Cutting Class

   I'd planned to secure an interview for Mode Parade with world class tailor Edward Sexton before exiting London, but alas, this did not materialise in time. His cutting talents remain pleasingly sans pareil in your author's eyes, as well as in those of the people that respect and patronise his creations

   Below, Finch's Quarterly Review style editor Tom Stubbs demonstrates the second stage fitting and the finished article of a bespoke Edward Sexton commission that is not flagrant enough to have him removed from Annabel's but immediate enough to elicit commentary and, I should hope, approbation. Personally, I think he should be pictured with it in a private study with gilded and gilt festooned 19th century French furniture, hand blown Cartier crystal desk adornments and a bikini-clad model on each armrest:

Peculiarly, Mr. Fish

Michael Fish (centre), shirtmaker, Turnbull & Asser alumnus, In Group member, "high priest" of the Peacock Revolution (as described by Hardy Amies) and creator of the kipper tie, with his staff at his 17 Clifford Street, W1 haberdashery in the late 1960s:

... A holocaust of see-through voiles, brocades and spangles and mini-skirts for men, blinding silks, flower printed hats... all the surface mannerisms and mouthings of hippy, but none of the intent

Nik Cohn on Mr. Fish's shop and output

   Very much my sort of shopping experience, then 

   Mr. Fish's work can be seen at the Victoria & Albert Museum

   Cigar to Sharp Dressed Men

Sergei Rachmaninoff - 'Vocalise, Op. 34 No. 14' (1912)

   Whenever I'd like a feeling of equanimity, this sort of piece normally helps. It is particularly notable for containing no words other than "ah"

   This performance was conducted by Leopold Stokowski and sung by Anna Moffo

Leather Lust Object No.2

George Cleverley Gladstone bag made with Russian leather salvaged from the sunken Metta Catharina. Available from Leather Soul Hawaii. Enticingly expensive

Black Tie & Décolletage

   My reinvigorated formalwear rig recently received a public airing at a "Bow Ties and Cleavage Party" that indulged me in more ways than one. My J. Hoare/E. Tautz 1960s textured dinner jacket was perhaps the most iridescent piece on display that was not set in sculpted metal. Whether it also adorned a low cut front at any point is not for me to say

   (Fun fact: the term "décolletage" is often mistaken for "décotege" by anxious conservative Ghanaian mothers who secretly wish for their daughters to convert to Islam)

   It's necessary here that I caution against donning such garments away from club or home-based black tie evenings and formally minded social parties. This casual aspect of black tie should not be misinterpreted as being adaptable to any casual setting, nor should it be seen at business award ceremonies. And please try not to dress it down, no matter what fantasies Lapo Elkann and the word "sprezzatura" fill your mind with

   In my opinion, this sort of neutral toned flamboyance deserves nothing less than the full bore treatment, from my lapel pin to my dainty, opera pump-clad feet:

   Of course, I like sculpted metal also, but in the tradition of my clothing choices, I made it the preserve of  my shirt cuffs and my face:

   Not long afterwards, I was commissioned by an uncle over lunch to teach him the ways of the self-tying bow for an upcoming event. I hope that he was the best dressed man at the Kenny G concert and concomitant gala dinner he was to attend

   And like me, I'm certain he was grateful that only the excessive air conditioning of Ghanaian venues allowed for our appreciative show of Western eveningwear in a hot climate

Photographs by Barrak El-Mahmoud of Capture Your Memory Bank, Ghana

Five Times Fly

   Highlighting the insouciant sharpness of Harold Melvin and The Blue Notes is today's mandate:

   They also had quite a way with an indelible classic or two; thank God Gamble and Huff were on their team:

See Change

   Of all the quotations on style one can dredge up from print and the internet and use them to beat others over the head on message boards in a manner that's both bloviating and fascistic, I currently favour this aphorism from that silkily spoken, maneating man of letters, Gore Vidal:

“Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn”

   Amongst my reasons is its lack of dogmatic prose and prescriptive superiority inherent in these type of sayings that can be rather self-aggrandising, as well as snobbishly - or self-analytically, in the case of Yves Saint Laurent -  dismissive of the idea of fashion. No one does particularly well by living under repression and tight diktats: it tends to make them explode. Reference every bell tower-based sniper ever and those funny sorts who favour only basic black, whips and hot wax

   See, Vidal's position actually allows for interpretation and exploration. It is my belief that people do not fundamentally alter, but we can change the trimmings - what we want to say is prone to shift at will, no matter how secure we get. I should know - I'll probably amend and re-amend this entry within 5 minutes of your reading this

   To illustrate my own point, I decided to pore over the archives of my ensembles going back to late 2008. I learned that I am still the same Master of Offbeat Formality that I have always been (according to my favourite primary school teacher, at least). But now, I look as if I ingest slightly less drugs

   Look at this as the effects of better shopping choices and an expanding consideration. The ensembles don't contain any more or less thought than ever, and as was implied by my references last year to my unsteady employment, my budget certainly dwindled as 2009 wore on. But I changed because of my experimentation and my learning. And I experimented because I wanted to learn and to see myself change. The constants of this exploration were that I knew what I wanted and I didn't give a damn

   My inclinations can run towards the brash, but of late I find it entertaining to be saucy in less obvious ways. Has anyone else tried oversized stainless steel eyeframes with their conservative suiting lately? It's so much more fun than bumfreezer jackets with 10" long arms; I'll always choose to appear ludic over appearing insane

   A touch of the personal applied to entrenched standards usually creates the most interesting change in my eyes - there's nothing more exhilarating than making something your own: adding to the familiar without reinventing it utterly. After all, There Are No New Ideas any longer. Or so I've been told

   My idea of change is effectively my idea of style. It is not to build and destroy. It's the confidence to accept what is already there and still look for different ways to see

Leather Lust Object No.1

Crocodile Leather Train Case by Hermès, dating back to the mid 1950s, from the estate of a French noblewoman and marked with her gold coronet and initials

Inside The Greenbrier

 

 

 Scans: Architectural Digest, November 2005

   Provider of respite to 26 Presidents of the United States and over two centuries-worth of the Great and Good. Once the host of an underground bunker, created for Congress in the event of mid-century nuclear attack. Masterfully furnished interiors devised by Dorothy Draper - gilt edges for gilded living and that sort of thing. Currently undergoing hard times and now under the auspices of entrepreneur Jim Justice, a man whose moniker delightfully elicits old world notions of cattle barons and the later Jazz Age

   Mr. Justice's innovations include a spacious underground casino - with a coats-only dress code! - that alone should make any downtimer want to book a room, I'd imagine. A fellow like myself, however, would probably spend most of his hours in the Victorian Writing Room. Writing Rooms Are Cool

   As eyepopping as Mrs. Draper and her successor Mr. Varney's upholstery selections are, I nevertheless hope that the new regime's not much interfered with the interiors. One may capitulate to modern vulgarity in the interests of turning a profit but the Old need not be devalued just because it is not the New

   If he doesn't want it, however, I'm certain I can find room for that leaf print carpet