I want to start an ad campaign, like the one Converse has plastered all over my city, with the catchphrase “Poplins Are Boring.” Poplin, for those unfamiliar, is a type of plain weave, where each lengthwise yarn passes over each crosswise yarn – over and under, over and under, and so on. The stuff is very smooth, very flat, and very, very boring. You can get an up-close view of it at Mr. Porter.
I think I wear poplin maybe once every few years, when I have to go to a wedding or something. Other than that, I prefer end-on-ends or twills, where you get a bit more variegation in color or texture. Not enough for anyone else to really notice, but enough for me to care. I’ve also been wearing the following a lot this summer:
First, there are these London Lounge linens, which have a nice crosshatching of white and blue yarns (sort of like end-on-end), but aren’t so slubby that they look distracting. As with all London Lounge cloths, the prices are painful, but the products don’t disappoint. Even the white linens have a subtle variation that looks better than the plain whites you see in lower end shirts.
Since moving into my new apartment, I’ve been looking for some art to fill an empty wall, and had the idea some months ago to get a Navajo weaving. Little did I know, they cost a pretty penny (at least for authentic, original ones that can be described as having a “patina”). So to get a better understanding of what’s worth buying, I’ve been reading a little about the subject.
One particularly good book is Walk in Beauty, which is an expanded version of The Navajo Blanket, a book published by the Los Angeles County Museum in 1972 to accompany an exhibit. Aside from being a really good introductory text – covering everything from the Navajo’s cultural heritage in weaving to the designs and yarns used in these textiles – it’s also notable that the author, Mary Hunt Kahlenberg, was one of the first museum curators to break with tradition by displaying such weavings as fine art.
You see, up until recently, Navajo weavings were mostly studied by anthropologists and presented as ethnological collections. Which means samples were often viewed and analyzed with an eye towards the normative. Works were valued for being “typical” or “average” for a time or region, rather than for any technical or artistic excellence. Critics say that this, in turn, has inflated the price of inferior textiles, and in some ways, even stunted the Navajo weaving community by giving them perverse incentives.
Kahlenberg broke with tradition in the 1970s when she presented Navajo collections as fine art. In the setting of an art museum, these blankets were said to have taken on new life as woven paintings. New York Times art critic Hilton Kramer wrote in 1972 of the showing:
The New York Times had an article a few weeks ago about the return of sneakers, and how some men (mostly New Yorkers) have been trading in their wingtips for gym shoes. It wasn’t a terribly interesting piece, to be honest, as sneakers have never not been popular, and men have been mixing them with tailored clothes for at least a couple of years. For anyone who would even be interested in reading such an article, this is all old news. Instead, I thought the author missed what’s a much more broader and interesting development: the rapid growth of designer sneakers in the last twenty years, which has culminated into the crazy market we have today.
The idea of designer sneakers is as tricky as the idea of designer clothes. It’s never clear what people mean by “designer” – whether it’s about the name behind the label, the intent of the design, or the “theatrics” of the clothes themselves, as Eugene Rabkin once put it. Either way, we kind of know what people mean when they refer to it, and in this way, the rapid growth of designer sneakers is interesting in the same way designer jeans have been interesting. It’s a deliberate de-democratization of something that used to be incredibly democratic. Sneakers are unique in that everyone from Bill Gates to homeless people wear them, but in the emergence of designer sneakers, there’s a new stratification where there used to be none. Designs from Giuseppe Zanotti and Alexander McQueen, for example, retail close to a $1,000 nowadays, which makes the $100 Jordans we all used to covet as kids seem like a joke.
I admit, I’ve been paying more for sneakers than I ever thought I would, but you’ll never catch me dropping close to a grand. I do wear sneakers a lot in the summer, however, particularly with beat-up denim and casual outerwear. Some expensive, some not, and some not even really considered designer at all.
At the top of the list are the Margiela German Army Trainers. I picked them up in three colorways, and for a while wore the brown and black pairs almost exclusively. Lately, however, I’ve come around to accepting that the white versions are the most useful, even if they’re the least interesting, as they simply don’t take that much thought to coordinate. More affordably, real German Army Trainers can be had for about $80 if you go through a proxy on StyleForum. The biggest difference between them is that the originals won’t have that grey stripe that (I think) help balances out the toe box. They are priced attractively, however, and being the originals has merit.
You could take all the artisanal, handmade, bespoke cordwainers in the world, roll them up into a ball, and I still wouldn’t like them as much as I like Edward Green. Although the basics of their shoes aren’t too different from any other good firm – as, after all, these are just Goodyear welted shoes made from full grain leathers – they have a style and finishing that sets them apart. There’s no company, to my mind, that has a higher batting average when it comes to making tasteful shoes. Their lasts are nicely shaped, their designs elegant, and their leathers are burnished just enough to give them some visual depth, but not so much that they look like the pimp-ish stuff you see coming from Continental Europe (sorry, Italy).
There’s a rumor floating around that Edward Green might be raising the prices of their made-to-order shoes, which would surprise me since they just lowered them. Well, at least for simple customizations (such as a change in leather), where now the upcharge is just £150. In any case, the rumor has me thinking that I should place an order soon, before expensive things just become more expensive. Some notable models to consider:
Dover: Arguably one of the best shoes ever designed. The piecrust apron stitching is done better here than anywhere else, and if it matters to you, it’s all executed by hand with pig bristles (rather than needles). Best made on the 606 last and in dark oak calf, but I think they’d also look really nice in burnt pine (one of the few lighter shades of brown that I think is wearable). Suede is also an option, but the apron won’t show off as well.
Halifax: Basically the Dover, but in chukka form. Edward Green’s warm Chestnut brown would accentuate the boot style nicely.
Newmarket: It seems silly to go to Edward Green for a Chelsea boot when you can get the style from more affordable companies. Sillier still to get them in suede since so much of what makes Edward Green special are those burnished calfs. Nonetheless, the company’s Newmarket is high on my list. I’d love to get them in a basic brown, such as mole or mink.
Piccadilly: Edward Green has a number of nice penny loafer styles, but my favorite is their Piccadilly – a dressy model that goes well with sharply tailored sport coats. There’s an unlined loafer with a piecrust apron named the Harrow. It’s modeled after the Wildsmith loafer, which is famous for being originally designed for King George V as a house shoe.
Olney: A unique buckle boot that’s a bit more wearable with tailored clothing than Alden’s George boot. I bought them in dark oak last year and am now thinking about getting another pair in suede.
City Boot: Originally made for Asprey, this City Boot isn’t in their catalogs, but it’s in their archives, which means it’s available for a custom order if you know about it. I admit that bumps up the cool factor for me, but I also think the style would look great with jeans. Maybe in the company’s lesser-known brown deerskin, which has a uniquely textured surface and soft feel.
Wells: The classic derby is such an underrated shoe. It’s not as sleek as oxfords, but that just means it goes better with sport coats and odd trousers, which is great for guys like me, who find themselves more often in odd jackets and trousers than full-on suits. Edward Green’s Wells model has finely punched broguing to accentuate the shoe’s slightly dressier nature. Also worth considering: the Oban, Westbourne, and Sandringham.
Downing: A slightly dressier take on an American classic. This one would be great in the company’s taupe or sandstone nubuck leathers.
Mercer: A really nice single monk. I’ve come around to how good this style can look with sport coats and casual suits. Just check out Greg from No Man Walks Alone or Antonio Liverano. Edward Green’s Oundle is also an excellent model to consider.
Shannon: Admittedly a funky shoe, as it’s neither fish nor fowl. As an oxford, it goes best with suits, but as a boot, it looks odd underneath fine worsted wool trousers. I like them though, and to be fair – no one notices that they’re boots until you sit down.
You can see the company’s updated catalog here. Note, the catalog will only show what’s ready-made and available for order directly through Edward Green. Specialty stores such as Skoaktiebolaget, Leffot, Axel’s, LeatherSoul, and Unipair might have their own special makes. You can also place custom orders through Edward Green or one of their stockists. I’m hoping to order a few basic MTOs next month from Skoaktiebolaget.
My friend Réginald-Jérôme de Mans once lamented that there are few things anymore unique to a place. “[A]lmost everything is available on Google for comparison shopping, flipped on eBay by some enterprising parallel importer or made especially for discount sale through Gilt,” he wrote. “Unfortunately, redevelopment in the historic shopping areas of the world usually means homogenization to a standard of boring, set to the thudding Abercrombie & Fitch drumbeat that echoes down Savile Row.”
Indeed, one of the most recent houses to fall was Arnys, a Parisian boutique that was as famous for its designs as it was for its quality. In a world where the only ties that seem to be made anymore are striped reps and Macclesfield foulards, Arnys was one of the few places where you could get something original. Granted, I like striped ties and conservative foulards, but they can get a bit monotonous (plus, do we really need fifty makers for such things?). Arnys’ ties, on the other hand, were elegant, bohemian, and even a bit counterculture. Rive gauche style, in a way.
There are two silver linings, however. First, Morigi Milano has some old Arnys ties and they’re available for purchase online. The designs are a lot more wearable than the stuff you see recycled on eBay, and a number look like they’d go excellently with a cotton or linen suit.
Second, as my friend Réginald-Jérôme informs me, Arnys’ tie designer Dominique Lelys is now doing his own thing under his label Le Lys. Sadly, while the ties are more unique than what you’d find elsewhere, they don’t have the same whimsical patterns of Arnys. The front blades are basic – simple stripes, dots, or solid colors – while the back blades are made with a contrasting piece of silk. The ties are unlined and made with a five-fold construction, and you can find them for $175 a piece at Cuffs.
I’m convinced that most tie wearing men own too many ties, but at the same time, not enough striped ones. The advantage of striped rep ties is that they’re simple, unassailably in good taste, and wearable with almost anything - from smooth and silky suits to rough and tweedy sport coats. English foulards (which are those silk prints with small, repeating, geometric shapes) and paisley ancient madders, on the other hand, often look best with either one or the other, but not both. Which means if you’re building a necktie wardrobe, it’s better to start with a good foundation of striped rep ties and solid colored grenadines before you branch out to raw silks, boucles, or unusual prints.
It used to be that men could only own one striped necktie. The style originated in the early 20th century, when decommissioned British officers wanted to continue wearing their regimental colors after they returned to civilian life. Hence, we get the term “regimental silks” for how those colors denoted those officers’ service. After a while, the practice was taken up by men in exclusive clubs or colleges, such as the students of Trinity College wearing navy ties with white stripes, or members of the Hawks Club wearing red ties with yellow stripes. It was inconceivable that you could ever buy these ties in a store, as they were for members only, which is why men only had one style they could wear.
Luckily, the social meaning of these ties has largely been lost, so men can own as many as they want. In the US, you can find them at J. Press, Ben Silver, Brooks Brothers and Paul Stuart. The first two make them in more appealing patterns, in my opinion, than the last two. On the upside, all four companies have tons of ties on eBay, and they often get overlooked, which means you can buy them for pennies on the dollar.
My favorite maker, however, might be EG Cappelli - a small, Neapolitan house that uses new English silks, but in patterns that feel a bit more Old World. They have a number of ties, for example, in really muted colors, such as ones with chalky brown stripes set on a dull navy ground. These ties are softly constructed with a thin, wool interlining and lots of handwork, which makes tying them up feel a bit more pleasurable. If you can’t afford their bespoke service, which cost 80 Euros, then they have ready-made ties through their outlet store for 50 Euros and a small selection of designs at Gentlemen’s Footwear for $125. Free shipping is available at EG Cappelli when you buy five ties or more.
Some people try to improve their lives in really admirable ways - such as with every New Years, they make resolutions to lose weight, quit smoking, or save money. One of my resolutions this year is to build a new pants wardrobe. It’s admittedly silly and trivial, but on the upside, since it requires no sacrifice or discipline on my part, I’m likely to actually meet it.
The problem with off-the-rack pants, I find, is that even with a good cut, it can be hard to get the back to fit well. That’s because so much depends on how you stand. If you stand with your hips forward and knees locked – like an auditioning porn star, as my friend David put it – then your pants will crumple under the seat and ripple through the back of the leg. It’s a minor thing, but once you get obsessive about how clothes fit, it’s hard to not let these things bother you.
So earlier this year, I resolved to replace all my trousers through my tailor, and in doing so, I’ve had to think about what pants might be necessary in a good, basic wardrobe. Not to say this is what everyone needs, of course. Only me. But perhaps if you wear sport coats often, you’ll find some of these suggestions useful.
First, there are your year-round cloths, which can start with chinos. I like darker shades of khaki over mid-shades, and find dark- to mid-shades of olive green to be very useful as well. On one of Steed’s visits here, I was able to flip through some Dugdale cotton swatches, which I thought were really good (below is a nice shade of navy in a subtle twill weave, which I’ve always preferred over plain-weaves or drills). Zegna and Brisbane Moss also have great cottons, and I’ve heard good things about Drapers.
The ‘90s seem to have come back, with Elle Italia doing a fashion spread on the decade and Hedi Slimane designing this year’s Saint Laurent Paris collections around grunge. While I admit to liking the rock revival, my mind has been drifting to more familiar territory. Namely, '90s Ralph Lauren.
Unfortunately, everything Ralph Lauren designed twenty years ago fits like a sail, which means it’s all unwearable unless you have a size 42 chest or larger. I did, however, recently manage to pick up this shirt, which is re-release of an Indian head chambray he made long ago. This time, however, the cut is much slimmer (a bit more like the “custom fit” shirts in his modern Polo label), so on really hot days, when the temperatures are too high for a jacket, I’ve been wearing it open with a white Barns t-shirt, Oak Street Bootmakers chukkas, and 3sixteen jeans. It’s probably my favorite casual shirt as of late, if only for nostalgic reasons.
Many have commented on Ralph Lauren’s success in offering clothes at every price point - from $5,000 Italian-made jackets to $20 Chinese-made polos. Less recognized, I think, is his ability to use his brand as a sort of “incubator,” with lines rising and falling with the times. In the '90s for example, you had Ralph Lauren Country and Polo Sport, neither of which really survived past the decade (although Polo Sport somewhat continues as a generic “aqua-scented” cologne). Why Ralph Lauren Country was discontinued, and Polo Sport replaced with RLX, I’ll never understand, but it’s interesting to see that whenever one of his sub-labels closes, his umbrella brand and mainline Polo label remain untarnished.
What I wouldn’t give though, to have some more re-releases. You can find some of these originals on eBay if you search around for the right terms (try “Ralph Lauren Polo Country” and “Ralph Lauren Sportsman”). If only the cuts were slimmer …
I’m not one for loud colors, but I have a soft spot for madras shirts in the summer. Madras is a lightweight, airy woven cotton, which typically comes in bold and beautiful patterns. The fabric takes its name from the Indian city where it originated, but it’s been long considered an American classic for its associations with Ivy Style. As the story goes, a fabric importer named William Jacobson went to India in the late 1950s to procure some fabrics, and subsequently sold about 10,000 yards of madras to Brooks Brothers. He neglected to mention, however, that the mill warned him the fabric would bleed in the wash, so Brooks had a problem when customers came back furious about how their new clothes ruined their laundry. Rather than recall the garments, Brooks spun around and marketed their stock of madras as that “miraculous handwoven fabric from India” that was “guaranteed to bleed.” Americans have been in love with the cloth ever since.
It’s hard to find actual bleeding madras these days, as everything is made to be colorfast. Friends of mine who do research in India tell me that bleeding madras is still available there, but the fabric is rarely made for export. The only exception I know is Atlantis Fabrics, but their stock of bleeding madras (at least that part which they’re willing to sell to the public) is limited, and the qualities are highly variable. On some stocks, for example, you can have whole sections of stripes missing on a check, or unusual stains of unknown origin. Plus, Atlantis seems to be harder and harder to work with these days. Years ago, I could buy fabrics from them at about $5 a yard, but nowadays, they have higher minimums, higher prices, and requirements for wire transfers (which add to the cost). The other source for good madras is Rosen & Chadick, but while their shirtings are of higher quality, I’ve never heard of them stocking anything that bleeds.
In any case, last week I received what I think might be my last batch of madras shirtings for a while. All three were bought from Atlantis as part of a group buy organized on StyleForum. None of these bleed, but they should still look good underneath cotton or linen sport coats. I plan on sending them to Ascot Chang to be made into shirts, and then wearing them with an open collar and a big smile.
Everyone wants the best, but what’s considered “best” is often very subjective. Here’s a pair of camp mocs, for example, from W.C. Russell Moccasin Company – a Wisconsin-based shoe firm that has been making moccasins and boots for outdoorsy folks since 1898. The color on these is a bit flat and the creasing a bit rough. And while Russell Moccasin usually makes shoes from full grain leather, these are made from top-grain, which is the bottom-half of a hide once it’s been split. The upside to top grain is that it doesn’t have any of the blemishes and scars that might be on full grain, but the downside is that it also doesn’t feel as rich and supple. And since the fibers in top grain aren’t as tightly intertwined, the leather can seem a bit airy. You can see Dave Muson of Saddleback Leathers explain it in this video.
Still, I love these mocs. The color has this perfect pitch of reddish brown, which somehow feels more classic and American to me than the usual dark browns and tans such shoes come in. The leather, while not as rich as my Quoddy and Oak Street Bootmaker mocs, also feels better suited for going out to a sports bar on a hot summer afternoon. And if provenance still means anything, I like that these are made by a 116 year-old heritage company with an utterly unpretentious website. Ordering from them feels like ordering from those mail-in catalogs in the ‘90s, where you’d send in a check or well-hidden cash along with a scribbled out form.
When I talked to Jeffery Diduch last year about suit quality, he compared the construction of suits to the making of food. That is – it’s hard to tell with any certainty how a suit has been made, but it’s easy to tell if you like it. And just like a dish, the only thing that’s important is your enjoyment. So for me, while I like my “nicer” camp mocs from Quoddy and Oak Street, these Russell Moccasins have been surprisingly getting more wear. If I think about it like food, sometimes you want a really nice grilled salmon, and sometimes you want a cheap burrito. Both can be enjoyable in their own right. In this way, these Russells are like the burrito of shoes.
(Note, Russell Moccasin’s camp mocs can be ordered custom through Russell Moccasin themselves, but there is a wait time. If you want to go with a standard make, they can be had quicker through Sid Mashburn).
