Taking Stock

    Anthropologists might describe my restlessness as a stifled urge to prepare for harvest and winter.  The industrious ant at ethical odds with the singing grasshopper, etc.  I blame the dying cicadas.  Or the calvados at lunch.  Either way, these undecided weeks between summer and the cooler seasons ahead always nudge me into reflection and, eventually, action.  I beat carpets and rearrange furniture.  I turn a melancholic eye to the garden; should I provide a quick and compassionate end for my flagging annuals?  Wood is split and things get painted.

    When attention falls to clothing and accessories, however, a gentler touch is required.  Consider the collar: what is the invisible threshold between charming fraying and the need to have a new one made?  Maybe it is time to replace the warped scales of an old straight-razor, or give up on an ancient crocodile belt whose own scales hang perilously.  Old boots are always evocative.  But mink oil and elbow grease must be used judiciously—too heavy a hand can dull their beauty.

   What about the intangible evidence of age?  Jackets with canvass chests mold to the figure.  Shoulders in stout tweed don’t so much collapse as they do settle.  Worsteds indescribably soften and linen trades some of its famous crispness for a fuller hand.  My favorite is the cotton shirt; somewhere beyond twenty launderings even ordinary cloth takes on a satisfying plushness.  But these desirable effects aren’t just invisible; they are temporary.  A soft and full hand is only the initial sign of a less welcome realization—that of decay.  But I’m not the first to consider the tension between labor and the inevitability of deterioration.  Robert Frost managed a few excellent lines on the topic:

…I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labour of his axe,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.  (34-40,The Wood-Pile,1912)

Oh Snap!

Scarf, à la modal.

    Are there places on our planet that enjoy luxurious, gentle transitions between the seasons?  Does any wardrobe rotate in steady lockstep with the ripening leaves, frosts, thaws and heat?  I ask for more than rhetorical effect; I would be envious of a place where linen, gaberdine, flannel and tweed can be predictably selected without fear of getting it terribly wrong.  Anywhere I have lived, it is summer one day, and the next it has already been fall for a week.  That it then reverses back just as I’ve slipped into warmer clothing—the dreaded Indian summer—is cruel.  And so we formulate ways to weather unseasonable seasons.  I find the following three items indispensable.  

    The fourteen ounce tweed jacket is ideal.  True, this conclusion is based on experience rather than science, and I realize tolerances vary greatly.  But I also challenge those skeptics to find this versatile weight far too hot or cold on those unpredictable inter-seasonal days.  I have worn one of mine between forty and seventy degrees fahrenheit without any major problems.  The trick, if it can be called that, is to mentally recategorize the jacket as a sweater or cardigan, which one wouldn’t think twice about slinging over an arm or wearing with a scarf as needed.

    Conversely, cotton socks present somewhat of a versatility challenge.  They don’t really insulate well while managing to wear too warmly in the real heat.  Quality versions are no less expensive than woolen socks and I have even struggled to launder them with consistent results.  But they are the only sock for unpredictable weather; not because they adjust, but because they will not cause too much discomfort if the temperature veers in either direction.  I realize this wisdom is less an endorsement for the cotton sock than a recommendation based upon its shortcomings.  But isn’t all versatility grounded in some form of compromise?

Cotton socks, languishing in mediocrity.

    Finally, the seemingly least practical tip.  For years I assumed the lightweight scarf was one of those silly accessories favored by stylists for their warm-weather clients who yearn for cold-weather style (these people live in Los Angeles, by the way).  But then I was given one made of modal (reconstituted cellulose spun to incredible fineness).  It is softer than cashmere, and, like a scrap of urban rubbish, could easily float around the city on a stiff enough updraft.  Despite these qualities it also insulates exceedingly well when worn beneath a jacket or casually over a lightweight knit.  I am a convert—with the sincerest apologies to stylists everywhere.

    There is one slight problem though.  A gauzy (polka-dotted) scarf will not go unnoticed, and tweed, while widely worn, has strong enough fall and winter connotations to elicit snarky comments if worn too early in the season.  These items are only as good as one’s likelihood of wearing them, and for one reason or another, most of my preferred inter-seasonal stuff is fairly conspicuous.   I wonder if this is why many men resort to technical gear—the sort of athletic stuff that is said to breathe and wick.  But I ask: what’s more alarming, a man warding off an unseasonal cold snap in tweed or the site of a mountaineer hailing a cab?

Second Skin

Hi there: gloves at the ready.

    The second half of February might seem a tad late to begin a discussion on gloves—sort of like writing about linen when the leaves have already turned.  I wonder though: are gloves really only for the depths of winter?  Between walking dogs, commuting and exploring the city, I spend plenty of time outside and my few pairs of unlined leather gloves are indispensable late autumn through the chilly opening of spring.  

    I don’t understand lined gloves though.  A thin cashmere lining hardly protects fingers from proper cold, and yet changes entirely the chemistry of glove wearing. Wallets are inoperable with lined gloves.  Worse, they don’t fit rakishly into the breast pocket of overcoats and tweed odd jackets.  Some might suggest silk lining, but the slight increase in insulation is hardly worth the extra cost and reduction in dexterity.  When it is really cold, I’m afraid the only response is the mitten—hardly dashing, but very effective, particularly if made of densely piled shearling.

    Unlined gloves have other advantages, both practical and stylish.  Remarkably, most unlined gloves seem to work with touch-screens.  There’s likely science behind this; all I know is a well-cut unlined glove looks much better than those nylon things with mesh fingertips.  You will also be able to access your pockets with a hand closely gloved in leather where a bulky lined glove would clumsily  have been removed in the past.  This is where style comes in.  Just as a good shoe closely follows the line of the foot, making it appear slim and elegant, so too does a well-cut unlined glove compliment the hand.  This is especially true of finer-grained leathers, like capeskin (sheep), that have a little gloss to the surface.

    Speaking of materials, I strongly suggest seeking out unusual skins.  Peccary—the hide of a smallish wild pig—is very handsome with its recognizable follicle pattern.  The leather is supple but almost indestructible; not refined, but ideal for casual gloves.  Deerskin is curiously strong too; it is light in weight compared to other leathers and some say warmer.  Real kidskin is very luxurious but rather expensive.  Suede is another favorite, especially in charcoal and dark green. Chamois is good too, although you will have to field questions about why your gloves are pale yellow.  (The best answer: because my glove maker was out of pale pink.)

    Finally, there are all sorts of arcane rules about the formality of the various leathers and shades outlined above.  I have no real opinion here, although obviously darker gloves tend to be better at night and lighter ones during the day.  Cream or parchment-light versions seem like a good idea, but always look like costume pieces.  On the other side of the spectrum, black gloves are about as exciting as rubber overshoes.  Reddish browns, tans, grays and greens seem to look good with all sorts of things without matching any of them—which is ideal for an accessory.  In fact when spring finally does appear, and your unlined gloves have become like a second skin, you’ll wonder what to do with your suddenly rather naked hands. 

Three of a kind: from left, peccary and crochet, hand-stitched deerskin, chamois.

When Only More Will Do

Heart of Darkness: the highest cacao percentage chocolate is said to be good for the ticker.

I have to remind myself now and again not to be dismissive of dessert.  An aged cheddar, perhaps a digestive biscuit and, if there isn’t an early morning engagement, a small espresso always do for me rather than something elaborate and sweet.  For those people for whom dessert is deeply important my efforts fall dramatically short; when we entertain at home I always put someone more passionate in command of the final course.

    And yet I am surrounded by dessert lovers: my brother and his lovely family; my closest friends from school; most importantly, my wife.  While I am still on speed dial in matters of, say, butchery, they have long abandoned me regarding dessert.  I do have one trick though: high-grade, unadorned chocolate, the darker the better, and sold in commercial portions. I don’t know of an end to a meal that produces a better effect than placing, unannounced, in the center of the table a kilo or two of chocolate.  Guests gasp.  An obscene mound of the stuff, casually arranged, is unfailingly a thrilling sight—illicit even, not unlike glimpsing for the first time a large quantity of bundled cash.

    One of the problems with this stunt, however, is that those who have witnessed it often mistake your taste for the dramatic for some broader appreciation of chocolate treats.  I have more than once had to feign enthusiasm over an unusual box of truffles, some even featuring things like bacon or hot chillies.  Of course the intentions are sincere and the gesture appreciated—and there is undoubtedly an audience for these confections—but the unwavering point remains: the less meddling, the better. 

    My hard line extends to service: nothing more elaborate than a clean cutting board with a sheet of wax paper reinforces the drama of the moment.  Those quiet slabs are, after all, awaiting a solemn operation.  To reduce to manageable pieces, choose your sturdiest knife and issue a general warning to keep fingers clear of the board.  Select a corner of one slab; grasp the handle of the knife with your dominant hand, placing the tip of the blade on the board in front of your target.  Securing the tip with your other hand, and using firm continuous pressure, guillotine the chocolate.  An ordinary blade will produce chips and shavings; a serrated knife will crack off hunks.  Make certain not to commingle the different types of chocolate.

    If you have not yet done anything more personal for your Valentine, resist the ease of the boxed stuff this year.  No matter how attractively packaged, truffles and bonbons cannot compete with the drama sketched out above.  I am personally drawn to the darkest and bitterest specimens—those with the highest cacao percentages indicated on the labels—but slabs of milk chocolate and even white chocolate are available and have followings.  This is one instance in which more—in both volume and variety—is unquestionably better.

Ta-da: the extent of my dessert ability.

Topical: Tropical

    We all know wool is versatile stuff, but ideal for the tropics?  So-called tropical cloths hover below the 10-ounce mark (positively stout by today's standards) but for many clothes enthusiasts remain the  benchmark for conservative warm-climate dress.  Of course not all tropicals are equal.  Many are tightly woven, slippery, lustrous… and about as breathable as a sandwich bag.  

    H Lesser's, pictured below, are rather different.  This edited collection is matte, breathable, traditional and dry.  For the true tropics?  Perhaps not.  But certainly ideal for summer throughout much of the US.  Which hints at the final point to be made about lighter cloth: despite the bone-chattering current weather, now is the time to see your tailor for those balmy months ahead.  

Taking a Soft Line

The ready-wear market is shackled to notions of what will or won't sell--notions informed by trend, but never too far from the safety of so-called season-less plain weaves and insipid tonal patterns.  One might encounter fuzzy cashmeres and gossamer tropical worsteds on the racks but finding anything with real guts is a trial.  This is a pity as the nicest cloths embrace the season, and in doing so create delightful effects.  Form, if you will, very much born of function.  

Flannels and twists demonstrate this nicely.  And perhaps there are few better examples than Harrison's Worsted and Woolen Flannels and Minnis' Fresco (II).  The Flannels have plenty of nap--a quality intended to insulate the wearer--but it's the resulting fuzziness of the patterns that is most charming.  The Frescos have a lovely mottled surface appearance too; this time, though, the high-twist yarn and plain weave (which wears cool) are the culprits.  Different objectives--similar happy results.  

Take a spin through the gallery--but don't be surprised if you have the urge to purge your wardrobe of all the wimpy "season-less" stuff.