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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A warm, heartfelt thank you to everyone who nominated me for “Best in Media” in this year’s Permanent Style awards. To be honest, I was surprised to see my name come up even once, and the fact that this award was given through a popular vote means a lot to me. By the end of the voting period, I did feel vaguely horrified for Simon, knowing he’d have to write the words “Die, Workwear!” on his otherwise beautiful site. Mine is easily the worst name for a blog – let alone one about workwear. Still, Simon was nice enough to do an interview with me about winning the award, which you can read here. 

While I’m at it, I should say most of my writing is at Put This On, and I’m really proud of the work my colleagues do there. We’ve been working for months – months – on a re-launch. Fingers crossed, the new website will go up in February and I think it’ll be something special. 

In the meantime, I promise to work tirelessly to bring you quality content on bespoke tailors almost none of us have access to, as well as Japanese products that look identical to things available in the United States, but require going through a Byzantine labyrinth of proxy services to buy. Thanks again for your support (genuinely). 

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Even with the explosion of online media nowadays for men’s clothing, it can be a challenge to find good, relatable content for how to wear a coat-and-tie. Much of what’s celebrated online is too aggressively styled for most offices – tightly cut suits, heavily patterned fabrics, and unusual accessories. Great for Instagram and menswear blogs, but less so for the day-to-day grind of most people’s lives. 

Which is why it was such a pleasure for me to talk with Mr. Kazuto Yamaki. He’s the CEO of Sigma, a Japanese manufacturer of camera lenses, flashes, and other photographic accessories. He’s also an exceptionally well-dressed public figure, but so far removed from the world of menswear blogs that I had to try a few times to convince him that I was not, in fact, joking when I said I wanted to interview him about how he dresses. 

Much of what Mr. Yamaki wears will be familiar to anyone who reads this site – softly tailored Italian-influenced suits and sport coats, paired with tastefully designed ties and solid colored dress shirts. Where I think he makes a distinction is that everything looks relatable, something you can wear to most offices today. It’s thoughtfully considered without being obsessive; informed without nit picking. And in being so, it looks more naturally put together. 

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The Japanese are often presented online as being masters of their craft. The toiling shoemaker who’s a bit more meticulous and focused than his European counterparts, producing things to the highest level of quality. There’s a strange and sometimes unsettling strand of Orientalism that runs through these narratives, but if there’s anything that can be said of Japanese production, I find it’s more about design.

Japanese companies are tremendously good at design, especially if you have a penchant for classic clothing but want something that feels relevant and updated. Kaptain Sunshine, one of my favorite casualwear labels as of late, is something like a quirkier version of LL Bean. The designs are a little more creative; a little more daring. The silhouettes and details are playful in just the right ways, making them more than just literal reproductions from history.

The same can be said of bags. Before the heritage revival in the US went mainstream – encouraging companies to dust off their archives – Japanese brands were already making their versions of the 1970s-style hiking backpacks, helmet bags, and classic carryalls. If you want a casual bag, it’s worth looking towards Japan. These can be expensive, ranging anywhere from $150 on sale to a whooping $1,000 at full retail, but the designs go a little further than your basic Jansport. And while similarly priced US options are just as nicely made, they’re often too technical – sacrificing form for function.

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