The Compleat Angler is the book everyone owns, but no one has read. It’s the third most reprinted work in the English language, just after the Bible and Shakespeare. Written by an English tailor named Izaak Walton, it’s ostensibly about fishing, but fishing is just the hook to Walton’s deeper and more contemplative  mediations on all things pastoral. Between his practical instructions on how to be a better fisherman, Walton interleaved poems, song lyrics, illustrations, cooking recipes, and other diversions about nature. He believed that fishing was at once a sport, a social activity, and a spiritual experience – and by connecting with it, we could become better people. 

The thing to know about The Compleat Angler is that it was written during a time of tremendous upheaval. England was in the middle of its civil war; Oliver Cromwell had just executed the king; and the country was trying to set up its first Commonwealth. Walton, a staunch monarchist and devout Anglican, felt displaced, so he retreated to the countryside and sought refuge in fishing. He dreamed of the “Brotherhood of the Angle,” a group where men could set aside their political differences and unite through their shared appreciation of nature. This was transcendentalism before transcendentalism; a rejection of Hobbes’ Leviathan. It was a modest proposal that fishing isn’t really about catching fish, it’s about finding community and peace. As Walton puts it, to “go a-Angling” is to “study to be quiet.” One of my favorite passages from the book reads:

And for you that have heard many grave, serious men pity Anglers; let me tell you, Sir, there be many men that are by others taken to be serious and grave men, whom we condemn and pity. Men that are taken to be grave, because nature hath made them of a sour complexion; money-getting men, men that spend all their time, first in getting, and next, in anxious care to keep it; men that are condemned to be rich, and then always busy or discontented: for these poor rich-men, we Anglers pity them perfectly, and stand in no need to borrow their thoughts to think ourselves so happy. No, no, Sir, we enjoy a contentedness above the reach of such dispositions […]

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The loss of the coat-and-tie uniform in the last fifty years has meant more than the loss of formality. It’s made it harder for men to know how to dress. The brilliance of traditional tailoring is that anyone can look good in a suit – provided you have a reliable tailor and are willing to follow some simple rules. But as dress codes have broken down and people everywhere are dressing more casually, it’s become harder and harder to wear tailored clothing. The New York Times tells us that we live in a more liberated world where people can dress however they want – swapping clothes in and out as freely as their emotions swing – but I’ve argued that things are nearly just as constrictive as they were in the 1960s. It’s just that instead of hard written dress codes, we have softly coded dress norms – things that define how men should dress, but are never spoken of and can only be understood through inference. 

I think this is why so many men have a hard time figuring out what they want to wear. They find suits and sport coats too formal; Americana and workwear too rugged; designers such as Dries and Margiela too avant-garde. Yet, they also know that an oxford button-down worn alone with flat front chinos lacks verve. Casualwear can be frustrating because it’s nebulous – it’s more about dressing according to emotions, rather than rules, and a lot depends on your personality and lifestyle. 

In the last few years, however, I’ve noticed a new space emerge for guys who want a more casual version of classic style. I think of it as reinvented Italian sportswear. Think of Stoffa’s made-to-measure bomber jackets, which are designed to be worn with tailored trousers in lieu of a sport coat. Or Eidos’ range of textured Arans with interesting necklines, unconstructed topcoats, and lounge-y cardigans. Similarly, Camoshita has remixed Italian style and Ivy classics for men who want something contemporary, refined, and smart. 

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There’s a famous story about Sir Edmund Hillary and sherpa Tenzing Norgay’s boots, which they commissioned a year before their ascent up Mount Everest. Back in the 1950s, mountaineering boots were often cumbersome. Many were bulky and heavy, made of thick deerskin leather, and some even came up to the wearer’s thighs – not the kind of boots you’d want for the most challenging mountaineering expedition. So Hillary and Norgay approached SATRA, a British research and development center, about coming up with something that was lighter. As they knew then, a pound on your foot can feel like five pounds on your back. At least when you’re scaling a mountain.  

The resulting boots were made using mostly natural materials and some of Britain’s oldest shoemaking techniques. They featured a reverse welt to keep the melting snow from seeping into the boots, and a Tropal-leather insole to allow sweat to dissipate. The uppers were constructed from a Latex-coated glacé kid leather, which was chosen for its weight. Finally, for insulation, the interior cavity was filled with kapok, a natural hollow fiber (the boots had to be specially lasted in order to not crush the material). In the end, the boots weighed two and a half pounds lighter than what the Swiss had worn in 1952. They were the mountaineering equivalent Nike’s Flyknits, and no one who wore them got frostbite – a remarkable achievement. 

Few of us will ever face such conditions, let alone stand on top of the world like Hillary and Norgay, but there’s something satisfying about having the exactly right clothes for the weather. During the early weeks of spring, when the weather is stormy, that means a few things. A couple of raincoats for different levels of formality, some insulating sweaters, and a reliable umbrella that won’t invert at the slightest hint of wind. Finally, a pair of rain boots that you don’t mind mucking up. 

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Hardy Amies, the famed British designer who served as Queen Elizabeth II’s official dressmaker, loved to give dictums on how people should dress. In his 1964 book The ABC of Men’s Fashion, he declared men “should always buy the most expensive belt possible.” I suspect, however, this was because his eponymous label was selling expensive leather dress belts at the time. Three years before the book’s publishing, Amies launched his first full line of menswear. 

His logic was reasonable though. A well-made dress belt can last a long time, sometimes even decades. It’s often seen when your jacket is open, and more so when it’s off. Plus, in today’s world – which favors plain front, low sitting trousers – a good outfit cries out for some sort of belted rigging, as opposed to higher-waisted trousers that are designed for suspenders or side tabs. 

I’ve wanted a dark brown alligator belt for years, having fallen in love with them after seeing one on a tailor in Naples. When we met for lunch, he was wearing a soft-shouldered, olive checked sport coat and slightly tapered, gray tropical wool trousers, but it was the textured belt that literally and figuratively pulled everything together – a richly colored, dark brown alligator piece that gave the outfit some personality. Jesse at Put This On once described this as having “a point of distinction,” a term for details that elevate a prosaic outfit into something more stylish. “It’s easy to pile wild choice on top of wild choice, or conversely to make nothing but down-the-middle clothing decisions,” he writes. “To choose to demonstrate understated mastery and nonetheless show distinction is much more difficult.”

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One of the things I love about Drake’s is how they’re able to present classic clothes in a way that feels a bit fresher, a bit newer, without veering off into the bushes. This season, the company shot their spring/ summer lookbook in Charleston, South Carolina, where they’ve mixed their English ties and Italian tailoring with some of their favorite pieces from the heydays of American style. And at a time when prep feels beleaguered – sometimes dated, sometimes lacking in self awareness – Drake’s presentation makes me think, “oh yea, this stuff is pretty good.”

In an old post at Put This On, my friend Pete once wrote a great essay on what’s happened to prep. In the mid-2000s, “J. Crew sales were booming – critter shorts and tiny collared OCBDs abounded. Grosgrain enthusiast Thom Browne won a CFDA award and got his own line at Brooks Brothers. Ralph Lauren launched an over-the-top youthful prep brand allegedly named after Ralph’s dog, Rugby. Old prep labels such as Gant were resurrected, and Barneys stocked new, prep-riffing labels like Band of Outsiders and Benjamin Bixby. The author of the Official Preppy Handbook was writing a sequel.” 

Now in 2018, Rugby and Bixby have shuttered, Thom Browne is no longer at Brooks Brothers, and J. Crew and Ralph Lauren are struggling to find their footing. Even the term preppy feels pejorative again. It’s sticky and gross, referencing a sense of smugness, as well as the squeamishly elitist things we blissfully ignored ten years ago. Pete writes: “Prep implies privilege and inherited money; some of prep’s charm comes from the unquestioning self-confidence bestowed only by independent wealth. Today we still like our wealth obnoxious. But not smug or entitled.” To the degree prep feels relevant, it’s often through generic things that have simply become “clothes.” Flat front used to be preppy, but now they’re just common attire for everyday office workers. 

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There’s this old episode of Seinfeld I love. George becomes smitten with a charming brunette named Nina, who he meets for the first time while wearing Timberland boots. Convinced his thick soles hide the fact that he’s short, he commits himself to wearing the same Timbs every time he sees her – any situation, every situation, no matter how absurd. By the end of the episode, the two travel together to India to attend a mutual friend’s wedding. George, still committed to his ruse, paints his wheat Timbs black in a desperate attempt to make them look like dress shoes. And when Nina finally snaps, she spins around and dryly tells him: “You can take off those boots – everyone knows you’re five foot six.“

That’s how I feel about all these rules surrounding how you should dress for your body type. The pseudo-scientific ones about how shorter men shouldn’t wear such-and-such; heavier men should avoid these other things. Most seem like they’re about assuaging our insecurities, rather than having an effect on how we’re perceived.

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Is it possible to be this excited about socks? Ten years ago, garishly designed “fun socks” were a mark of bad taste – like the hosiery equivalent of novelty ties. For years, I’ve stuck to solid-colored navy dress socks and simple, gray, athletic cotton-socks out of fear of seeming too whimsical. Too many suits in the late-aughts were ruined by screamy colors peeking out from beneath the cuffs; too many casual outfits accessorized with something that said “bacon” or “beer.”

In the last couple of years, however, I’ve opened up to the idea that socks can be fun, but still in good taste – socks don’t have to be so pedestrian. I really like Anonymous Ism’s socks, for example, which can be cheerful without being contrived. Wigwam has terrifically slubby camp socks. Chup has some of the best Fair Isles. Last month, I also picked up a couple of pairs of American Trench’s wool-silk boot socks, which are subtly flecked like Donegal tweed. And they may just be my favorites of all.

American Trench is one of the many young companies today promoting American manufacturing. They started as a Kickstarter campaign for contemporary styled, single-breasted raincoats. “We didn’t want to offer early supporters branded t-shirts, so we made a small line of socks,” says Jacob Hurwitz, the company’s founder and designer. “Since our launch, that part of the business has really grown, especially on the wholesale side. About 80% of our sales volume now is made up of accessories, such as socks, hats, gloves, and scarves.”

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In an interview with The Telegraph, Patrick Grant of Norton & Sons and E. Tautz once described fashion as being an “ever-moving feast.” I often find that the quick-paced nature of fashion – where things are constantly being created and destroyed – makes the field endlessly interesting. There’s always something new, something different, something to talk about. And while my taste in tailoring leans classic, I like casualwear that’s a bit more progressive and experimental.

For the past few years, I’ve been doing these annual posts where I round up some new brands I recently found. To be sure, not all of them are actually new – many have been around for years – but they’re new to me. Here are seven labels I recently discovered. And while not all of them sell things I’d personally wear, I find them inspiring in some way. For more of the same, you can see previous years’ posts here, here, and here. 

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If there’s any country that knows how to make cold-weather clothes, it’s Scotland. Heavy tweeds, cabled sweaters, and what I think is the best cashmere in the world. Recently, David Marx – the author behind Ametora – wrote a great essay on how Japan has become an important export market for traditional Scottish clothes and textiles. The article was first published in Vanguards Magazine, a bi-annual publication celebrating design and products. 

Marx’s essay starts with how traditional Scottish goods landed in Japan in the first place. Mid-century American clothes, marketed as Ivy Style, originally brought things such as Harris Tweed to the island. Pictured above, for example, is Tailor Caid’s Yuhei Yamamoto (photo by Mark Cho), wearing a classic, soft-shouldered, American-style overcoat. It’s this sort of tweedy look that would later open up the Japanese market to other Scottish specialities, such as fisherman knits and teaseled scarves. Marx’s essay is republished in full here with permission, but if you like it, check out Vanguards’ second issue, from which this is taken (there’s a graphic novel in there about Aero Leathers). Vanguards is also selling a specially designed bandana that accompanies this story.

Each autumn in Tokyo, there are a series of annual rituals which alert shoppers that crisp weather and burgundy maple leaves are just around the corner. First, traditional menswear retailer Beams Plus covers an entire wall with stacks of fluffy Jamieson-made sweaters in a crayon’s box worth of color variations. Next, stores such as United Arrows, Tomorrowland, and Ships join Beams in bringing out piles of thick wool shawl cardigans from Inverallan, each with a tag certifying the sweater’s hand-knit origin. In November, men celebrate the bountiful harvest of late summer trunk shows: their made-to-measure Harris Tweed sports coats have arrived. They match their herringbone and dogtooth jackets with explosions of fair isle patterns and tartan scarves to scatter festive color across the Tokyo streets.

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I’ve always thought clothing should be written about like food, rather than technical equipment – less stitch count, more mouthfeel. A few weeks ago, I was having drinks with a friend, who was telling me about a dinner he had at a local Michelin star restaurant. A multi-course meal there runs $750 per person. Or in his case, $1,500 for him and his wife. On the menu? Avocado toast, supposedly the reason why Millennials can’t afford to buy homes (OK, maybe true here). 

“So, how was the toast?,” I asked. My friend shrugged. “Pretty damn good – the best I’ve had. But, you know, it’s avocado toast.”

That’s about the best I can come up with for Marol’s new collaborative shirts with Bruce Boyer, which cost a dizzying $585. Marol is an old, Italian shirt factory based on Bologna, having started in the late 1950s. Recently, the company was sold to new owners, as the current owners don’t have someone in the family for succession (as would be typical in Italian businesses). For much of their history, Marol made their way by producing private-label, finely tailored shirts for top-end companies. Under their new management, however, they’re starting to branch out and develop their own brand. 

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