Canvas Is Only A Part of the Story

 

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing indeed. But in the time-starved, bullet-point world we inhabit, a great deal of knowledge can be much more dangerous, because attempting to share it with others runs the risk of losing the listener part-way through, leaving fragmentary impressions of what it was we were attempting to explain. In the subject of the art and craft of tailoring in men’s clothing, I believe this has happened on a global scale.

So it is that we get frequent inquiries as to whether this-or-that garment is “canvassed,” as if this feature were the sole criterion by which the product might be judged. (Let’s not digress into a discussion of how certain neologisms come to be – “fabrication” for cloth; “coloration” for, yes, color – only to say that, in my experience “canvassing” as a verb has only to do with political vote-getting.)

Creating sufficient body and stability in the front and the lapels of a jacket is what separates tailored clothing from sportswear. The 1970s advent of fusing – stabilizing the front and lapels with heat-activated-adhesive interlinings – saved the average tailored clothing manufacturer a significant amount on labor costs and insulated them from the increasing scarcity of trained tailors. This last part is the real story here, because to create a basted canvas front garment requires real skill. But this skill is required in a half-dozen other critical areas of fit, comfort and durability in the jacket; to judge the product’s overall quality by how the coat front is made is to miss most of the story, like judging a cake by the icing alone.   

The first, and probably most threatening fact, is that fine quality tailoring is extremely difficult to recognize. Machinery makers like Kannegiesser of Germany and others have pretty much perfected the materials and processes that go into fused-front tailoring. No more delaminating in the dry-cleaning; no more stiff, rigid feel. In fact, in the store, the fused-front jacket may actually look better. Here we come to a critical fact: if the skill in constructing a canvas-front garment is second- or third-rate, as it will in a world of fewer and fewer crafts-people, the product might be an inferior one. Nothing looks worse than a bush-league canvas front with its attendant puckers, ridges, unwanted fullness, bumps and wrinkles. It’s the end-result that matters, not just the means. Saying it’s “canvassed” is one thing. How does it look?

The construction of the coat front is no more important to the long-term comfort, beauty and durability of the garment than the construction of the collar, shoulders and armholes. It is understandable that the sheep – goat controversy around fused garments vs. canvas-front garments arises from the fact that fusers mostly machine-stitch these areas, and this, my friend, is the heart of it. Ask not “Is it canvassed?” but, “Is it hand-sewn?” If you really want to develop some expertise in this, read on, because here’s the low-down on hand-made.

There are five major operations in making a jacket that, done by hand, result in a superior product. That is to say that these operations have never been improved upon by the invention of machinery, the way the sewing of the straight seam has been improved by the lock-stitch machine, for example. These five operations are responsible for the superior fit, comfort and durability of the “hand-tailored” jacket. All of them are centered in the top of the garment, around the shoulders and collar; and all of them are important in achieving better fit and greater comfort for the same reason: flexibility. A hand stitch is a continuous passage of thread through the cloth; the thread does not “lock” to a bobbin thread as it does in a machine stitch. The thread moves, expands and contracts with motion, remaining supple, creating seams which are at the same time tight, fluid and elastic, such as are needed around the collar and the armhole to give the wearer the most precise fit and ease of motion while retaining the ability to return to their original shape and dimensions. Colluding with the machine-make houses, sewing machinery manufacturers have devised “simulated hand” stitching machines of one sort or another. Take for example the Liba machine, devised to replicate the slip-stitch that holds a necktie together. Most factories now use Columbia or AMF edge-stitch machines to make an industrial replica of the hand-stitched lapel edge and lining seams. All of this is testimony to the ingenuity of machinery manufacturers, but the bitter irony is that, despite their ingenuity and effort, anyone who would recognize the hand work in a garment will also be able to tell fake from real. Whom do they think they’re fooling?

In fact there are only a few places where you can see hand stitches. Most important are those at the seam around the collar and in the lining at the shoulder and around the armhole. You may, with some experience, be able to discern a hand-made buttonhole, and a hand-done edge stitch is nearly unmistakable. Interestingly, the way you can tell that these areas are hand sewn is by the irregularity of the stitches. But strengthening the stress-points and achieving greatest flexibility in a jacket are best done by hand. The true quality of a jacket is achieved by hand operations, most of which are invisible to the layman: 1) attaching the sleeve heads, lining and shoulder pads; 2) creating the collar; 3) attaching the collar; 4) sewing the lining in the shoulder seam; and 5) sewing the lining around the armhole.   

Now any truly hand-tailored garment is certain to have other areas of handwork inside, such as the tacking of the vents, sewing on the buttons, fashioning the buttonholes, stitching the lapel- and pocket-edges, attaching the lining at the sleeve cuffs and at the jacket-bottom hems; even the trouser waistband, when sewn to the outer shell by hand, creates a more comfortable and resilient fit and feel. The five critical jacket operations listed above are most important to the wearer is because those areas are where the comfort and stress resistance are most necessary, and where the hand-sewer can follow the elliptical, – rather than straight – curving sections of the cut cloth. The hand stitches follow and reinforce the contours of the collar and the armhole opening, giving strength and flexibility, smoothness and suppleness to those intricate seams.

Do I hear snoring? Are you sleeping? Wake up! I’m trying to help you spend your money wisely. Don’t hold it against me. There are two additional things I will try to say as economically as possible; then you can shut the light.

First, although hand tailoring is expensive in this world of diminishing skill, (there being so few people who are capable of doing it anymore that they can insist on very high wages,) there is still no way that anybody can justify the numbers some of these manufacturers or designers put on the price tags. If the garment takes 20 hours to make and the tailor gets even $50 an hour, you do the math. A $5000 suit is mostly mark-up, is all I’m saying. (Needless, is what I’m implying.) Caveat emptor, buddy.

Second is this. You can’t tell the benefits of hand tailoring until you wear the jacket for a while. You certainly can’t tell in the store. A totally machine-made coat may fit well and look good, but after a while the comfort and durability, the garment’s ability to retain its shape, move with you and conform to your ever-changing dimensions, will be obvious.

Langrock – Princeton: Case Study in Retail Darwinism

 

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We think of ourselves as a kind of successor store to the legendary Langrock, especially with fall – and the feeling for tweed, and football games in the crisp cool air, and Nassau Street with the huge oaks turning to russet – coming on.  So the question comes to mind: What happened to them, anyway?

They had a larger-than-life, country-spanning reputation for quality and style, even as their take on tailored clothing became more and more anachronistic. They specialized in heavy tweeds and Saxony suits in the Ivy League, three-button sack-coat model. The pant style was ankle-high and narrow at the cuff. They defined themselves as much by what they did not carry as what they did. (Believe it or not, some traditional shops like this are still in business today – albeit in pretty remote locations. Buffalo, New York, comes to mind.) They thought that men who still wanted to dress in that peculiar style that would have nowhere else to go. Even if that were true, it was a shrinking numbers game.

I tried to sell Langrock our new (1971) “West End,” model. Named for the upscale, fashionable end of London, it was a shapely, two-button, darted front jacket. I thought I could convince Allen Frank, the owner, that “updated” traditional was tasteful and right. He wasn’t buying, but with a vengeance. Mr. Frank wasn’t insensitive to my pitch; he was downright insulted. True Natural Shoulder style was his Religion; the three-button, undarted coat style, the flannelly finish, and skinny pants were the sacred icons of the faith. Anyone who proposed a change was the Infidel.

Never!”  He practically shouted. “I could never put that kind of stuff in this store! Never! My customers would be insulted.”  You’d think I’d been proposing human sacrifice. “This store stands for timeless good taste. We have no use for your fads and gimmicks. Our customers know what they want, and they don’t want shape!” It never occurred to him that Ivy League itself was just a longish-lasting fad.

 

I left the store that day and walked around town in a daze, trying to figure out what was going on. Here was a respected, successful shopkeeper telling me that it was his customers who decided what his store carried. As if a single one of them even knew what the hell a dart was. If that was true, what did they need him for? Was I wrong to embrace change, to believe in progress? Looking back, I think Allen Frank had a terrifying premonition that the formula that had worked for Langrock to that point was not going to last. He knew what I knew. But he was saying, without being able to really admit it, that he couldn’t change. He knew what he knew and nothing else. Change threatened him.

The next time I saw him he was standing in a dark corner of the Princeton University store, in the “Langrock Shop.” It had not gone so well. The sign that had been outside his wonderful Nassau Street store was hanging above him on the wall. “This is a lot easier than paying all that rent,” he said. Two years later he was gone altogether; no more than a memory.

 

Let the dead bury the dead, as I always (well, not always) say. But there is a cautionary tale here. Forget about the fact that there was a certain arrogance and snobbishness to the way Langrock treated the customer; forget about the fact that they let some ideological bias take the place of creative merchandising; forget even that they ignored the Darwinian nature of retail. Remember this: good taste and good style are fluid. Doctrinaire, stubborn attachment to one type of style is to attempt to deny human nature. At least one Princeton gentleman, unable to find anything like anything new at Langrock, found his way to 45th and Madison, into the waiting arms of Paul Stuart.

 

FYI  A dart is a seam that makes shape in a garment. Rather than joining two separate pieces, the dart, in the case of the tailored jacket, allows the front to be gathered together and then sewn so that the waist line can conform to the natural lines of the waist.

What’d I Say?

Hilton-The-Dandy

 

 

 

 

 

Have you ever read an old interview that you’ve given or something that you’ve had published somewhere and felt, like, uck; “What was I talking about?” I have. No fun.

So all the more satisfying to be doing some research for a blog piece I’m working on and come across an interview that appeared on a Finnish site called Keikari.com a year or two ago. I think the most satisfying thing about it, besides not sounding like a complete Bozo to myself, was that I still believe what I said. It means I’m getting down to the core of myself, somehow, getting rid of the chameleon skin that changed to meet the next reporter, or fit in with the next big thing, or trend, or whatever. Not that it’s Voltaire or Mark Twain, but it’s really me, and that’s kind of reassuring somehow. Take this quote:  

NH: Only the authentic thing, the original, will do. NO BULLSHIT. Ever. That is the essence of classic style: it’s the real thing. Fashion, as I understand it, is new for newness’ sake, pushing the envelope, like modern in the artistic sense, great for hanging on walls maybe; but clothing should not call attention to the wearer. That’s indicative of character traits that are just, well, not on. Ostentation, excess pride, lack of solidity. What does the clothing say about the wearer? Not to say trends are bad; things change. But good style adapts the trend into itself and moves the individual along a continuum. Skirts for men, for example, are exciting fashion, but bad style. 

Maybe I’d leave out the expletive next time, but mostly I’d say the same thing today. And then there was this exchange: 

VR: What’s your definition of style?

NH: That which gives the wearer an air of confident, dignified grace. Style is the personal definition of the individual; it is the refinement of the person, the definition of his or her character. Clothing does not have style; people do.

Yes!

The most painful alienation a person can suffer is alienation from himself. I know; I’ve been there. So to read something I’ve said that I think “That’s pretty much exactly what I think!” is kind of exciting. You who’ve never had a moment of neurotic self-criticism may not recognize this, and so God has blessed you. For those of us who come to it later, though, it’s sweeeeet. 

If you’re interested enough to have read this far, you might want to turn to the interview itself: http://www.keikari.com/english/interview-with-nick-hilton/

The Three Wise(est) Men of Retail – A Triple Eulogy

Defining “The Merchant” 

 Much of what I know about retailing I learned from my association with three men —  all gone now — personally different but all alike in their passion for style and absolute refusal to compromise. All three of them, children of the Great Depression, entered their families’ businesses and ultimately transformed them; all of them believed that their customers would care for quality and style more than they cared about price; all of them created apparel retailing environments for men and women that were luxurious in service and appointments; all were gifted with a prescience about coming trends of style, but each man interpreted these trends differently.

 Of the three, Fred was the most kind; he could find the most polite words to use while telling me how to redesign my entire product offering. Murray had no editor; he would say whatever he thought, no sugar-coating, no apologies, but he knew and respected talent, and he was dead-on about what would sell. Cliff was spooky-quiet mostly, on rare occasions avuncular, but always direct and to the point, as in “Get this out of my sight.” And I would…

 The institutions they ran have all outlived them, (Barneys only by being taken over more than once,) and it remains to be seen how the idiosyncratic vision and resolve of these men will continue to infuse their stores; but for me and those who follow in their footsteps they left a well-marked path.

 Be unique — seek out and offer products that are rare.

 Be fine — don’t worry how expensive it is, just be sure that it is worth the money.

 Be yourself — trust your instincts, go with your gut, and never, ever, compromise.

 

Cliff Grodd

 

“We’ve constantly striven to be as upscale as possible within the milieu of our particular type of clothing, which is quite cosmopolitan in image. It’s still soft and not exaggerated, easy to wear, hopefully subtle, understated and flattering.”

 

Clifford Grodd (1924 – 2010)

—Paul Stuart

 

 

 

 

 

Murray Pearlstein

 

 

“We edit a line, buying in a very narrow, focused way. The customer must believe we know how to help him get dressed. We pick the best, beginning at the fabric-mill level.”

“A store like this can’t have what everybody else has.”

Murray Pearlstein (1929 – 2013)

—LouisBoston

 

 

 

 

 

Fred Pressman

 

“I wasn’t interested in competing with designers or brands who put their names in other places. I felt that if we didn’t know our customer better than someone sitting 1,000 miles away, then we didn’t belong in the same business.” 

Fred Pressman (1923 – 1996)

—Barneys New York

 

Gatsby’s Ghost – A History of Modern Style

Gant Oxfords Gant didn’t invent the oxford button down, but they popularized it, the way Norman Hilton did for natural shoulder sport jackets. My father shared a showroom with Marty Gant at 200 Fifth Avenue in the early days of Ivy-League. They were pals. They had the same stores as customers and they traveled around selling together, played golf, and hung out. I remember boxes of Gant button-down oxford shirts arriving at the holidays. Yellow, pink, blue and white. I remember the label, even; with the big, red G. They had a little belt loop kind of a deal in the middle of the back my Mom used to hang them on hooks in my closet. That was what my brothers and I wore to church, with skinny little clip-on ties. 

Button-down collar oxford shirts started out as dress-up clothes and wound up being sportswear. A guy can wear a button-down oxford with jeans, khakis, linens, or fine dress trousers; even Carolina-style, with shorts. He can wear it untucked, with the sleeves rolled up, or spiff it — hard finish worsted slacks and a sport jacket, grey flannels, a blazer, even a tie.

People should try occasionally to be creative, to carry off things that are unusual and innovative and personally expressive. So if someone says Thou Shalt or Shalt Not Wear This or That they thwart the creative drive that can make someone able to dress really well. But I will say for the record that it is a mistake to wear a button-down collar shirt with a tie and a suit. Like wearing boat shoes with the suit; not much better than a pocket protector. Button-down, no tie with suit? 

Cognoscenti’s Note A Scottish textile company once named their four basic weaves after four institutions of higher learning; so once upon a time there was “Cambridge,” weave, and “Harvard” and even “Yale,” in addition to “Oxford.”  (Princeton apparently was left out.) There is also a basic style of shoes called “Oxfords.” Interesting, right? Perhaps the name itself leads to persistent popularity. I can’t think of anything we wear now referred to as a “Yale.”  In any case “Oxford” is a type of weave. It is a one-over-one construction, the most basic weave there is. Regular, traditional oxford is kind of heavy, and has a richly firm drape. Pinpoint oxford is the same construction, but done with much smaller yarns, so that the cloth is lighter and has more flexibility. Both should feel soft and comfortable; both should wear well. Regular, heavy oxford, though, looks like nothing else. The real thing. Pinpoint is more comfortable around your neck, especially with a tie. The colors, especially blue, are soft and versatile because the vertical or warp yarns alternate color-white-color, and so the overall look of a colored oxford shirt is softer than strictly solid cloth.

Weekly Wardrobe Tip

Trouser bottoms

 

Hardly a day goes by that we’re not asked, “What should I do? Cuffs or plain bottoms?”

We kind of think that a man can choose these details himself, based on his own personal preferences and tastes. But when someone asks, we have to answer; and when we answer, we want our answer to be helpful, well thought-out, and practical. We do not know who made up the pseudo-rule that says “Cuffs With Pleats, Plain Bottoms With Plain Fronts,” but like so many old saws we hear in the retail world, it’s just stupid. What relationship is there between pleats and cuffs? Why the rule is relevant today, when pleats are going the way of the 4-inch lapel is anybody’s guess.

So we answer with a question: “Will you be wearing these trousers with a sport jacket or a blazer?” That is, are they meant for dress-wear, or for more casual occasions? If they are meant to be part of a tailored outfit, we think they should look tailored, with cuffed bottoms. If they are for more casual occasions, and never to be worn with blazers and so on, then go cuffless by all means.

Or (and here’s the real news) decide for yourself. Sometimes the fabric, the cut, the color, or simply the mood you happen to be in can determine it. Just remember that cuffs are a more traditional touch, and make up your own mind.

For a good overview of this subject, you might want to visit a great blog:  http://www.hisstylediary.com/2012/03/29/anatomy-of-the-trousers/  There you’ll find some handy tips and guides like this:

Trouser bottoms