figure you give me and know it was double
Ooh, that’s a nice jumper darling, be careful not to shrink it  Watch me “accidentally” put it on a hot wash so that I can have it
I think you can pull it off I don’t think you can pull it off

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Where to buy a RTW double-breasted navy overcoat

Posted on by Manish Puri

Where to buy a RTW double-breasted navy overcoat

Wednesday, December 20th 2023
Share
Subscribe
92 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

Some years back, I was having a drink with my partner, Gemma, and a friend, Nathan, who shared my interest in clothes. Over a few pints and packets of bacon fries we delved deep into matters political and philosophical, before turning to the personal, and nothing is more personal than style.

"What item of clothing do you think a woman notices first about a guy?" asked Nathan.

"Their coat," Gemma replied, without hesitation.

Nathan and I were both surprised. Lad's mags had been insisting for years that women are constantly scanning men's feet and judging them by their choice of shoes - it was almost as if the magazines didn't know what they were talking about!

The more we pondered it, the more sense it made. Many guys (and this was true of me for a time) have a 'one-and-done' policy when it comes to outerwear, the whole of autumn/winter to be spent wearing the same coat regardless of the occasion. And, if that's the case, the coat you've chosen to wear to work, on a date, and for a night out can speak volumes.

If that actually is the case (and I'm breaking out in a cold sweat just thinking about returning to having only one coat), is there a better candidate than a double-breasted overcoat? I don't think there is, and I know Simon agrees, going so far as to say the double-breasted overcoat might be his favourite piece of menswear.

And so, this guide has been written to look at some of the best RTW options in navy - arguably the most versatile colour. I've focused on coats that I've been able to try firsthand in London - and my, how lucky us Londoners are to have access to so many excellent options within a mile of each other. However, I know there are many more choices online, and so, as always, the comments section is open for your best recommendations.

Cordings (£795)

The Cordings polo coat is undoubtedly the workhorse option in this guide. Hewn from a robust Yorkshire wool (at 26oz the heaviest in the list) it should easily shrug off being balled up in the corner of a pub or getting snagged by a branch on a country walk. It doesn’t feel like the most luxurious cloth, but then again, the cashmere option in this guide is five times as expensive.

I tried the UK38 and it was a comfortable fit, even over the chunky Shetland roll-neck I was sporting at the time. The coat was longer than a Bollywood movie, finishing in the middle of my shins; an unapologetic length for a classic coat and the longest in the guide too.

The shoulders were slightly padded, but I’m pleased to report that they didn’t appear as prominent or as stiff as on Cordings’ website (below).

The only quibbles I had were on the design side. For example, I found the coat’s matte, textured exterior jarred with the satin burgundy lining, which is emblazoned all over with the Cordings crest. 

Or how about the patch-flap breast pocket, which didn’t appear to be wide enough to foppishly stuff a nice pair of gloves into - as is de rigueur with a polo coat. (I know, I can’t believe there isn’t a support group for poor tortured souls like me either).

But these points aside, I would recommend this coat to anybody that’s looking for a more classic style and length, and a more economical proposition. 

Also available in chestnut

New & Lingwood (£1250)

I’ve been really impressed with the collections released by New & Lingwood of late. (I’m also annoyed I didn’t give them a shoutout in my article on pink, because I’ve not seen a brand use the colour so well - whether it’s pyjamas, gowns or knitwear). 

Their pieces are full of character, or, in the words of the shop assistant who helped me, “charisma” (wind your neck in Stefan, I’ll do the writing). Their double-breasted coat is no exception with two standout elements.

The first is the use of a gently textured cloth made of 85% wool and 15% silk, the latter injecting a little lustre and elegance to the coat. As a result, the cloth is marginally lighter than the other coats in this guide - still plenty snuggly, but it might require bolstering with chunky knitwear in a cold snap.

The second element is the shorter, Buddha-belly lapels which evoke the feel of an old naval coat (although perhaps that idea has been implanted in my mind by the brand’s styling with a white roll neck - above). The shorter lapels (with a jigger button situated near the bottom of the ribs) affords the skirt of the coat a generous drop; it might look incongruous with low to mid-rise trousers, but I found it wonderfully expressive.

I tried a size 40 and that fit well in the shoulders, had room for layers and finished at my platonic ideal of coat length - a couple of inches below the knees. Generally, as long as the basic fit of a RTW overcoat is good, I don’t tend to fuss too much with alterations. However with its stylised lapel, darted waist and lighter cloth, I’d make an exception for the New & Lingwood coat to preserve the sharpness of the cut.

In my case, the shape through the waist was ever-so-gently interrupted by a few ripples caused by excess cloth in the back. Stefan was as quick with the pins as he was with the adjectives and restored the intended line, which could subsequently be altered by their in-house tailor.

Anglo-Italian (£1550)

The Anglo-Italian martingala coat has been a constant since the business was founded. It was also one of my first serious menswear purchases, having previously bought overcoats at High Street retailers such as River Island, Zara and (this must have been in another multiverse) G-Star.

I remember browsing Anglo-Italian’s earliest range of products (whilst trying very discreetly to check price tags before getting too excited or attached to anything) when Jake Grantham (the founder) invited me to don their new overcoat.

The lining of the sleeve may as well have had a card swipe machine stitched into it, because as soon as I put my arm through I was sold. The substantial 25oz wool weighed heavy on my shoulders, but, at the same time, propped me up straight and proud. It was one of those garments that wasn’t just pleasurable to wear, but revealed a mode of dressing that I’d been grasping at with limited success for a while.

And so, it’s with a heavy heart that I inform you dear reader that (after several winters of denial) I recently sold the coat to a fellow (slimmer) enthusiast. Alas, amongst the martingala’s many properties preventing weight gain wasn’t one of them, and I had to accept that the IT46 was simply too small for me and I would never again wear it with the intended repose.

Were I to get a replacement, an IT 48 would do nicely. Indeed, in the intervening years, the only thing that has changed is my body, the coat remains as it was: patch flap pockets, turnback cuffs and a more discreet lapel than anything offered by the other brands in this guide.

However, it was the details of the back of the coat which originally fired my imagination, as I’d never seen them on a High Street coat before: an action back to allow ease in motion, a buttoned rear vent, and a half-buttoned-belt to nip the waist just so. 

On reflection, perhaps I was too hasty and should have enquired if Anglo-Italian would consider a part-exchange?

Also available in mid-grey and charcoal

Edward Sexton (£1,750)

The Edward Sexton top coat is a relatively new addition to their range of RTW coats and is patterned after a coat that Edward himself used to wear (below).

It is, as with much of the Sexton range, a statement piece: full-bodied lapels swelling through the chest and demanding attention be paid to the strong, roped shoulder. And, as with many statements, they’re best made when you know exactly what it is you want to say. 

In other words, if you're tentatively building a more tailored wardrobe (in the manner that I was when I purchased my Anglo-Italian coat) the Sexton top coat may just overwhelm the rest of your wardrobe. For everyone else, it’s a superb option - steeped in Savile Row history - at a good price.

I tried the UK 40, the first time I’ve ever put on a Sexton garment, and was jolted by a frisson of excitement. I felt the beginnings of a smirk developing on my face, an unintended consequence of knowing you look damn good.  

The coat was perfect through the shoulders, but, owing to the thick folds from an overly long jumper and the thick folds from an overly long lunch, it was too tight through the waist and seat when buttoned. 

The coat has a few hallmarks of Savile Row tailoring: hand-made buttonholes, pick-stitching and generous inlays. And so, I could easily have let out the waist by an inch or two to allow me to button the coat more freely. However, the advice from Dominic (Edward Sexton’s Creative Director) was to size up to the 42 and bring the waist in to preserve the Sexton hourglass silhouette.

Thom Sweeney (£3,995)

Of all the coats I tried, the Thom Sweeney model was the one I would have walked out with on the spot. (An act I may have contemplated had there not been a staff of pesky, youthful assistants who looked like they could run quite fast).

This is partly because of the fit - the IT48 was absolutely dead on for me in the shoulders, sleeves (which are usually a shade long) and waist (which is usually a smidge tight). 

The only note of caution I’d sound is the length, which is gently flirting with being on the shorter side - fine if you’re below six foot (and at the age of 43 I’ve recently accepted that I’m unlikely to grow beyond that threshold), but, any taller and you might risk exposing the knee (and you wouldn’t want to set tongues wagging in the local Parish, would you?).

But my main reason for favouring this coat was the composition. Whilst the other options in this guide are predominantly fashioned from wool (a material that’s well represented in my coat wardrobe) the Thom Sweeney offering is made from 100% Loro Piana cashmere (a material that’s tragically less well represented).

And so, I could easily envisage a prime, central hook of my coat rail being cleared to make room for the Thom Sweeney coat. However, if you’re in the market for a one-off coat purchase to be worn regularly and without a care then I’d suggest a hardier and cheaper wool (such as those used by Cordings or Anglo-Italian) might be a better choice for you.

Also available in ash oak

Other options

The Anthology, in collaboration with Permanent Style, have developed a terrific polo coat. My only reason for not featuring it in the main body of the guide is because there’s currently no RTW navy option - it’s only available in herringbone donegal tweed ($1950) and camelhair ($2050).

However, customers can commission a navy polo coat via MTO, and, having seen it on a couple of friends (including The Anthology co-founder, Buzz - above), I would wholeheartedly recommend it.

One of the pleasures of working on these guides is that it gives me an excuse to pop into shops that I haven't visited before. And so, I recently found myself in the Cifonelli showroom on Clifford Street for the very first time. The range, as you’d expect, uses some of the most luxurious fabrics in the world - it’s certainly not cheap, but, when compared to some of the luxury brands housed on nearby Bond Street, it suddenly appears quite reasonable. 

Their double-breasted coat (€3,600) is a good option for anyone looking for a more luxurious piece. The coat is made from a very soft, thick, spongey, double-faced wool (which you can see as it’s unlined) and has some hand-sewn details like the milanese buttonhole. 

As is characteristic of Cifonelli, the coat does fit quite close to the body and high in the armhole, so I found sizing up to IT 52 offered the best fit. If you too find yourself with any fit issues, it’s worth noting that in-store alterations are included in the price.

When I visited the Ralph Lauren store in London they’d sold out of their navy polo coats (£1899) and had just a few large sizes in camelhair left. 

You might have more luck in your local store but I would expect a similar model (made from a double-faced melton wool) to be available most Autum/Winters.

And finally, a more budget-friendly polo coat option (£795) is also available from John Simons - made in Florence from melton wool.

My warmest thanks to Matthew Coles, Mila Dastugue and Nina Penlington for their help with this guide.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Manish’s five bespoke lessons: Working with a tailor

Posted on by Manish Puri

Manish’s five bespoke lessons: Working with a tailor

Wednesday, November 29th 2023Tags:
Share
Subscribe
70 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

I’ve been commissioning made-to-measure and bespoke garments for six years. 

In any other sphere, that amount of experience might qualify me as an expert. So, it’s telling about the nature of bespoke - the slow production times, the incremental improvements to a pattern, the subtle differences in house style, and the gradual evolution in taste that comes from having a broader palette to create from - that I still very much consider myself a beginner!

Even so, in that time I’ve commissioned tailors from London, Hong Kong, New York, Naples and Stockholm to make pretty much every type of garment save for an overcoat (note to self: ooh, an overcoat).

I’ve had one almighty calamity (aborted partway), a few things I’ve outgrown (figuratively and literally) and have ended up with several pieces that fill me with joy and gratitude whenever I wear them.

So, this article (the first of two) is about some of the lessons I’ve learned from working with different tailors. Of course, this is just my experience and the Permanent Style archives are stocked with articles dealing with Simon's take on similar matters - I’ve added links to key pieces at the end. 

My target reader is someone who is about to embark upon having clothes made for the first time. For the old hands, I hope it gives you the satisfaction that comes from knowing the safe route through a minefield - and I insist that you share your hard-earned wisdom in the comments.

In the final reckoning, to be in a position where you’re even considering having clothes made for you is a gift of fortune. By all means research tailors, agonise over fabrics, measure and remeasure garments, snap selfies, curate look books, and interrogate makers. But, my best advice is to enjoy the ride.

1. More than a feeling

In Simon’s review of his bespoke suede boots from Roberto Ugolini he wrote something about the bespoke experience that had me knocking the nearest table in agreement:

“I am increasingly specific about what I need…and it seems to be paying off. When I was younger I didn’t, and a lot of shoes were just too small for me. Partly it was awe at the bespoke process itself - the work these makers were going to do on my behalf, the combination of skill and strength. But just as importantly, I didn’t have confidence in my own opinions.”

I’ve been guilty of this myself (and perhaps it’s that “natural English reticence” that Simon alludes to). I subordinate my own gut instinct to the tailor’s skill and experience. And on the occasions where I have voiced a concern that something is too tight (and, by the way, it’s nearly always an issue with something being too tight, because, barring your pants falling down, it’s amazing how quickly you can adapt to something being slightly more relaxed than you’re accustomed to) I’ve learnt that reassurances of things ‘giving’ through wear are futile if the current state is so uncomfortable that you can’t bring yourself to wear it - I’m looking at you dry denim!

As Simon says, “it takes time to know what you need”, and over the years I’ve gotten to know that my tailoring ‘pressure points’ (the areas where an uncomfortable fit can mark even the most beautiful garment for the eBay corner of my wardrobe) are around my elbow, across the shoulders and in the crotch.

And so, I’ll try and take a seat at the tailors to see if I can feel any pinch. Not a prim perch on the edge of a stool mind you, but a full gangster-lean back into an armchair with legs tightly crossed. I’ll take imaginary phone calls to see if the elbow feels tight. And I’ll reach into the air as if I’m gripping the hand strap of a Tube carriage to examine if the collar creeps away from my neck. 

I sometimes feel a little silly and even (here comes the English in me again) rude doing this - as if I’m casting aspersions on the quality of the work done. Your tailor won’t care. They’ve seen it all before. One told me that they had a regular client who would go to the corner of the room and assess the fit by contorting their body into shapes that would make Houdini wince.

2. I’ll be your mirror

If the front of a finished jacket and its attendant embellishments (lapels, quarter, pockets, buttons) conveys a tailor’s style, then the back, a landscape of pure cloth, is where their skill is on naked display. 

The large (and largely interrupted) length starts wide at the crest of the shoulders, peaks over the shoulder blades, troughs and narrows through the small of the back, before spreading its form to envelop the tuchus. This undulating journey reveals a lot about how the jacket fits and how comfortably it will wear.

And, so, it’s a minor frustration (and surprise) of mine that not all tailors have a setup that offers customers a closer look at the back - a rear view mirror, if you will. This is especially true of travelling tailors and trunk shows, although I can forgive them for being reluctant to check a full-length three-way mirror onto an aeroplane.

Fortunately, these days we all carry our black mirrors with us so, if you do find yourself trying to catch a glimpse of your own posterior like a dog chasing their own tail, I would encourage you to enlist your tailor’s help in documenting the back of your commission - photos will give you a sharper picture to nitpick over, while video will offer a sense of how it looks in motion.

And to those who say this tip is essentially just a 21st century repackaging of Cher Horowitz’s advice in the film Clueless to never rely on mirrors and always take polaroids, my retort would be that you’re a virgin who can’t drive.

3. My love is your love

In Permanent Style’s infancy, Simon would often bemoan the fact that tailors didn’t have enough examples of their work on display to help prospective customers get a clearer picture of what the house style was.

I think this is undoubtedly an area where tailoring houses have improved - both in the showroom and through the curation of a library of commissions on social media. (Indeed, at the last Mortimer House talk, Anda Rowland of Anderson & Sheppard appealed to customers to tag them when posting looks online).

However, even within the relatively narrow parameters of a house style there are still so many decisions to be made where even a modest adjustment can have a dramatic impact on the finished product.

Shoulders. Drape. Notch height. Lapel width. Belly. Buttoning point. Skirt length. Openness of the quarters. Like you, I’ve done my homework and I have a notion of what I want from each of these, and I also understand the theory of what a change to any one element might induce. 

However, what this looks like in practice, and how multiple tweaks might work (or not work) in concert sometimes escapes my aphantasic mind. The problem becomes particularly acute on a second or third commission with the same maker where you’re starting to find your bespoke legs and are emboldened to subtly develop your silhouette.

In those cases, you’ll find a helping hand on the commission rail, where finished and semi-finished garments dangle like ripe berries. By trying on other people’s commissions, I’ve been able to answer questions about how closed I want my quarters, how I like the collar to feel, how much belly I want on the lapels of a DB, and how extended I want my shoulders more precisely than I ever would otherwise. It doesn’t matter a jot if the coat is ill-fitting, you’re only looking for visual cues on one or two elements.

Personally, I’d be delighted if one of my commissions helped to steer a fellow enthusiast in the right direction. Just remember to ask the tailor first!

4. Lisztomania

Once you’ve made those micro-decisions, make a list of them. 

You might not realise it (because it’s probably been skilfully done) but you’ve just shared more information on your style, and made more choices about your wardrobe, than you ever have before. And even with a relatively quick turnaround (six to eight weeks minimum) you’re going to forget some of them. Or, if you’re like me, you’ll start daydreaming about the next commission and conflate the two in your mind.

Making a quick note of the fabric code, lining (cloth and type), number of sleeve buttons and any other atypical design choices can really help. Now, the tailor should make notes too, but this is a human transaction - accidental error or misinterpretation can occur, and you should prepare yourself for that possibility within reason.

Or course, if you went in for a navy worsted single-breasted suit and your tailor fishes out a lime-green corduroy double-breasted then run for the hills. Your diligent transcriptions in a notebook won’t help you in these forsaken lands.

5. Tell her no

The golden rule of retail is that the customer is always right. However, as someone that has previously purchased stretch denim, I can attest that not only is the customer frequently not right, they're often crying out for a style intervention where the errors of their ways are patiently and systematically laid out in front of them.

I do understand why some tailors are minded to tell the customer “I'm going to make whatever you want”, but, in the long term, you’ll benefit from working with a tailor that is comfortable saying no to you.

I’m a regular (and very satisfied) customer of The Anthology, for example, and still remember messaging Buzz (one of the founders of the brand, above) to enquire about making a jacket out of a cashmere glen-check cloth that had caught my eye on his Instagram stories.

In characteristically polite fashion, he steered me away from it. He understood my budget, my existing wardrobe, my style and my lifestyle, and he knew what I didn’t at the time: that this wasn’t the right piece for me at that particular stage. 

That careful handling of a customer when there’s a sale at stake gets to the heart of what makes a good bespoke relationship - trust and longevity. You can’t build a long-term customer relationship without their trust and you won’t gain their trust without looking out for them in the long-term.

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Six recommended PS articles to delve into this deeper:

Visiting Bel y Cia in Barcelona, home of the Teba

Posted on by Manish Puri

Visiting Bel y Cia in Barcelona, home of the Teba

Friday, October 6th 2023Tags:
Share
Subscribe
28 Comments
||- Begin Content -||

By Manish Puri

Bel y Cia opened in 1842 as a camiseria (shirt maker) on Passatge de Bacardí – a narrow walkway that connects Barcelona’s Las Rambla to Plaça Reial.

Following the demolition of the city walls (1854-1866) and the end of the Spanish Civil War (1939), Barcelona grew rapidly, and its locus changed. So, in the early 1940s, Bel y Cia took up new premises at the southern end of the grand shopping boulevard, Passeig de Gràcia, where it has remained ever since - a flag bearer for quality, luxury clothing surrounded by outlets of the Spanish fashion monolith, Inditex.

Over the years, the business has grown to become a full-wardrobe menswear retailer, and in 1989 a womenswear department opened in the same building. However, my recent visit to the shop was concentrated on the garment that has become synonymous with Bel over the past 80 years: the Teba.

Tales of the jacket’s origins vary, but it’s widely accepted that the first Teba was created as a shooting cardigan for King Alfonso XIII (above in Palma del Río in 1929).

Many believe the garment was commissioned on Savile Row at an unknown house – we know the King ordered suits from Henry Poole (since he was a boy of 10), Huntsman and Davies & Son.

There are, however, some that claim the jacket was the creation of María Sorreluz Múgica, a dressmaker from San Sebastián.

The King was a keen hunter and, at that time, the Count of Teba, Carlos Alfonso de Mitjans (nickname ‘Bunting’), was considered one of the finest shots in the world; naturally, the two aristocrats and bon vivants became good friends (both above on the right).

On a particular hunt, presumably after some envious glances and gentle enquiries (something I’m sure all PS readers can relate to when they’re out with a stylish friend), the King gifted his jacket to the Count - from whom it eventually took its name.

(Again, recollections differ here, and some insist it was the Count that offered his jacket to the King).

Some years later, in 1943, in an all too familiar scenario of menswear-enabling, Bunting (above in a signed photograph addressed to Bel y Cia) along with two sartorially minded friends - the Count of Caralt and Enrique Maier (a Wimbledon mixed-doubles champion in 1932) - decided to commission new Teba jackets. (I can virtually hear the glugging of vino tinto being poured and the crescendo in determination: “Shall we get some?”, “I think we should get some”, “I’ve ordered them, lads!”)

As the three gentlemen were existing customers of Bel y Cia, and therefore their measurements were already on file, they turned to the Barcelona shop, who proceeded to refine the jacket that has remained a classic to this day.

Unsurprisingly, given its hunting origins, many of the Teba’s characteristics are functional elements that suit a day spent roaming the estate.

Bel’s Classic Teba is fashioned from a knitted wool or wool/cashmere mix – a light, smooth and malleable fabric that follows the shooter’s form as they raise their arms to take aim – more so than a denser, stiffer weave like cotton or linen at any rate.

While the slightly relaxed and square silhouette helps further reduce any strain on the shooter's stance, it also allows the jacket to sit away from the body in warm weather and permits layering up on a cooler day.

Indeed, keeping the elements out is the key driver of the Teba’s style choices. The four buttons that run the length of the front of the jacket, the straight hems, the ventless back, and the button fastening on the cuffs all co-operate to shield its wearer from the wind and rain.

Even the Teba’s signature notch-less lapel (which I previously described as “a shawl collar sketched by a cubist”) can be buttoned to keep the neck covered on the Bel model. The lapel is also the area that has seen the biggest change from the traditional models sported in the 1930s and 1940s, having been slimmed down.

The finishing is akin to a shirt – shirt-sleeve shoulder, no padding, no canvas, no lining. What impressed me most was the roll of the lapels - which I don’t think is entirely obvious from Bel y Cia’s webstore images but is hopefully more apparent from the selfies above and the mannequin image at the end of this article.

I’ve tried other RTW Tebas and the lapels are often pressed flat above the top button, so the lapel line appears quite squashed relative to the long drop below. When I asked Xavier Cañadas (the shop’s manager for the past decade) how the Bel y Cia roll is achieved without any internal structure he proceeded to lead me toward the back of the shop.

Here in the centre of Barcelona, behind their retail space, spread across two floors, is where every Bel y Cia Teba and bespoke shirt is made. It’s an operation akin to a large bespoke house.

Under the watchful eye of the workshop head Ignasi (a textile engineer by training), the shirt cutter Ferran (who has been with the business for 30 years) and the Teba cutter Jordi (above) were busy preparing bundles to be stitched together by the team of tailors.

Each Teba (bespoke or RTW) is made and finished entirely by hand, save for the buttonholes which are machine finished – although Bel can hand sew them if requested.

In one corner, a lady armed with an industrial iron, suffused the garments with heat and steam to impart shape and animation – the critical step towards creating the lapel roll that caught my eye.

The workshop produces a range of RTW Tebas – the aforementioned classic knitted as well as similar alternatives made from cashmere, cashmere/silk, high twist wools, and suede.

They have also developed a more sartorial Teba-Sports Coat hybrid (the Stanley, above) which retains the notch-less lapel and button cuffs but incorporates rear vents, a central seam in the back, three buttons on the front, curved quarters, patch pockets (instead of the standard patch flap pockets), pick stitching, and a more tailored fit.

The amount of RTW available instore and online is relatively small – there’s no auxiliary production capacity in a local factory that stands ready to rattle off 50 navy jackets at a moment’s notice. However, not everything available is shown online, so if there’s a particular size or fabric that you’re looking for it’s worth emailing Xavi to enquire about what’s in stock.

Customers can make minor adjustments to the RTW model - sleeve length, jacket length, waist - at no additional cost. Similarly, MTO Tebas - where the customer can make alterations and select from bunches including Loro Piana, Lanificio di Pray and a variety of hardy British tweeds - are available with no surcharge to the RTW price. Altered RTW and MTO Tebas take 3-4 days – another advantage of the flexible on-site production.

Bel’s bespoke offering involves Ferran taking a series of torso measurements which are stored, as they have always been, on paper in a handsome wooden cabinet behind the shop counter. (I’m chuffed to say that my measurements are happily secured there, ready for future orders - although Xavi and Ferran think a small RTW jacket which has been let out in the waist would serve me well) The information is then translated to a paper pattern, and a fitting jacket prepared.

As you’d expect from bespoke, there are more options: some older customers add padding to the shoulders to compensate for postural changes. A bespoke order will typically take 3-5 weeks.

The Stanley jacket is not available in bespoke.

As I was finishing my tour with Xavier (above), the camera-shy proprietor of Bel y Cia, Señor Jordi Ballbé, came out from his office to thank me for visiting. Neatly attired in a navy blazer and paisley tie, Sr Ballbé spoke passionately about the business (which he’s owned since the late 1970s) and the importance of continuity and consistency - he employs staff that have been with the shop for 40 years serving customers that span three generations.

He regaled me with tales of when he had an office at 13 Savile Row and developed an enduring affection for Edward Green shoes. Consequently, Bel y Cia are the British shoemaker’s only stockist in Spain and have declined opportunities to create a house line of shoes because, as Sr. Ballbé puts it, “we can’t do any better”.

We discussed the history of the Catalan cotton industry, its status cemented by production of the fashionable chintz cloth that was in short supply across Europe following English and French bans on calico imports from Asia in the 1700s. (The painting below depicts a Spanish chintz (indianes) shop in 1824).

Every now and then, Sr. Ballbé would graciously break off our conversation and greet old customers with a kiss on each cheek. The whole experience seemed less like retail management and more like being welcomed by the host of an intimate soirée.

Our final conversation centred on opportunities to franchise the business – of which there have been many. Sr. Ballbé has resisted this lure for years – the only other physical space where one can buy a Bel y Cia Teba is at their Geneva store, run by his son Daniel – his rationale encapsulated by a mantra I know will resonate with many PS readers:

“I tell my staff every day, it’s more important to last than to grow.”

Manish is @the_daily_mirror on Instagram

Photos by Manish and courtesy of Bel y Cia.

Bel y Cia’s prices (at the time of writing)

  • The Classic Tebas retail from €1560 to €2550 – depending on cloth
  • The Stanley jacket is €2180
  • The bespoke Teba ranges from €1870 to €2990