A Suitable Wardrobe

Badger From The Isle Of Man

2012-02-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

The first of several new luxury wet shaving lines will be arriving at the ASW store next week, that being the Isle of Man's Simpsons badger hair shaving brushes. Shave experts consider Simpsons as either the best shaving brush maker in the world or one of them depending on who you talk to. Its brushes are entirely and slightly eccentrically made by hand, using techniques that have not changed since the firm was founded in 1919.

For more than a century, badger hair has been considered the best applicator for shaving cream and soap because of its water retention capacity, smooth sensation on the face, and unmatched durability. Simpsons brushes are filled with sustainably selected Chinese badger hair, which is imported under strict controls and then sorted, dressed and sterilised by a London firm whose origins date back to the 16th Century. Super badger is a long hair with a soft creamy white tip for the ultimate shaving sensation. The less expensive Best badger hair varies from long to medium length with a soft darker creamy tip.

Initially the store will be stocking three models:

Simpsons' Wee Scot is the smallest and if not the least expensive badger hair brush being made today then certainly one of the least expensive. Paired with a shaving soap stick it is a good way way to begin wet shaving without the discomfort of nylon or boar bristles. Only 2 3/4" (67 mm) tall with an ivory colored resin base, the hand tied knot is filled with Best quality badger hair.

Simpsons' The Major (pictured) is an "ingenious but simple" shaving brush designed for the intrepid Himalayan explorer, Major Victor Beeching. Filled with either best or super badger hair, The Major's shaving brush screws into an open ended tube, which protects the brush while allowing it to breathe in a wet pack. Only 3 1/4" (85 mm) high when packed for travel but 4 1/2" (115 mm) when assembled for use.

Finally, I will be stocking the Chubby, which has earned a legendary reputation in gourmet shaving circles. The squat 3 3/4" (95 mm) high Chubby CH2 is densely filled with hand tied super or best badger hair.

Men considering wet shaving for the first time cannot do better than a Simpsons brush and some D. R. Harris pre-shave lotion, after shave milk and a shaving soap stick.

Rambles Stimulated By A Necktie

2012-02-17T06:49:00.000-08:00

I spent some time on the Frank Sinatra website the other day, in good part because I envy the quality of the style-related writing there. I had not visited for a while, but happened across an older ASW post called Arching The Necktie that featured a photo of Ol' Blue Eyes with his tie properly curved, and that sent me on my way.

Now an arch like the one sported by the tie in the photograph tends to be a transient thing unless it is supported by either collar pin or tab and who wears those any longer other than the occasional clothing hobbyist. But that does not mean we should not strive to be well presented. Sinatra himself was always well, if a bit flashily, turned out and men other than the most sober pillars of the establishment could do a lot worse than to use him as a model. The slightly too jaunty hats, mohair suits and orange pocket squares might not be a good image for the man who manages your money, but if we saw the normal twenty-first century celebrity in them we would give him props.

Sinatra of course purchased his own clothes, and the men who made them at Dunhill Tailors and the like knew what they were about. Unfortunately, the changes associated with celebrity these past couple of decades have hurt how we dress as a society. Tom Ford and his peers have done many good things but the distribution of badly fitted clothing for celebrities to wear to high profile events is not one of them. Jacket sleeves hanging down to the knuckles and trousers puddled on shoes do nothing for the athlete or actor and even less for the publicity seeking brand that should know better. After he or she watches a few awards shows it is hard to blame the department store salesperson who sends customers out into the street looking as though they stole their clothing off the rack.

That said, once they achieve success many celebrities learn how to dress. For example, when he first became a public figure Colin Firth attended an awards show or two in apparently unaltered clothing. Then there was a year or so when he appeared in what seemed to be the same set of properly fitted dinner clothes, and I speculate they were his first, at several consecutive events (nothing wrong with that either). Lately his photos show a man who combines fit and variety in his clothing. Good for him.

In the photo, a gray worsted jacket worn with a pink shirt, paisley madder square and that silk bouclé necktie with the palest of pink grounds.

Rancé's Le Vainqueur

2012-02-16T09:23:00.000-08:00

I acquired a bottle of L'Artisan Parfumeur's Traversée du Bosphore the other week and though the scent itself did nothing for me the name did lead me to the French house of Rancé, where my nose developed a crush on its Le Vainqueur eau de parfume.

Le Vainqueur returned to the market a couple of years ago after an absence and is offered as both an eau de parfum as well as an exceptional triple milled soap. According to the company, the fragrance was created for Napolean Bonaparte, a man who, based on the number of scents that claim a heritage descending from his court, consumed scent as other men consume water, in 1805 (Perfume analyst Luca Turin takes exception to the claim but invented heritages are nothing new for fragrance houses). It, meaning the fragrance, is described as fresh, flowery, Mediterranean and amber-scented, and those claims are completely true. About $120 for 100 ml.

The MTO Glover

2012-02-15T06:59:00.000-08:00

Glovemaker Chester Jeffries was founded in 1937 as a specialist in gloves from South American pigskin and carpincho. Eighty-five years later, the company is still owned and run by grandsons of one of the co-founders, and still does a significant business in pigskin.

Glovemaking has changed little this past century or so. Jeffries still cuts each glove by hand.

Sixteen individual pieces are passed to a seamstress who sews them together, and then each pair is shaped on a form.

What has changed most over the years is the way Jeffries' gloves reach the consumer. Originally a subcontractor to other glovers, today the company deals directly with many of its customers on the Internet, solving the fit issue that is the oldest problem in ready to wear clothing. One man has a hand with long fingers. Another is the same width across the knuckles but has shorter fingers. One size may fit neither of them. Jeffries is the first, and thus far to the best of my knowledge the only firm to offer a bespoke glove online. The customer measures around his knuckles and then sends the dimensions to the company with a tracing of his left and right hands. Once that pattern is on file, glove ordering is as simple as choosing a style and materials for the latest glove and lining. And they fit.

-Photographs by Christian Price

The Perplexities of Pinky Rings

2012-02-14T07:00:00.000-08:00

Within ‘This Thing of Ours,’ guys pretty much agree on the really important stuff: artisan tailoring (which need not necessarily be bespoke), bench-made shoes (again, bespoke or top-of-the-line ready-mades), handkerchiefs with hand-rolled edges, etc. Outside of these main pillars solidarity breaks down a little bit, and there is room for, to use a word coined by Xavier Cugat, “opinionation.”

A major bone of contention is the pinky ring—whether or not it should be worn. The Duke of Windsor wore one. So did Tony Biddle. The Prince of Wales wears one now, as do André Churchwell and Alan Flusser. I wear mine, when I can find the wretched thing. But for every guy who wears a pinky ring, I can think of another well-dressed man who does not. Bruce Boyer, for example, wears his wedding band, but no pinky ring. I’ve never met Mr. Boyer, but I have a strong sense that nothing short of a gun in his ribs could make him wear one.

For some guys, the pinky ring is a bit too déclassé; a little too Cosa Nostra. I wear one because I like the idea of a guy who is otherwise dressed in perfectly good taste, yet has this shiny little touch sinister dangling from his little finger. It’s a nice counterpoint to a classic outfit, as well as being just the merest hint that maybe you have a dark side.

The pinky ring is also a good way to identify other members of ‘The Glorious Club.’ If I see a guy wearing a well-made suit and shoes, I’m not sure of his motivation—he could be dressing for the office, a woman, or both. To a slightly lesser degree, the same could be said of a guy in a good sport coat, tie, and odd trousers. But if I see a well-decked out guy wearing a pinky ring, the ring is the sure sign that the guy is dressing for himself.

Now, let’s say you were a non-believer who’s decided to take the plunge. Which hand? For some guys, this not-so-trivial consideration is a headache-maker. The prevailing school of thought says to wear it on your right hand, since the left side is already so loaded up: most men wear their watches on their left wrist, and your boutonniere and pocket square are obviously on that side. If you wear hats, even the bow is on the left, and if you wear a feather in your hat—which goes in the bow—well, the right side of your body can look almost naked by comparison. The impoverished right side has only your ticket pocket, if the jacket you’re wearing that day happens to have one.

Then there are the guys who, for reasons known only to themselves, favor a fully loaded left side. Still can’t decide? Then use the William Rhinelander Stuart Solution: wear ‘em on both hands (In case you’re wondering, Alan Flusser and Churchwell are both ‘right-handers.’ I myself am a bit of an odd duck: I switch mine back and forth, often several times during the course of a single day. There are, I hope, worse and weirder habits out there).

Now, as to what your pinky ring should look like—guess what; I’m not going to tell you what it should look like. ‘Our Thing’ has too much dogma already: guys who think a pocket square should be angled a certain way and no other; who don’t think pocket squares and boutonnieres should be worn at the same time; who consider red neckties suitable only for Mondays in July—the list of ad hoc rules is endless. We have allowed preferences to become pronouncements. Every guy wants to be a sixteenth century pope, and we are only a hairsbreadth away from starting our own fashion inquisition. Not that I don’t know where the dogmatism comes from. The intentions are actually good. There is a lot of grotesque menswear out there, and naturally we don’t want it creeping into ‘this Thing’ we’ve built up. Ugly menswear is our equivalent of a stool-pigeon, and, in order for any clandestine organization to survive, stool-pigeons must be rooted out and destroyed. We just have to be careful that, like actual mob bosses, our zeal does not turn into paranoia, and we wind up cutting each other’s throats over the wrong choice of a sock.

So the choice in pinky rings is yours. There is the standard gold or silver signet, but there are also endless variations: gold set with any variety of precious stones, silver folk rings are not out of the question, and, extra-special, solid black onyx rings edged in gold, and inlaid with gems of your choosing. The sky’s the limit. Knock yourself out.

I will, however, reverse myself slightly and make two rules about pinky rings. When you hear what they are, I think you’ll forgive me. First, make the thing considerably smaller than a golf ball. Secondly, and this is an absolute must, NO GOLD NUGGETS. You all know exactly what kind of ring I’m talking about. If I catch you wearing one of those unforgivably rococo gold nugget rings, I will be forced to assume that at some point in your life, probably in a dark, candle-lit basement somewhere (in Jersey), you have uttered the words, “May I burn like this saint if I ever betray my friends…”

-Text by Barry Pullen

RJ's Cabinet of Curiosities Part I

2012-02-13T07:10:00.000-08:00

A recent car commercial featured various very serious-looking men earnestly rhapsodizing about their fetishized possessions, A v-neck-sweatered man describes with delicate gestures his pen’s warthog tusk barrel and solid titanium trim. Another fellow poses by his tube amplifier and states smugly, “It reproduces frequencies only dogs can hear.” And so on. While (prior to looking it up in order to write this) I had forgotten what the commercial actually was for, it absolutely nailed the mannerisms of a particular male demographic that collects and obsesses over the minutiae of the overdesigned.

Thanks to Internet message boards and forums, the obsessed now know they are not alone. Both a sounding board and an echo chamber, these communities encourage members in their mania, spread a creed of received ideas and insulate them from skepticism – but not from rationalization. Insulated though we are, those of us obsessively focused on acquiring the rarest, best performing or most prestigious widget are still only slightly less obsessed with coming up with ways to justify our possessions. (I understand some members of the audiophile forums got their thousand-dollar power cables in a bunch over tube amp man.) I come to my thesis: We become ridiculous when we try to justify luxury. I henceforth adopt the following working definition of luxury: that done well which does not need to be done at all (Commenters, feel free to quibble below, but parsing that is a subject for another article). And with this piece I open my cabinet of curiosities, little luxuries that may be interesting or entertaining to the casual internet punter. These are things that are different, amusing, that at one time or another made me happy. Stop me if I start trying to intellectualize them.

Whether it’s shaving, skiing or cooking, the best part of any new hobby is the new toys it forces you to buy. Years ago, fed up with the latest nasty shaving gels, I tried old-fashioned shaving creams and was pleased with the results. The traditional creams and shaving soaps lasted a long time, were less harsh on my skin, and seemed to make for a closer, more comfortable shave than the modern stuff in most drugstores. Of course, then I needed a shaving brush for the ritual of applying the cream. (Real enthusiasts would add a proper shaving mug to foam up shaving soap in hot water and a straight (a.k.a. cut-throat) razor, but I try to be neither pedantic nor suicidal.)

I started unassumingly enough with the sort of brush with floppy nylon bristles that comes bundled in shaving gift packs. Those occupy the bottom of the shaving brush hierarchy, along with prickly and painfully stiff boar-bristled brushes. Infinitely preferable are brushes made with badger hair (humanely removed so that he can go boating with Mole and the Water Rat afterwards). Supposedly, badger hair possesses the ideal properties (for shaving brushes and, one assumes, badgers) of being able to absorb a great deal of water while being both springy and soft at the tip in order to lather up well without irritation.

As with any obsession, there are multiple grades of badger quality, florid names, and disputes over standards of nomenclature, with various companies offering “Best Badger,” “Super Badger” (great image) and “Silvertip.” Generally speaking, Silvertip is the top of most makers’ lines, and may be conflated with Super Badger by certain makers. I worked my way up to the luxury of a Silvertip with what the catalogs call a “faux ivory” handle, which is a euphemism for off-white plastic. (That’s fine, I don’t begrudge Tantor his tusks.) The Silvertip was a hell of a lot better than the cheap synthetic stuff. However, as with all obsessions, there is no limit on how far one can go up the hyperbolic curve of diminishing returns.

After Pure Badger, Best Badger, Super Badger and Silvertip, there are a few outliers offered by a couple of companies. What I had my eye on and eventually acquired was something called High Mountain Badger, a bristle step above Silvertip and so appealingly rare (I saw a badger in the Alps last spring, but I didn’t get a chance to ask if it was high). As an added draw, the brush itself was made with polished oxhorn handles instead of the usual plastic, adding that sensual element of visual pleasure which attracts the over-thinking enthusiast. To my knowledge, horn is generally a byproduct of the food industry and comes from the common cow, so my indulgence wasn’t plundering an endangered resource.

How does it perform? The hairs are pretty dense, the brush feels very good and foams up well, and in general seems better than my late Silvertip. So in other words, the difference could all be in my head. The price? At this place on the hyperbola, nothing is worth it from a sheer cost-benefit standpoint. Quality is remembered long after price is intentionally blotted out of one’s memory. In the end, our continued attempts to justify the unjustifiable luxury aren’t just aimed at others, but at ourselves and the impending recognition that even our latest, most elaborate acquisition can’t keep the doubts away for long. Perhaps the badger brush arms race will ramp up once someone finds a way to harness the power of Internet phenomenon the honey badger. At a certain point, though, to keep your sanity you need to make like him and just not give a shit.

- Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

Tie One On

2012-02-12T08:20:00.000-08:00

Tan, gray and blue are the triumvirate of menswear colors, and they can be combined many ways. In the photograph,the usual gray jacket and tan shirt are reversed while the blue comes in the form of a navy bow tie, adding an unexpected bit of interest for a social afternoon.

Gray shirts should be more common than they are. Gray is more flattering than pure white on most men during the day and as adaptable as cream with navy jackets. I particularly like gray when it is combined with white, either in an end on end or similar weave or as a gray pattern on a white ground.

And then there is the bow tie, which would probably occupy a more important place in our wardrobes if more of us knew how to tie it. The knot is slightly more difficult to achieve than a four in hand, but the infrequent bow tie wearer can overcome his lack of practice by keeping a how-to-tie-it diagram handy. The result is a lighter hearted air, in my opinion, one that is particularly appropriate for occasions like the approaching St. Valentines Day.

Just tie one on.

The Cream Flannel Project

2012-02-11T07:00:00.001-08:00

I am proceeding with the project (see last week's post) to offer lengths of 13 ounce/400 gram cream colored woolen flannel. That weight will work well as a suit or vest for temperatures up to about 75F (24C) as well as for trousers to be worn with ten or twelve ounce mid-weight (300-360 gram) or heavier jacketings.

The cloth will be made by Fox Brothers of Somerset, England, the 240 year old firm that originated flannel and is still generally considered the premier flannel weaver in the world. Delivery is promised for early March.

This offering will not be a pure white in color but rather the traditional English cream. The photograph's colors should be accurate on color-corrected displays.

Men who do not have an existing relationship with a tailor may elect to be measured by MyTailor during one of their visits to the nearly 200 cities they serve in the United States and Canada. MyTailor will make your garment(s) up in Hong Kong and deliver it to you. Exclusive of the cost of the cloth, tailoring prices will be:

Jackets – $595.00 for a fully canvased, hand tailored coat with sleeve button holes, inclusive of shipping charges. Most men will need 2.5 meters of cloth for a jacket.

Trousers – $200.00 – Fully or half lined slacks inclusive of shipping. Most men will need 1.5 meters.

Vests - $200.00 inclusive of shipping. Most men will need half a meter.

Pre-orders of the cloth itself will be $80 per half meter through February 18, including shipping in the United States (The ASW store's standard per order shipping premiums of $15 for Canada and Mexico and $27 for the rest of the world will apply for destinations outside the U.S.). A 50% deposit is required to hold a length and guarantee the price should the offering sell out as appears likely (the men who contacted me this past week will receive priority). After February 18, if any cloth remains unspoken for it will be priced at $90 a half meter.

Visit the ASW store to reserve your length.

Vintage Hermès Auction February 17

2012-02-10T07:00:00.000-08:00

Our own Réginald-Jérôme de Mans, the interweb's most comprehensive cataloger of luxury goods, points out that Arcturial, the French auction house, is putting 450 lots of vintage Hermès goods under the hammer on February 17. The expected prices almost look reasonable given the declining Euro, reasonable being a totally unexpected event in France these days, at least until one calculates the buyer's premium and shipping.

Prices aside, the sale offers a good selection of Hermès printed cashmere scarves, silk squares and pochettes and those prices appear to compare favorably to what a specialist in the vintage stuff would ask (this with the caveat that my experience in vintage Hermès comes from a few eBay auctions). Unless of course they get bid up. Bidding is a competitive sport and the danger is always that one can overpay in the heat of battle.

Both telephone and online bids will be accepted from pre-registered bidders.

Tasseled Arrivals

2012-02-09T07:00:00.000-08:00

A pair of pigskin momentos of the late Alexis, Baron de Redé, who, as I have mentioned in the past, had so many Cleverley shoes that the firm named a slip-on shoe after him (actually they named two of them after him despite the confusion that engenders), arrived this past week.

I will be the first to point out that the shoes have tassels and that detail relegates them to odd jackets and gray flannel trousers in my book. One should after all be an attorney, Nicholas Sarkozy (who adopted tassels along with much of the French right in the 1980s) or much more of a preppy than I am these days to wear tassels with suits except perhaps once in a while during the summer. But, even if the shoes were free of decoration, the pigskin itself would relegate them to informality.

Pigs are aggressive animals, with skin scarred and otherwise damaged from their social interaction. In addition, the grain side of those less than perfect skins is pitted. and the pits of the grain do not take the dye that gives them color very well (these were dyed after they were made). The result is a variegated surface, though one that is usually less obvious than it is under the spotlight used for these particular photos. It is that same variegated surface, so much more interesting than the regularity of machine-stamped calfskin for example, that is the principal reason to wear the stuff.

Cleverley did good.

Sin City

2012-02-08T07:00:00.000-08:00

I have to make a day trip to Sin City next week (the place, not the movie despite the fact that the film of that name and actress Carla Gugino who plays Lucille are each among my personal top ten of all time, while the city is not). At any rate, that (the place again, not the film, which you should see if you have not already done so) brought travel clothes to mind. It may be true that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but tailored clothing wearers should not want a place's memory of them to be one of wrinkles.

It is the business day trip where travel clothes come into play. On journeys involving six or more hours in the air, the only people who see a man after landing are the driver and the person at the desk of the hotel. For travel of that nature comfortable cloth is fine as rumples are less relevent. But, fly or drive, take a meeting and return kinds of trips with no opportunity to change clothes require things that will emerge unscathed from a couple of hours in a seat.

Other than the old 60% mohair suitings that do not seem to be made any longer, high twist cloth like Smith's Finmeresco and Minnis' fresco is as wrinkle resistant as anything natural these days. A blue jacket with horn buttons and mid-gray trousers in those materials combined with a pair of dark slip-on shoes will suffice for most occasions during the day as well as an early dinner before heading for the last flight home (I will be the guy in the bouclé necktie). Still more formal and bulletproof would be a navy or charcoal suit made entirely from the 15 ounce/450 gram Minnis stuff, but it would be somewhat scratchy and away from London and to a lesser extent New York few cities really insist on that level of formality to say the least.

Sin City (the place, not the film) is definitely not one of them.

Lifestyle: Various Obscurities

2012-02-07T07:00:00.000-08:00

I spent my morning coffee time writing an explanation of how to wear a watch chain and fob in answer to a reader inquiry the other day only to find that, as happens all too often, he had mis-typed his email address. And though I am tempted to re-use that work, I should not subject the 99.9% of my readership that will never have a reason to wear a pocket watch to such arcana.

The exercise did however remind me of Lucius Beebe's 1935 Herald Tribune column stating that the well-dressed gentleman wore a fouet on the end of his watch chain, said device being a small whisk intended to eliminate carbonation from champagne. I do not intend to demean Mr. Beebe, whose lifestyle I only wish I could emulate, but this strikes me as an example of unclear on the concept if I have ever heard one. Originally invented to remove inadvertent secondary carbonation, the fouet may have filled a need until perhaps the start of the 20th century. But why on earth would any man go to the trouble to de-gas a modern wine that was designed to sparkle, thereby undoing all the work required to add bubbles in the first place, when he could simply order a still wine? Such are the mysteries of life.

In turn this reasoning led me to a consideration of champagne, to which I say bring it on generally. But given that we were considering Russian leather the other day, it occurred to me that I have never mentioned Hiedsieck's 1907 Diamant Bleu cuvée, 2,000 bottles of which were found in 1998 in the wreck of a freighter sunk in the North Sea on its way to the Czar during the first world war. Being still highly drinkable the stuff has come to a better end than the Romanovs and it has been sold at auction around the world, averaging a price in excess of $3,000 a bottle. That is the very definition of obscurity as none of us is likely to ever come across it of course, but it makes for a good story nonetheless.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming.

Corthay Opens in London

2012-02-06T08:52:00.000-08:00

Historically it has been the French who come to London for their clothes rather than the other way around, but increasingly there are swimmers against the current. Pierre Corthay has been making shoes in Paris under his own name for twenty years. Eight weeks ago he opened the doors to a new Corthay store at 12a Motcomb Street in Knightsbridge, London opposite Louboutin and around the corner from Berluti (Corthay shoes are available in the United States at Leffot in New York).

The Corthay make is excellent and the style has some kinship with Berluti, Corthay's Paris neighbor, being pointed of toe and more colorful than the English makers. Both ready to wear and bespoke shoes are available at the store, with RTW priced from $1,100 (850 euros) and bespoke starting at $4,000 (3,000 euros). Ask for manager Francois Pourcher.

-Christian Price

RJ’s Alternative Style Icons II: Omar Sharif in Pleasure Palace

2012-02-05T08:56:00.000-08:00

By the time he made the justifiably forgotten 1980 telefilm Pleasure Palace, Omar Sharif was known in Hollywood as a gambler with an acting hobby rather than the other way around. How did he get there, and why should we care? As Sharif later recalled in an interview, after Lawrence of Arabia launched his Western film career in the 1960s, he worked with four different prestigious directors on four high-profile but unsuccessful films: Anatole Litvak’s Nazi murder mystery The Night of the Generals, which handles the same material as Valkyrie much better; Fred Zinnemann’s bleak Spanish Civil War drama Behold a Pale Horse, Sidney Lumet’s answer to Belle de Jour; The Appointment; and Anthony Mann’s Gibbon adaptation of The Fall of the Roman Empire, which seems to have inspired Gladiator. Despite his committed performances in a varied set of roles, these flawed films’ commercially unpalatable themes meant Sharif’s career sputtered after Lawrence and Doctor Zhivago.(All but one of the films above were period pieces, so we will not discuss Sharif’s wardrobe in them – though nowadays dressing as if one cares is tantamount to costume, I have no desire to cross into that uncanny valley and urge us to wear costume clothes.)

After 1970, the film industry didn’t seem to know how to use Omar Sharif except as visiting royalty or shadowy gamblers, soldiers of fortune, and other stock characters, often satirically – deliberately underused as a cynical cruise ship captain in Richard Lester’s delightfully subversive disaster movie Juggernaut, damned with faint praise by Pauline Kael for bringing “more spirit” to his tiny role as the Egyptian Assassin in The Pink Panther Strikes Again than to his feature roles, compacted into a walking hunk of metal in Top Secret!. Even in the 1960s, positive reviews of Sharif as an “atavistic” romantic lead reminiscent of Valentino suggested that he was a man out of his time. Yet like greater actors, he had created himself in the image his audience had desired. As he notes in his memoirs, the long out of print The Eternal Male, he grew up Catholic and the child of Syrian-Lebanese parents in Egypt, speaking French before Arabic, and eventually speaking with fluency in many languages, all, however, with a slight, unplaceable accent, which resonates a little with this writer. He changed his name and his religion after starring in his first major film and grew his iconic mustache for the first time at David Lean’s request for his role as Sherif Ali in Lawrence. However, religion played no role in his gambling or romantic pursuits, and Sharif was threatened and vilified in the country of his birth for playing a Jewish gambler and kissing Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl – on and off set. After they broke up, Streisand declared that Sharif talked about nothing but bridge.

A world-class bridge player who gambled away most of his movie earnings, over time Sharif eventually settled into a suite at the Royal Monceau in Paris, which sets up the amusing premise of Pleasure Palace: in this movie, playboy gambler and rootless nomad Omar Sharif plays a playboy gambler and rootless nomad… who comes to the rescue of a saintly casino owner (!) and battles for control of Caesars Palace in a high-stakes card game. By this stage in his career, from the late 1970s through the 1990s, Sharif seemed to turn up at shooting for his mixed bag of films and miniseries in his own clothes. In this respect, he was no empty suit. Magnificent dinner jackets and sports coats, masterfully cut in beautiful materials, still look wonderful when viewed thirty years later, despite coming from the moment between two of the lowest points in modern menswear: the 1970s’ abandon of taste and proportion and the early 1980s’ rejection of fit and notch height. And Sharif looks comfortable and natural in his clothes, pointing to a good collaboration between client and cutter. I say cutter for, if Sharif was wearing his own clothes, they were made by some of the best – tailoring by Huntsman and Cifonelli, who elegantly suited powerfully built men like Sharif and Lino Ventura. And Sharif was loyal for nearly half a century to his shirtmaker, Turnbull & Asser, ever since they made Cossack-style shirts for him to wear for his role in Doctor Zhivago. Contrast his effortlessness with the trussed-up self-consciousness of stars in certain recent films with high-profile designer tie-ins, wearing their clothes as if they were not only brand new but still had cardboard and pins in them.

Other reasons to watch? Not many, apart from the odd, anachronistic bromance between Omar’s character and his BFF José Ferrer, whom he appears to have since forgiven for raping Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia. Based on the strangely exhaustive tour of Caesars’ facilities the characters take, I suspect that the production was sponsored by Caesars Palace (Marvel at Caesars’ state-of-1980-art gym and Omar’s frumpy gym clothes! Gaze in wonder at the hidden ranch VIPs can retreat to!). The film does also feature a young Victoria Principal, fresh off her Playboy spread, and the final climactic gambling scene is appropriately tense and somewhat unpredictable: if my memory serves me correctly the game is baccarat, so this terrible film features characters better dressed and gameplay more elegant than Casino Royale (Texas Hold ’em, really?).But if you don’t see this film, many others from Omar Sharif’s 1970s-1990s canon offer similar wardrobe epiphanies, including:

- 1976’s Crime and Passion in which he plays a womanizing Austrian investment advisor turned on by financial risk who is oddly oblivious to the Sony Betamax video cameras a jealous client has placed everywhere (It must have seemed like a great idea at the time - Ivan Passer directing! Score by Vangelis! Karen Black fresh off of The Day of the Locust And instead fails at both black comedy and suspense.)

- 1981’s Green Ice, in which he plays a gem dealer exiled to Colombia who loses his fiancée and jewel stash to Ryan O’Neal in a hot air balloon, and

- 1992’s Sidney Sheldon melodrama Memories of Midnight, in which he plays a murderous Greek shipping magnate out to repress Jane Seymour’s memories.

Now, of course, simply by living long enough to have his failures forgotten and his talent remembered, Sharif has made a comeback of sorts, and reportedly given up gambling and T&A and moved home to Egypt. His disappointing body of work lies in the shadow of his persona. Still, according to legend, upon meeting him Peter O’Toole said, “No one on Earth is named Omar Sharif. I shall call you Fred.” Cairo Fred, this is for you.

‑ Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

Feedback Wanted

2012-02-04T09:16:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about offering one of a kind suit and jacket cloth at the A Suitable Wardrobe store for some time, and would like reader feedback because the process needs to begin now if the stuff is to be ready in time for it to be turned into clothing for next fall.

A surprising number of men have contacted me over the years looking for cream and/or pearl gray flannel for trousers and waistcoats (or a suit like the one in the Apparel Arts illustration). I am considering commissioning bolts of thirteen ounce/400 gram woolen flannel in those colors from a world class mill, and partnering with one or more of the travelling tailors who would make things up for men who do not have existing relationships. The cost for the cloth would be in the neighborhood of $175 a meter (about 2.5 meters is required for a jacket, half a meter is needed for a Bemberg backed waistcoat and 1.5 meters for trousers).

Interested parties should send a short email to info at dynend.com letting me know of their interest. A decision whether to proceed will be based on responses received by February 11.

Richard Anderson Ripped and Smooth

2012-02-03T07:00:00.000-08:00

After 17 years at H. Huntsman, the last of them as creative director, Richard Anderson established his eponymous business and shop at 13 Savile Row in 2001 with former Huntsman managing director Brian Lishak and Clive Gilkes. As the first bespoke tailor to open on the Row in more than fifty years, the firm is the youngest of the 'proper' tailoring houses on that hallowed street and has the reputation of being “More Huntsman than Huntsman itself."

Asked to describe his house style, Anderson said, “I still cut clothes the way I did at Huntsman, where I was taught by Colin Hammick and Brian Hall with a very old system called the Thornton system, which is based on a hacking coat. It keeps the armholes really quite high for two reasons: one is movement, so if a man’s on a horse, or he’s shooting, he can lean forward, but it also gives a long line through the sides. The great thing about the system is the balance between the back, the forepart and the sleeves - it makes every man look a little bit taller and slimmer. I try to get as much shape as I can, with a natural line through the side seam, rather than cutting it in [at the waist] and having it flair out. I like to keep the chest quite natural, and also we’re very particular about the collar being anchored onto the neck. There needs to be something in the shoulder - we build up our own pads with wadding and canvas – but there’s hardly any roping because I like to have it one continuous line. It’s what I’d call a natural shoulder” (As evidenced by the photos, Mr Anderson’s “natural shoulder” is a far cry from the “natural shoulder” as cut by Thomas Mahon, say, or by the Neapolitan tailors, yet they all confusingly use the same word).

-Words by Mansel Fletcher

-Photography by Chloë Lederman

Know How To Fold Them

2012-02-02T07:00:00.000-08:00

According to Stu Bloom at RAVE FabriCare, about 80% of men get their shirts back from the laundry on hangers, and this is certainly the wisest course since they are free of the creases that come from having them folded. The challenge with the practice comes when it is time to pack for a trip, and the shirts must be folded anyway.

The usual way to prepare shirts for packing is to fold them in thirds, replicating the commercial laundry folding machine (see the shirt on the right in the photo). Whoever designed that machine was apparently not very clothes conscious as that fold leaves the vertical and horizontal creases it imparts placed so that they can be visible under a jacket, which might not be a terrible thing with some cloth as it will hang out in an hour or two but heavier shirtings like oxfords and twills can remain creased for much of the day, contributing to a messier look than a man ought to aspire to (here we deliberately ignore no-iron shirts on the grounds that the well dressed man eschews them).

Now, it is only natural that a man would assume that folding meant visible creases and that there is nothing to be done about it, at least until like me he noticed that RAVE's clean by mail shirts are folded so that any creases that might occur in parts of the shirt front are not visible when a man has his jacket on (the shirt on the left was folded by RAVE). The secret is to fold the shirt in half rather than in thirds. In other words, when the shirt is on its front laid out for folding, turn the sleeve sides over only a quarter of the way, leaving a space between them. Then fold the bottom up so the shirt is roughly halved into a square. Leaving all the folds loose will also help the shirt's appearance, but only marginally as the state of being packed will inevitably press it to a certain extent.

I will be the first to admit that the square shirt fold is fairly obscure advice, and has the downside that otherwise useful suitcase accessories like Eagle Creek's folders and cubes seem to all be designed to accommodate shirts folded into thirds. Nonetheless, a supply of heavy duty polyethylene bags makes for a reasonable substitute and having a supply of pressed looking shirts when one unpacks is worth a little one-time trouble.

Consider The Waistcoat

2012-02-01T07:00:00.000-08:00

In case you were wondering, all waistcoats are vests, but not all vests are waistcoats. The name waistcoat applies to the waist length modern sleeveless vest, as opposed to the original vest which was, and sometimes still is though not as part of a man's suit, considerably longer (try saying that fast three times).

The vest rather than the waistcoat was introduced as a part of correct dress during the restoration of the British monarchy by England's King Charles II in the seventeenth century. It was derived from the long sleeveless coats seen by English visitors to the court of Shah Abbas in Persia, and was worn for most of three hundred years as an outer garment just as we wear a jacket today.

The waistcoat became the middle part of the lounge suit around the start of the twentieth century, and remained a required part of men's business clothing, and even casual dress, until the Second World War. Its ubiquity stemmed from the fact that it added an extra layer of warmth in the days before central heating. As made by Savile Row tailors from the 1920s on, it was usually cut from the same cloth as the rest of the suit, single breasted, with a six button front and a notch or shawl collar or no collar at all. In addition, linen waistcoats in shades of buff, cream, light gray and light blue were worn for semi-formal and formal daytime occasions and tattersall plaid odd waistcoats were worn with tweed in the country. The waistcoat also remains part of both white and strict black tie evening ensembles.

The ubiquity of central heating, the automobile's increased protection from the elements and strict rationing of cloth during World War II combined to make the lounge suit version of the waistcoat optional, but it still has its uses. A waistcoat can extend the months that a mid-weight suit can be worn comfortably by adding a layer when temperatures drop. And of course the combination of single breasted jacket and vest is warmer than either single breasted or double worn without, which can eliminate the need to carry a topcoat in forty or fifty degree weather (4 to 15 Celsius or thereabouts).

The gray double breasted waistcoat in the photo is worn on a cool day paired with a tan tab collared end on end shirt, a black, tan and paisley necktie and a maroon wool square with tan dots. The latter two are from the ASW store.

Consider the waistcoat.

Buy It Ready To Wear

2012-01-31T07:00:00.000-08:00

The first coat in most men's dress coat wardrobes tends to be a raincoat, either single breasted or the double breasted trench (to the left and right respectively in the illustration) made from tan, khaki or beige fabric in recollection of the first world war's fields of mud that were responsible for their popularity. Knee length or a little below, either is typically worn in the wet and as a windbreaker rather than for protection from the cold, though the addition of a zip-in wool liner lets them function as a topcoat. And they are British in origin of course, since that country's frequent rains created the demand in the first place.

Around 1830 Mackintosh was arguably the first major English brand to introduce what we would consider a raincoat. Its rubber coating and taped seams kept rain off the wearer, but steamed up inside because the fabric did not breathe so that vapor could escape. In 1853, Aquascutum developed waterproof wool that did breathe, dramatically improving the wearer's comfort in its coats. Still later, Burberry, the third great raincoat brand, developed its cotton gabardine, another water-resistant yet breathable fabric. In 1914 Burberry was commissioned by the English War Office to develop what became the trench coat, and by the end of the war the trench had become optional officer's dress in the British Army. Many veterans kept the coats after they returned to civilian life and they became fashionable for both men and women They were always purchased ready to wear, even by men who had the rest of their wardrobes made for themselves, as the coat construction process does not lend itself to the skills of the tailor.

Today, a quality raincoat like Burberry's Prorsum classic cotton trench is still most likely made by one of the three aforementioned brands. It is still usually seen in tan, khaki or beige, though some individualists have theirs in navy. It is sometimes seen in above the knee lengths for greater convenience in a car, despite the wet trousers and lessened elegance that accompany this particular innovation. And it is still purchased ready to wear.

Big Plaids

2012-01-30T07:00:00.000-08:00

I know of only a couple men in the United States who wear suits with big plaids from time to time. That is no surprise. Originally meant to blend into the countryside for shooting and other outdoor activities, they are worn away from the office (in some places they were once known as racetrack suits, as in something to be worn to the horse races). And, with the general decline in suit-wearing, suits for casual pursuits are not the kind of thing likely to find a large market at the local department or high street store.

Large plaids are nonetheless something for the advanced dresser to consider. Because they are not offered at that local department store they are unlikely to be seen on every block along Fifth Avenue. And, despite the strength of their patterns, they do not stand out as much as might be feared because the pattern elements meld together from even a few feet away.

Note how the various patterns blend into a semi-solid in the first photograph taken from a distance of eight feet (the bordeaux wool socks would normally be hidden from sight). In the closer shot, the suit, ancient madder necktie, and silk square are considerably more obvious.

Russian Leather

2012-01-29T09:20:00.000-08:00

In 1973, divers off England's Plymouth Sound found the wreck of the Catharina von Flensburg, an eighteenth century brigantine that sank in 1786 with a cargo of reindeer hides. They had been cured in baths of rye or oat flour and yeast, hand embossed before being soaked in wood liquor and finally hand curried and soaked in seal oil and birch tan oil. The result is a unique finish that cannot be replicated.

Though covered with mud for centuries, the hides proved to be water resistant and still very serviceable. Bundles have been periodically brought to the surface and sold by the divers who discovered them. They are dried, cleaned and sorted in a small workshop in Cornwall where some are made into attaché cases, belts and other leathergoods on the spot. Others are sent to London to be made into shoes in London by bespoke shoemakers G. J. Cleverley .

There is some question as to how long the supplies of hide will be available. I have heard it estimated that half of them still lie in the mud of the seabed, but the diver who was given rights to them has retired and there is no successor in sight. For now, Cleverley continues to deliver a small supply of products from two hundred year old Russian leather.

Photos: G. J. Cleverley

Three Sock Drawers

2012-01-28T08:57:00.000-08:00

Socks should also complement a day's ensemble. Consider the three sock drawers of three mythical (though I know each of them) men. The first is full of navy socks in wool and cotton (navy being a bit less of a black hole than black). A pair for each day is about right, plus a couple of spares (throw in a pair or two of black silk for evening wear). Easy to choose each morning and particularly awkward with light gray trousers. Comparable to a closet containing nothing but navy worsteds.

The well dressed man's sock drawer should at least mirror his suits and odd trousers. For example:

-dark gray
-2 navy
-3 mid-gray
-2 brown (tan in summer)

The third drawer, my personal preference, adds some less than obtrusive pattern:

-dark gray with a black clock pattern
-navy birdseye, navy with a gray clock pattern
-silver ribbed, mid-gray birdseye and mid-gray with dark gray pinstripes
-brown ribbed, beige heather mix

And into that same drawer might go an extra pair of prune.

In the photo, mid-gray flannel colored Bresciani socks worn with gray flannel trousers and black suede shoes (the combination of flannel and suede is every bit as good as that of flannel and a grenadine necktie). The combination is quite a bit better looking than navy would have been, in my opinion, though a birdseye might have been even better.

Acquiring The Wardrobe

2012-01-26T07:00:00.001-08:00

While we were discussing clothing acquisition yesterday, I realized that a twenty-first century interpretation of Mr. Waugh's budget allocations could suffice to build a well-rounded wardrobe for the five day a week suit-wearing man over a period of five years, independent of his budget. And by that I mean that, as I have written several times in the past, a man can do a lot worse than to make himself a list of what he needs each year and compare that to his budget to determine how much he can spend on each item. It is a process that is just as effective for thrifted clothing as it is for hand-made bespoke stuff.

The objective of a clothing budget ought to be to stock the closet so that it offers reasonable variety and enough of a rotation so that the contents do not wear out prematurely. Further, most of us live in temperate areas where a selection of clothing is required for both warm weather and cold so the quantity of suits and odd jackets should be adequate for each season.

Once the budget has been in place for half a decade, it should produce a wardrobe consisting of at least:

-Six cold weather suits
-Six warm weather suits
-Six pair of shoes
-One raincoat with zip-in lining
-Two odd jackets and trousers for each season
-Fifteen shirts
-Twenty neckties

Acquiring this list means purchasing three items of tailored clothing and a pair of shoes each year. In one of the years there will be an extra pair of shoes. In two others, an extra suit or odd jacket. In those years, no dress shirts are purchased in order to keep expenses roughly level. In the other two years, the budget is filled out with half a dozen shirts.

Allocating funds to each item is fairly simple. Take the annual budget and divide by five. Spend that amount on each suit, odd jacket and trousers, pair of shoes (that might be a tad high on the shoes but most men need to spend more than they do on their footwear) or the year's shirts and neckties.

Few of us will approach the late Baron de Rede's shoe collection in the photo but with a little planning we can all have well rounded wardrobes.

Beau Brummels on $14,000 a Year

2012-01-26T07:00:00.000-08:00

The following piece, "Beau Brummels on £60 a Year," was written by author Evelyn Waugh (Brideshead Revisited) in 1929. The strategy remains valid today.

Of course, there is really only one way of being perfectly dressed - that is, to be grossly rich. You may have exquisite discrimination and the elegance of a gigolo, but you can never rival the millionaire if he has even the faintest inclination towards smartness. He orders suits as you order collars, by the dozen. His valet wears them for the first three days so that they never look new, and confiscates them after three months so that they never look old. He basks in a perpetual high noon of bland magnificence.

It is useless to compete against him. If your object in choosing your clothes is to give an impression of wealth, you had far better adopt a pose of reckless dowdiness and spend your money in maintaining under a hat green and mildewed with age a cigar of fabulous proportions. If, however, you have no intention of deceit, but simply, for some reason, happen to like being well dressed, it is essential to have at least two tailors.

There are about a dozen first-rate tailors in London whose names you may always see quoted by the purveyors of ‘mis-fit’ clothing. Below them are about a hundred rather expensive eminently respectable unobtrusive shops in fashionable streets, where your uncles have bought their clothes since undergraduate days. Below them are several hundreds of quite cheap very busy little shops in the City and business quarters. The secret of being well dressed on a moderate income is to choose one of the first-rate and and one of the third-rate tailors and maintain a happy balance between them.

There are some things, an evening tail-coat for instance, which only a first-rate tailor can make. On the other hand, the difference between a pair of white flannel trousers costing five guineas in Savile Row or George Street and one costing two guineas in the Strand is practically negligible. The same applies to almost all country clothes. It is not necessary or particularly desirable that these, except of course the riding breeches, should be obtrusively well cut.

The chief disadvantage of small tailors is that they usually have such a very depressing selection of patterns. It is a good plan to buy all your tweeds direct from the mills in Scotland and to have them made up. Another disadvantage of the small tailor is that he never knows what is fashionable. At least once every eighteen months you should spend fifteen guineas in getting a suit in Savile Row, which will serve as a model for him.

It is never wise to allow any one except a first-rate tailor to attempt a double-breasted waistcoat; in some mysterious way this apparently simple garment is invariably a failure except in expert hands. But you can safely leave all trousers which are not part of a suit, even evening trousers, which ought, in any case, to be made of a rather heavier material than the coat, to our less expensive shop. The most magnificent-looking traveling coat I ever saw had been made up for four guineas from the owner’s own stuff by the second -best tailor in a cathedral town.

It is usually an economy to buy your hosiery at an expensive shop. It is essential that evening shirts and waistcoats should be made to your measure; cheap ties betray their origin in a very short time.

There is only one completely satisfactory sort of handkerchief - the thick squares of red and white cotton in which workmen carry their dinners. Socks wear out just as quickly whatever their quality, and are the one part of a man’s wardrobe which ought never to attract attention. Expensive shoes are a perfectly sound investment, particularly if you keep six or seven pairs and always put them on trees when they are not in use.

Waugh goes on to calculate that by using a mix of the great and the merely good a man could be well tailored for the sum of £60 a year in 1929 money. Converting the cost of a Savile Row suit in 1929, some 13 pounds and change, to the current price lets us estimate that Waugh's proposed purchases (a couple bespoke suits, shoes, accessories, country clothes and fractions of outerwear and evening wear) could be made today for roughly £9,000 (about $14,000) a year.

$14,000 is of course still a contemporary millionaire's budget, or that of a man who makes a priority of his clothing, but when Waugh was advising his readers how to look like Brummels without the resources of the 'grossly rich' he was referring to his own upper middle class struggles to look good in the company of people with Mitt Romney's sort of income. And that can be done for $14,000 a year.

A Bleak Prospect

2012-01-25T07:00:00.000-08:00

A link-cuffed and signet ring wearing T. S. Eliot, the naturalized English poet and playwright known for The Wasteland, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock and other modernist things is shown in the photo (probably taken before the second world war) wearing a heavy worsted suit which I will guess weighs in at 18 ounces (540 grams). That would make a topcoat today but was once a standard English suiting.

Worsteds of that weight predated central heating and passed from the scene as homes and offices grew warmer. Indeed, the 16 ounce (480 gram) suit is about as heavy as a man can comfortably wear for hours indoors in a place like New York where the steam heat is always turned up, and 13 ounces (400 grams) is more common. But the best cloth of those weights makes for clothing that is comfortable and lasts decades.

The move to Super wool qualities has done much to cause these weights to go on life support. Not too long ago, good quality wool from an entire fleece averaged about a Super 80s, where the Super number refers to the width of the wool fibers (higher numbers represent finer fibers). Then came demand from mills in emerging countries weaving cloth in great volume for lower end ready to wear, whose indicator of quality became the Super number. These Supers are in turn woven into suits that are lighter in weight and less expensive because they use less wool. The result is that most of what was once suiting quality wool has had the finer fibers sorted and as I understand it what remains is less than satisfactory for tailored clothing. So it is relatively easy to make more fragile lightweight cloth and much more difficult to weave heavier stuff with a nice hand. My one suit from Smith Woolens now sold out 15 ounce (450 gram) Whole Fleece has a lovely feel without being in any way Super, but only five or so years after it was offered Smith can no longer replicate it.

This is obscure stuff of course, that matters only to those few who understand that heavier cloth drapes better, wrinkles less and is warmer in the cold while remaining comfortable indoors. Cloth for summer is easier than ever to obtain, but the best worsteds for winter may rarely be seen again.

Mr. Eliot would have found that a bleak prospect.