Whipcord in brownish shades and beefy cavalry twill in an ideal gray.

The warmest pair of trousers I’ve ever worn were corduroys—eighteen ounce wide-whale ones in an offensive yellow that was slyly advertised as goldenrod. They had other problems: they bagged, were too warm indoors, disagreed with pleats and cuffs and were heavy around the waist. Worst of all, they dressed neither up nor down, occupying a largely useless space between jeans and woolen flannels. Despite a raised eyebrow, a second hand shop accepted them. I sometimes wonder if they are making someone else unhappy.

But does the trouser wardrobe really need anything other than a few pairs of flannels for cooler weather? The other way of asking this is: what’s wrong with flannels? The marled, unfocussed aesthetic of flannels is certainly very handsome, lending itself particularly well to shades of gray, a family that just happens to be the most useful for trousers. Depending on the weight, flannels can be reasonably to unreasonably warm; between the extremes are thirteen ounce flannels that will insulate the legs from car to building without overheating the wearer once inside. So if they look nice and perform well, what’s the issue?

For me it’s maintenance and durability. I find myself pressing my flannel trousers more often than others, and I’m not the first to notice thinning and fuzzing at the knees of favorite pairs. This isn’t an issue for flannel suits as occasions that call for a suit usually don’t involve much crouching or kneeling. But odd trousers are for those more active occasions, so sometime last winter I made a note to seek out more durable, less fussy winter-weight cloth. The results are in.

I’m unsurprised that my search led me to a type of twill. I’ve always been impressed with the performance of gaberdine trousers; they resist and shed wrinkles, drape well and show no wear after several years. Gaberdine is a fine twill, though—unsuitable for the cold. Enter whipcord and cavalry twill, densely woven, robust wool cloths with more pronounced diagonal ribbing, but all of the usual benefits of the twill family. The whipcord I chose is fourteen ounces and the cavalry twill a stout eighteen ounces. The idea was to provide some range in performance.

But range extends beyond trying to match trouser warmth to outside temperature. Because of the pronounced diagonal rib, and mottled, tonal effect of the weaves, whipcord and cavalry twill tread a careful line between cloth for dress and casual or active pursuits. Perhaps this quality is what endeared this class of cloth to traditional military and sporting applications, where durability and propriety have historically carried equal importance. Admittedly, some of these fine distinctions might seem arcane by today’s standards, especially given the availability of modern fabrics and lessoned expectations of formality. I wonder though: what’s more current than carefully sifting through vast choice before landing on the right material for the application?