Gabardine-My Final Words

Ok, let me finish up my gabardine ramble so we can move on this week, to even less pertinent drivel. Color and fabric quality/weight should finish this thang off. So what about fabric quality and weight? A mediocre quality flannel when brand new, might veil a good bit of its inferiority for the first three months of domicility at your house. Thereafter it begins to pill and stretch and take on a Robert Hall half-price droopiness. Not the same for gabardine. The thicker, less high-twist stuff looks like sh_t from the get-go. Two f-stops down from the very best and you’ve got a polyester looking thing with a bad case of jaundice.

I know this first-hand. My initial foray into the Ralph Lauren Custom Order Swatch Box back around 1985 landed me on the least expensive tan gabardine offering in the line-up. And I bit. During the eight weeks or so before it arrived, I had visions of wearing this two-three rolled, notch lapelled, Colony model trouser (the Colony model was great—high waisted, side tabbed really full legged trouser—think Astaire in the ‘30’s) with a crisp white shirt and a Polo paisley madder tie of mostly yellow and blue. If you can dream it, you can do it. And I was dreaming of something akin to the Apparel Arts gab above.

It rolled in sometime that July and I, brown as a berry from the poolside antics of said time, went over to Brittons on Main Street to see this, my first every anything not-off-the-peg. My dream didn’t turn immediately into a nightmare—I was too naïve to think that the suit couldn’t be salvaged…aesthetics wise. I looked at the little acronym bracelet that I wore back then. WWMOFD? (“What Would Merkin Or Flusser Do?) It then dawned on me that these two sartorial icons, both of whom I’d cross paths with in later years, wouldn’t have done such a thang in the first place.

One of the stalwart sales legends of Brittons during the time kinda chuckled as yet another of the patinated old sales fellas was marking the trousers and allowed that …“It does make you look kinda yaller.” Thanks. My investment of six hundred and eighty dollars (might as well have been two thousand for me at the time) began to feel weighty. No surprise there though. When you select literally, the least expensive swatch in the Made to Measure Box, Super 140’s it ain’t. This was probably a Super 8 at best. I might as well have had on my Senior Prom yellow tuxedo.

A buttery ultra-luxurious best of class gabardine would have trudged through the South Carolina summer in as good a form as poplin or seersucker. But my gabardine folly was a warp-weft convectionator. I soldiered on and tried to make use of it that summer but it ended up doing more time in my closet than on the mean streets and teachings hospitals of Columbia South Carolina and Augusta Georgia. I even tried wearing the trousers with a navy blazer but this too was for naught. I was then convectionated from the waist down which was just as bad. The photo above depicts a double knit polyester aberration from the mid 1970’s. It looks perilously close but less yellow, to my boondoggle.

So I tucked it away and didn’t resurrect it until I moved to New Jersey for my corporate indenture about a year later. It took no time for my peers to hang a moniker on my two-ton gabardine sandwich sign of a suit. And it was a sandwich sign—the antithesis of the lilting, flowing brook-like qualities of the good stuff. There were no cataracts of buttery fabric bunching up in the crook of my elbow when thoughtfully; I posed with chin on palm. (Cut me a break. I was a kid trying to be corporate) Instead, I was encased. Encased in what was to be known as The Rubber Suit. And it never again saw the light of day.

Now let’s talk about gabardine color choices for a moment. If you stick solely within the tan-neutral range, it’s tricky. Anything outside of it and you are more often than not, headed for trouble. Even the most sartorially advanced would do well to seek guidance on selecting a shade within the tan-neutral range and certainly so when venturing outside. Admittedly, I bring a little bit of personal trauma to this issue.

"What’s the big whoop ADG? I’ve seen enough Apparel Arts tan gabardine renditions and a photo or two here and there. All I’d need to do is point to one of those and have my tailor duplicate all aspects therein.” Remember, I made a huge mistake both in material quality/weight and in color. And if you visit a reputable tailor, the gabardine swatch book will have fifteen shades in the tan-neutral dugout.

Without knowing anyone’s skin tone as context, I’d recommend leaning towards the olive and brownish end of the scale. You can move an f-stop or two in that direction and still posses what would be considered a “tan gabardine” contrivance. I just fear the banana. The suit above isn’t gabardine; it’s a Flusser tropical wool tan of another twist. But if I tried to gabardine it again, this would be the color realm I’d feel comfortable in.

And finally, if you are feeling a bit adventurous within the tan-neutral realm, there’s a rather pinkish color of tan gab that’s really great. Seriously. Just as with the olive-brownish anchor, a pinkish version offers just enough fuzzy je ne sais quoi (“I be damn if I know” for you South Carolinians) to make the rig interesting. Just don’t overstep your sais quoi en route to the pink side or people will say of you what Tom Buchanan said of Gatsby (In the movie-not the book…the profanity was added to the screenplay) Jordan Baker: “He's an Oxford man.” Tom Buchanan: “Like hell he is, he wears a goddamn pink suit!”

So what about other colors? There are a few that seem to sing gabardine but I’m not in possession of fuzzy enough stones to try ‘em. I do have a stellar pair of ultra-lightweight Flusser trou in olive but I was too scared to go the whole suit. And my Polo Ralph light cream gabs (above) for summer are truly harmless.

Will over at A Suitable Wardrobe mentioned at one time, an interest in gray gabardine. Here’s my May 15, 2011 comment on the matter that I left over at his blog… ADG said...“I've never been able to find any gabardine shades other than tans, that seem "right" to me. Flusser had a pearl gray dupioni silk about ten years ago that was at first unsettling to the eye but made up, to me, a lovely suit. (Not for me) I suspect the same outcome once you find something (in gabardine) that suits you.”

And the Fluss did offer in a seasonal campaign several years ago, a stunning steel blue gabardine that surely made-up to be a stalwart display of gabardaciousness. Just not for me.

The final gabardine chapter, at least from ADG II, is now closed. I’ve either intrigued you enough to go and finger the silky leaves of your tailor’s gabardine swatch book or I’ve scared you off the idea completely. Either way, it’s probably a good thing.

Onward. In at the moment, Brooks Brethren Flannel Pajamas. (Pyjamas for you South Carolinians)

ADG II

The Gabardine Proving Ground:My Warp-Weft Dialectic

Someone asked a question over at the tumblr and I felt motivated to pen a lengthier than tumblr worthy pile of drivel about the query. Here’s the question… “Let's talk about gabardine suits. The drapey gabardines of the mid-20th century are really great. With the advent of super whatever number wool and spun silk and so many micro-miracle fibres, why do you suppose we don't see more gabardine suits? And that reminds me, why do you suppose khaki and taupe gabardine look so good and grey gabardine looks so cheesy? And can you think of other textures that work in one color, but not in another?”

I love gabardine and not surprisingly, a rather erudite definition of it is found in a guy named Alan Flusser’s book titled Dressing The Man. The best expressions of gabardine, as my inquirer mentioned, preen in an elegant fluidity of drapy line that simply doesn't manifest in other sartorial swathings. Immediately after reading the tumblr question I thought of a pair of my Purple Label Ralph trousers. They are as close to butter as anything in my closet. Except of course, the little box of Roxanne Burgess’ playthangs in the very back. Oh and by the way, my gabardine musings will be restricted to the woolen sort.

Bulletproof Kevlar Butter. Yep, that’s my new code name for gabardine...BKB be the acronym. I’m already ideating the Gabardine Brand Campaign. To hell with “Got Milk?”…I’m cranking on a “TCB in BKB” theme right now. Seriously, this sings. Now who can I invoice for this little strategic ditty? Somebody get me the number for the Gabardine GrowersAssociation. I believe I could do for gabardine, what marketing did for the vodka category in the commoditized spirits contest. Differentiate or die. Oh wait, I’m sure Burger King would be on my a_s like a rat on a Cheeto what with the “BK” theme and all. Never mind. Shut the…

But along with declaring its kevlarian impermeability let me say this...It’s tricky. So much so that the United States Army, in an effort to fully understand this dynamic-hard finish-high-twist textile, dedicated a testing facility in 1917 solely for putting the fabric in question through all conceivable paces. You’d think that if they’ve been yankin’, twistin’, stretchin’ and stankin’ that cloth since 1917, they’d have it all sorted out and the facility rightfully would have been closed as part of the Department of DefenseBRAC cost cutting efforts. But no. Just north of Baltimore in Harford County, the Gabardine Proving Ground is still hard at it as I type this.

So what about this gabardine trickiness? It’s tricky on many fronts. First, one of the reasons that you essentially don’t see ANY high quality, buttery smooth, drapy gabardine clothing on the rack, ready-made is that the best gabardine cloth is expensive. Expensive like any cloth in the high end range of a swatch book you might peruse during a bespoken sortie. And given that the majority (majority-that would be an amount greater than fifty-percent for you South Carolinians) of  ready-made clothing of any material or morphology (morphology…that would denote shape/construct for you South Carolinians)  doesn’t sell at full price; gabardine becomes  a bad investment choice for inventory.

The aforementioned is exacerbated by the fact that most guys’ Clothing Intelligence Quotient (CIQ) is in the basement. Therefore they just won’t understand something as nuanced as high quality gabardine and will be reluctant to buy it. Got it? The low CIQ dynamic is a contributor to the “I don’t ever see elegant gabardine ready-made, hanging on the rack” question. 

There was a time when The Brethren, J. Press et al would offer as standard stock, a well-done gabardine suit in all its high value three button glory. And there’s no better platform, no better host than gabardine to showcase and preen two badges of  WASPy munificence...the lapped-seam and the hook center vent. (If someone, South Carolinians aside, doesn’t catch the dichotomy manifest in WASPy munificence, I’m gonna get my feelings hurt and threaten to stop blogging again). Bespokeydoke, let’s move on to the ensuing tricky variable.

Next…gabardine is hard to work with. Highly skilled tailors revere it and consider it an honor of epic magnitude to create a gabardine wrought garment. Average tailors or mass production garmentos eschew it. Why? Because the highly skilled hurdle, in the gabardine sense, is  high. Cutting and sewing gabardine is almost antithetical to doing the same with even the highest quality fluffy flannel (I knew a Fluffy Flannel back in ’83…she’s worth a separate story) or an exquisite Harris Tweed. Misalign a flannel or tweed seam…joust wrongly a needle into them when tagging on a detail like a sleeve cuff or a throat tab and no big deal, you rip it out and go again. Their nature is forgiving.  

Not the case with gabardine. This purebred hard-finished butter is impregnated with blame and will illuminate every less than precise tailoring move with almost klieg light drama. See the little bump-pucker-pull at the bottom of the hand felled lapel buttonhole above? Its current level of inexactitude is exact. It whispers handwork. But I can promise you that if the artisan who wrought that buttonhole had tugged even one millionth of a smidge harder on the final stitch, that prominent dueling scar would have puckered immediately into Aunt Tootie’s LBJ-esque gallbladder gash. Tailoring chops on par with the best plastic surgeon’s acumen are required here. Gabardine necessitates artistic suturing skills.

And there’s the issue of weight and count. If you can’t afford at least the lightest of light Super Duper 150s, then move on. Anything heavier or less tightly warp-wefted and the cloth looks cheap and polyesterish.

If you want something more substantial, move on to a keeper’s tweed or a cavalry twill.

Don’t be shy about it. If a more prominent, less attenuated warp-weftian look is what you are after, be powerful about it. Tyrone certainly was. Look at the grooves in his twill.

Think of suits made of high quality flannel or other beefy cloths as a Maude Earl oil portrait of a fluffy dog. The quality is obvious and the artisan’s skill is apparent. But there’s forgiveness written all over it. Misplace on the canvas a well-intended daub of spirits based paint? No worries. Gently scrape it off and go again.

Consider its gabardine counterpart as a delicate, precise watercolour on paper portrait of a delicately thin skinned Whippet or Greyhound. One false move in the rendering process and it’s … start over.

Every undulating gabardine lilt, when rendered properly, naturally complements motion. Even when the motion is made by a whiskey pickled Black Jack Bouvier.

So let me draw down chapter one of the Gabardine Warp Weft Dialectic. I'll leave you with another shot of Jack. Baggy, gabardinated and sockless. Next we’ll take on the even trickier issue of gabardine color choice.

Onward. TCB. Sans LFG

ADG the 2^nd