The main problem with working with a traveling tailor is that commissioning garments can require long lead times. With only three or four visits per year, completing an order can take up to fifteen months if you require at least three fittings. On the upside, many traveling operations are quite good, which means if you have access to one, you can often get something quite special. 

Napoli Su Misura just finished their most recent tour of the US earlier this month, which included a stop by San Francisco’s Orchard Hotel. At the visit, I was able to pick up my latest order. Included was a brown checked faux tweed from John G. Hardy’s Worsted Alsport book. I say “faux” because real tweed is a prickly, rough woolen, while “faux tweed” is a worsted wool made to look like the real thing. The rustic pattern gives the material some country charm, while the smooth texture allows it to be still business appropriate.   

There was also a single-breasted, 3/2 roll sport coat made from a petrol blue Minnis Fresco, and the cigar linen suit I wrote about last year. Each jacket was made with slightly wider lapels and a lower gorge than my last order, and but I retained some signature Neapolitan details. Namely, there’s the spalla camicia shoulder, with its telltale waterfall sleevehead, and double stitching on the Fresco and linen pieces. Double stitching refers to the two lines of hand picked stitching you see along the edges of the lapels and pockets. Neapolitans say this helps reinforce the construction of their garments, while skeptics say it’s just a stylistic detail that helps keep a jacket casual. Count me in the second camp.

There were a couple of other details I requested: two pen holders in every jacket, with one short enough to hold a highlighter (making every jacket a semi-reading jacket), and a small, button flap, interior pocket for my cell phone. The trousers have an excessive eight buttons at the fly, which Napoli Su Misura calls “tailor style.” That sounds very romantic, and romance is needed given how much fiddling you’ll have to do in the crotch region to secure all these buttons. And just in case eight wasn’t enough, I had two more put at each leg opening (a detail I admittedly stole from Salvatore Ambrosi), so that the cuffs can be easily opened and cleaned out. 

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Readers who have their suits and sport coats custom made might be interested in a special fabric run I’m putting together. The current book of J&J Minnis Fresco only has one solid dark brown, the 0518, and to my eye (as well as my tailor’s), it’s too dark for an odd jacket. So, I’m hoping to commission a special run of brown Fresco, something similar to the swatch you see above. 

Fresco, for those unfamiliar, is a trademarked term (like Kleenex) for an open weave worsted from J&J Minnis of Huddersfield. The high-twist cloth is woven to resist wrinkling and allow a lot air to pass through, thus making it ideal for summer. It’s a bit rougher to the hand than other tropical wools, such as Smith’s Finmeresco or Holland & Sherry’s Crispaire, which I think makes it exceptionally nice for suits meant to be broken up into separates, or for just sport coats themselves. Super smooth wools are for wimps anyway. 

I’m currently talking to Huddersfield Fine Worsteds to see how we can commission this run, but my guess is that we’ll need a minimum order of 60 meters. I’m currently at ~52m, which leaves just two or three more slots for people. If you’re interested, please email me. I’m hoping to get a color similar to sport coat my e-friend Voxsartoria is wearing in the first photo below, or perhaps one shade lighter than the double breasted suit he’s wearing in the second image. The weight will be 10oz. 

 

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I’ve been wanting another game bag - the kind built from a sturdy canvas cloth and trimmed with vegetable-tanned leather. These are, to be sure, built for sportsmen, but I find they’re also perfect for lugging things around a city. A pocket intended for tackle can be used to hold a laptop charger, and any large compartment meant for game can be used to store laptops, books, and some papers. Used with a Barbour jacket and some boots, I can’t think of anything better.

I bought a tan fishing bag last year from Ralph Lauren, and was hoping to get the green one this season for variety. It sadly didn’t make it to their sale, so I’ve been looking to more traditional English makers. At the top of the list is Chapman, a company named after and started by John Chapman in the early 80s, right after Barbour acquired the bag maker Liddesdale (where John Chapman had been working). It was a risky, but ultimately smart move, as Barbour would eventually shut down Liddesdale and move its bag production overseas. By that time, however, Chapman was already a thriving business selling British made bags all over the world, winning over the hearts of outdoorsmen, and even producing for brands such as Holland & Holland and Purdey.

Chapman is now owned by Daniel Chamier, a former banker who took over the company in 2006. The operations remain the same, however. There are just sixteen full-time employees, who do everything from hand-cutting the original patterns to finishing all the traditional saddlery work. In addition, not only are the bags produced in the UK (in Carlisle, just four miles from my tailor, coincidentally), but they also use UK materials. Tweeds are from Scotland, wools from Yorkshire, and leathers from a tannery in Kent. These are fully English, inside and out. 

I’m told that while fishing and shooting bags still make up a big part of the company’s business, most of their bags are used for non-sport purposes. In fact, it seems that they’re looking to expand that range. This past year was the company’s first showing at Pitti Uomo, and they’re continuing to build collaborations with fashion brands and stores around the world. For example, some of their best products (to my eye anyway), are done with the stylistic direction of companies such as London Undercover and No Man Walks Alone, who take standard models and spec them with their own choices in materials and colors.

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There’s much written about the kind of sportswear associated with sports few men play (polo, quail hunting, boating, etc), but little about the clothes we need for the kind of sports most of us engage in. Recently, however, it seems that everyone has picked up the new Gyakusou collection - that special collaboration project, now in its third year, between sportswear giant Nike and Japanese designer Jun Takahashi. Takahashi is famous for his cult fashion label Undercover, but he’s also an avid runner, regularly covering 10-15k distances in his hometown of Tokyo. The name of the collaboration is actually taken from his running group, the Gyakusou International Running Association. “Gyaku” means reverse or wrong way, and “sou” means run or running. Together, the word gyakusou is a reference to the group’s practice of running counter-clockwise around the parks of Tokyo, rather than the standard clockwise direction.

The line is essentially high-end fashion athletic apparel aimed at runners, and this season’s collection differs from those of the past in that it’s a bit more functional and simplistic in form. Gone are the extras zippers and pockets that have been previously used to distinguish the line as “designer,” and instead of color blocking, we see simple tonal colorways. What stays, however, are functional details. The collection’s best jacket, for example, has a small, unique chest pocket, just big enough for a set of keys so that they don’t jingle when you run. There’s also a zippered back that reveals some highly breathable mesh, so you can get more ventilation if necessary. In addition, the line continues to use Nike’s innovative technologies. The fabrics are lightweight and designed to wick sweat away from the skin, and certain panels are made with stretchier fabrics in order to allow greater ease of movement.

There’s a part of me that recognizes how ridiculous all this is. I wouldn’t consider myself a runner, but I do run about three or four miles a day, I appreciate the sport for its simplicity. All one needs is a pair of proper running shoes. The over-design of these clothes, on the other hand, remind me of Grant Petersen’s book Just Ride, which encourages bicyclists to get away from the ultra lightweight gear, flashy jerseys, and clunky shoes, and return to the simple joy of riding. Most people are not training for the Tour de France, after all, just as I imagine most people buying Gyakusou are not doing serious marathons. 

At the same time, it’s difficult to find attractive running clothes, and to the extent we use clothing to look and feel good, is it so bad to like this line? After trying on a few pieces, I already want one of the jackets, and although the shoes are not practical for a pronator like me, I wouldn’t mind using a pair for short ~2 mile runs.

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Sometimes you find the perfect thing and want lots of it. It doesn’t make for very good financial management, but so long as a purchase doesn’t send you into debt, I don’t see the problem with the occasional indulgence. It just has to come with a lot of guilt and shame, lest you make a habit of it.

My perfect thing came last year in the form of a navy Shetland sweater from O'Connell’s. As I mentioned at Put This On, Shetlands are scratchy sweaters heavily rooted in casual American style. Brooks Brothers brought them over in 1904, and they’ve been popular ever since. There’s even a story about how women used to raid the men’s knitwear department at Brooks Brothers for Shetlands, until the company decided to make a special version just for them. Of course, that may well be a story invented for marketing purposes.

You can get Shetlands today from any number of places. LL Bean and Brooks Brothers will have affordable versions, though the second has been slightly ruined with a logo embroidery. Nicer pieces can be bought from Bill’s Khakis and The Andover Shop, while Albam, Howlin’ by Morrison, and Neighbour will have pieces for the younger customer.

What makes O'Connell’s particularly special is the construction. I’ve found mine to not pill as much as the ones I’ve bought from Brooks Brothers, and it feels a bit sturdier than the pieces I’ve handled at Neighbour and Beams. It’s also just the right weight - not as light and thin as the cheaper versions, but also not as thick as Bill’s Khakis. It’s the perfect thing to wear alone with an oxford cloth button down shirt and some khakis or corduroys, or layered underneath a Barbour Bedale or LL Beans’ yellow trail jacket. That's exactly how I wore my navy Shetland last year on a trip to Seattle and Vancouver.

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If “shoe porn” means a spectacular visual presentation of shoes, then let me show you one of the greatest shoe porn sites of all time: Centipede. A Japanese site started by a semi-anonymous blogger in 2002, and left untouched since 2009, it remains better than most of the dozens, if not hundreds, or classic men’s footwear sites that have come after it.

Much of the focus here is on English firms, including long-gone bespoke makers such as Wildsmith, Peal & Co., and N. Tuczek. For fans of Edward Green, there’s a nice sample of old historic lasts, such as the 88, 32, and 33. Here’s a pair of split toe Dovers, for example, built on the 32 and made from an unusually hairy Maple Stag suede. There are also special photo sets for J. Amesbury bespoke, A. Harris’ collection of rare shoes, and one enthusiasts’ tour of British stores. There’s no text to accompany the last bit, but the photos are enough to entertain.

The second half of the site is dedicated to makers from America (mostly Alden), Italy (e.g. Bemer, Ugolini, and Mannina), other parts of Europe (e.g. my friend Réginald-Jérôme de Mans' butterfly loafers, which were made for him by Anthony Delos), and Japan (e.g. Spigola, Otsuka, and some names hidden to me through that shroud of katakana, hiragana, and kanji). Lastly, the “etcetera” section is not to be missed. There, you’ll find some knockout, old catalogs from GJ Cleverly, Edward Green, and Foster & Son, as well as some curiosities, such as this miniature Berluti shoe (made so that a representative could easily bring models to a trunk show) and a special Globe Trotter shoe case from the 1940s. There’s even a pair of New Balances made from an undyed vegetable-tanned leather, making sure there’s something for everyone.

Enjoy. 

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The Irish knitwear brand O’Maille has an interesting section on their website explaining the different meanings behind Aran sweater stitches. Arans are densely patterned, vertically paneled, cable knits, typically produced from a heavy yarn made from an undyed, off-white wool known as bainin. The sweaters are classically associated with the Aran Islands, which is of course where they take their name. 

According to O’Maille, simple cable stitches represent fishing ropes, while more complex ones symbolize the interweaving of family life. Health and success are represented through the moss stitch (made to evoke the image of abundant growth in mossy soil), diamond stitches (made to reflect fishing net mesh), and honeycomb stitches. Finally, trinity and blackberry stitches are said to have ancient religious connotations, while lobster claw, spoon,and basket stitches are symbolic of the life of knitters.

A quick look around will bring up many sources that say similar things, but one should be careful about buying too much into these mythologies. Contrary to popular belief, these sweaters are not part of the Islands’ traditional dress. Instead, they were a fashion item that came out of the 20^thcentury, likely as part of the Republic of Ireland’s push in the 1930s for home-produced crafts. The meaning behind the stitches came from a German writer named Heinz Keiwe, who “discovered” some early prototypes and decided to wax rhapsodic about them in an article published in 1938, where he wrote about the ancient Celtic influences he supposedly found. Keiwe had never been to the Islands, however, nor ever met anyone who had knitted a sweater. Still, his work was widely accepted and later writers felt free to embellish and expand (early form of bloggers?). Even the often-told story that these knitshave been used to identify poor, lost fishermen drowned at sea likely came from John Millington Synge’s 1904 play Riders to the Sea, where some fisherman was identified by a sock with dropped stitches. Of course, sellers of such sweaters have never felt compelled to contradict any of this marketing magic, so these mythologies continue. 

Whether the sweaters hold traditional meanings or not, I still like to wear mine with ribbed corduroy trousers and heavy twill chinos. The best I’ve found have all come from Inis Meain, which you can buy from No Man Walks Alone, Barney’s, A Suitable Wardrobe, Inis Meain themselves, and (soon) The Hanger Project. Those will be made from softer wool-cashmere mixes, rather than the scratchier bainin varieties you’ll find elsewhere. 

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Except for Gianluca Migliarotti’s tributes to Italian tailoring, my favorite menswear films have all been BBC documentaries.  Unfortunately, they’re difficult to view unless you’re in the UK, but you can find clips here and there on Vimeo and YouTube. Someone in the Netherlands also once uploaded the full-video files on a server many years ago, and remarkably enough, they’re still there. He has Savile Row (parts 1, 2, and 3), British Style Genius (parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5), Tweed (parts 1, 2, and 3), Charles at 60, and Ozwald Boateng: Why Style Matters. The first three are especially good, with British Style Genius and Tweed being very difficult to find in full-length form anywhere else. 

The latest BBC project is The Fabric of Britain, a three-part series on British knitwear, wallpaper, and embroidery. I’ve embedded part one, The Golden Age of Knitting, above. Partly because it’s the beginning of fall, so knitwear is naturally on my mind, and partly because next to tailored clothing and shoes, I’m fanatical about sweaters. What’s not to like? You put them on, look great, and feel like someone is giving you a warm hug all day.

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Anyone around my age (mid-30s) probably spent much of their childhood in the late 1980s pouring over Neil Ardley and David Macaulay’s famous book, The Way Things Work. It’s an entertaining introduction to everyday machines, with informative, but playful, diagrams that nicely capture any child’s imagination. Who having read that book can ever forget those drawings of tiny woolly mammoths pulling levers and operating gears?

There was something similar around that time in the UK called The Secret Life of Machines. It was an educational television series presented by Tim Hunkin and Rex Garrod, in which the two explained the inner workings of common household and office technology. The show was developed from Hunkin’s comic strip, “The Rudiments of Wisdom,” and it had an instantly recognizable format. Hunkin would introduce some machine, talk about its inner workings and development, and then end on some social commentary. Interspersed would be some funny demonstrations and creative cartoons, which Hunkin would draw himself. 

Above is one of my favorite episodes: the one on sewing machines. In going through the development of the machine, Hunkin and Garrod also explain the difference between things such as a chainstitch and lockstich, which might interest a menswear blog reader. There’s also some cranky “they don’t make things like they used to anymore” commentary, which menswear enthusiasts can’t seem to get enough of. I think you’ll enjoy the show, and at the end of it, if you want more, there’s also a nice program on laundry machines.

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If it can be said that the Italians make good suits, the English make good shoes, and the Scots make good knitwear, then it can be said that the Japanese make good blogs. Some of the best around, actually. I recently found this one about vintage Ghurka bags made prior to 2004, when the brand’s founder Marley Hodgson sold the company. I suspect it’s maintained by a hobbyist, not Ghurka themselves (or so I hope). Google Translate isn’t very good at processing Japanese, but from what I can tell, the site has all the hallmarks of an enthusiast writing: the speculation of when and where things were made, the nostalgia over the “early days,” and the non-professional judgment of construction techniques. All stuff that speaks to my heart, really. 

The collection is simply awesome. There’s a range of popular models, such as the Expediter attaché and Express weekender (the second model Marley Hodgson ever designed, but the first he commercially offered), as well as some old paraphernalia and vintage catalogs. The best bit, however, might be the set of Examiner briefcases, of which our Japanese friend seems to have collected every variant. Check, for example, his documentation of details nobody else would have ever noticed, such as the differences in the brass studs used on the bottom of each these bags. I also love his eye for detail when he shoots those beautiful Talon zippers, and his sense for completeness when he lines up each product and shoots them as a set. It gives you the impression you’re looking at some serious anthropological research, and not just some guy with a crazy obsession for Ghurka. Normal people would call this unhealthy, and they’d be right, but it’s unhealthy behavior I can relate to.

You can still find vintage Ghurka pieces today on eBay and Etsy, as well as some Japanese trading sites (which I selfishly won’t reveal, sorry). Ghurka also sells vintage bags on their site, but at a higher price than what you’d pay if you did your own hunting. A bit cheaper is Ghurka’s mainline stuff made from “vintage army twill,” “vintage chestnut leather,” and “vintage black leather,” which I’ve heard are made to the same specs as the old line (though, I haven’t verified this firsthand). The vintage army twill collection was just put on sale last week. If I didn’t need to save up for a move in two months, I would have easily snatched up this Examiner. 

 

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