Sterling and Burke Hosts Benson and Clegg

My appreciation for Sterling & Burke is well established. I feel Bond-ish when I’m there. New and Old Bond that is. The streets. In London. Or maybe the Arcades…Piccadilly, Burlington and Royal—whatever. All I know is that in a world of consumerism marked by trendy, built-in obsolescence, Sterling & Burke offer an unguent to short-lived fripperies. Their goods have staying power. Like me. Shut up.

In our sound bite world of temporal edginess and drive-by irony, Sterling & Burke’s strategy is the opposite. They purvey things that are intended to last—out-last us actually. Things that are awaiting the patina that comes from cherished use…things that are leading candidates for being passed down and valued by others.

My buddy Scottie-the-Eff got me started on the Sterling & Burke journals that I now use routinely for work. I’m on the way to filling journal number two with my professional irreleventia. And I commissioned my replacement silk canopied Brigg umbrella with the graceful and accommodating folk at Sterling & Burke.

I mean, where else are there folk who will tolerate my long-winded back story about finding my first one in a cab in London and having the cabbie insist that I take it 'cause "some bloke left it in me cab this morning and I'm tired of hearing it wallow about."? And where else would someone, even if they were pretending, listen intently to me regarding why I HAD to replace my umbrella with the same silk canopy as the first one--because raindrops ping off of silk and just thud when landing on nylon? Try some of that lore-spreadin' caca over at J. Crew and they'll call Paul Blart. Damn.

I was in Sterling & Burke the other day, killing some time between LFG dance class sorties and revelling in their leather goods, journals, cufflinks and every conceivable umbrella contrivance. Sublime. And for some absurd reason, I walked into J. Crew to kill another fifteen minutes. The J. Crudités' tray of  paper-thin, ersatz artisanal whateverishness…courtesy of sweatshops the world over, seemed even more so after my Sterling & Burke visit.

And I’ve always associated Benson & Clegg with blazer buttons. At least one of my navy blazers has B&C sourced buttons and the visual treat of visiting their roost in Piccadilly Arcade is a routine part of my London visits. I wasn’t aware of their bespoke tailoring niche till I received an announcement from Sterling & Burke recently.

If their cutting and sewing was good enough for George VI, then who knows? Maybe we are about to discover a well kept secret. The B&C team will be on premises at S&B March 14-16. I’m on spending lock down but it won’t keep me from going by and seeing what these guys are all about—Bespoke and Made-to-Measure wise. Shoot me an email. If you’d like to meet-up for drinks and then walk over and buy me a B&C rig-up over at Sterling & Burke, I’ll allow it. Here’s the announcement…

Benson & Clegg visits for Bespoke Suiting Event

March 14 - 16, 2013

Sterling & Burke welcomes Benson & Clegg to Washington, DC for their first overseas Bespoke Suiting Event outside of New York City.  

 The cutters Kenneth Austin & Tony Martin from Benson & Clegg in London will be visiting America in March offering their range of tailoring services, bringing Savile Row style and quality direct to Sterling & Burke Ltd customers in the USA.

Offering the latest patterns of fine English and Italian fabrics, including such prestigious brands as Scabal, Holland & Sherry and Hunt & Winterbottom, to name but a few. Appointments will be held at Sterling & Burke Ltd, 2824 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW. Alternatively, if a home or office appointment is required, they are happy to accommodate.

Please call 202.333.2266 or email enquiries@2824penn.com to schedule your appointment.

Thursday, March 14:  9:30 am - 5:00 pm
Friday, March 15:  9:30 am - 7:00 pm
Saturday, March 16:  9:30 am - 3:00 pm

Made to Measure

For the first time on our overseas visits Benson & Clegg is offering our superlative 'Made to Measure' service. These garments produce an excellent quality suit, custom made for the individual. Their cutters use their wealth of experience and skills to ensure your garment is crafted to the highest possible standards. 

With a large range of classic and modern fabrics, lining choices, as well as finer details such as real horn buttons and working cuffs, your garment will be an individual creation designed to your specifications.

Prices start from £770.00

Hand Made Bespoke Tailoring

The best clothing you can get. Entirely handmade on the Benson & Clegg premises in London, England. The craft and workmanship is unparalleled, with typically over fifty hours of precision labour in each suit. They pride themselves on comfortable individually styled clothes of subtle elegance, with an emphasis on top level workmanship. Benson & Clegg have a traditional handmade look, from the natural shoulder line to the elegant silhouette of the side seams. The majority of our customers opt for a two button single breasted suit jacket. However our cutters are able to work to almost any brief, for example single-breasted button one, two or three, double breasted formal, smart or casual. We have a vast selection of cloth to choose from, all of the very highest quality.

Prices start from £2,333.00

(As always—‘till someone tempts me with an offer I flat-out can’t refuse, I have received no favor from Sterling & Burke or Benson & Clegg for writing and posting this announcement)

Trad-Ivy Tuesday: It’s Random

I’ve never been short of ideas for stories with precise themes. You know…the ones that require editorial rigor and focus in order to have a single subject resonate. While it’s never been a strong suit of mine—focus that is—I’ve been known to tackle a singular subject with respectable outcomes. This is my long winded set-up for the fact that this little visit with you ain’t gonna be one of those.

It’s unfocused randomanalia time again, y’all. Rather like the multi-sensory deliverable of Whistler's Peacock room. Unfocused randomessence mainly because I am blessed to be covered up with work stuff that pays well but is sucking all of my time and mental disk space. I love writing about sartorial stuff but to cobble the same number of words together about pharma-biotech-diagnostics-medical device strategy is pretty much joyless. The part of my job that I love is when I’m interacting with customers or when I’m speaking to groups of clients or conference attendees—not coming home and writing case studies and summaries and follow-up. When I’m doing the live with groups or individuals thing, it’s my validation that I’m doing what I’m called to do professionally (with the exception of the only other thing that I’ve ever really done for the proverbial wage—worked after school in a Trad haberdashery—which upon semi-retirement and getting LFG into college—I might do once again). So as I’ve posited on other occasions, it’s either a random load of this-ness, or nadda. Now buckle up. Shut up.

Ivy Style at M.F.I.T. deserves and will receive next week, a blog story devoted exclusively to the exhibition, symposium and the accompanying book. But for now I’ll offer a few top-line comments. First, when Patricia Mears from F.I.T. called me over a year ago and wanted to talk about the evolving Ivy Style project as well as where the blogosphere fit in the oeuvre, I was happy to provide whatever insights I could. I’m on the record for being an ersatz-academic nerd type and could make matchbook collecting and curating an erudite endeavor. So this was right down my alley. Or does one always go up an alley? In?

But after my first phone call with the delightful Ms. Mears, (Who by the way, is well published and knowledgeable about women’s fashion and haute couture but was admittedly flummoxed about the whole Trad-Ivy-Preppy menswear thing) I thought…“Hell, if you wanna get this Ivy Style thing right, just get Paul Winston, Richard Press, Charlie Davidson, George Frazier IV and Bruce Boyer in one room and you’ll have all the literary, blood lineage and Trad-Ivy Mother Church retail stores legacies that you’ll need to land on a great version of what this was and is all about." I never needed to say it because that’s exactly what Patricia did. And with a dash of writers like Christian Chensvold and academics from around the globe, the book is and symposium will be—a home run.

I’ve yet to make it up to Gotham to see the exhibition and won’t until I head up to attend the conference but I’ve seen most of the exhibits in photos. And I’d say that just the opportunity to see Richard Press’s dad’s cashmere Prince of Wales Glen plaid sportcoat would be worth the trip.

Bottom line is that the Ivy Style exhibition catalogue is more than just another picture book. And I like most picture books. It’s a visual treat with academic heft. Like me.

So let’s shift gears inelegantly and just make a hard left turn and recap my previous five or six days. See the hands on the left? Those are the wise and learned but still learning—hands of Mr. Toad of Toad Hall, my good buddy and author of To the Manner Born blog. I had to rescue him last Thursday and my best strategy for Toad recovery-rehabilitation included the following unguents…a boutique hotel in Old Town Alexandria, cocktails, great food and finally, a lovely woman to accompany us during dinner so that both of us would come off as better looking and cultured. Mission accomplished. 

Sunday night saw me at Urbana with Dominic Casey and George Glasgow, Jr. from the George Cleverley mafia over in London. I stopped by their suite at the Fairfax Hotel on Embassy Row for a quick and vaguely conjugal visit with my next pair of Cleverley’s that are mid-way through their gestational coming about. Half of you will marvel at them while the less courageous and unimaginative remainder of my seven readers will want to check me for a fever. Until I have the time to write a story exclusively devoted to explaining every weft-warp detail of this fuzzy fabrication, I’m only gonna show you the deliberately edited and aggressively cropped photo above. Stay tuned…or not. I don’t care. And if you think I'm kidding--about the not caring part--you might need to check your own damn self for a fever. I don't care.

Oh, and this is a try-on model that the Cleverley boys had sitting about in the suite. Preening actually. The hide is carpincho…from the rodent-esque Capybara and it’s sublime. Glove leather soft and chances are you’ve a pair of gloves made of it. 2013 might see me carpinching a loafer of some sort in it. I care.

But the most delightful event between Toad Rescue and Cleverley Contrivances was my two-night visit with LFG. She came to my partially dismantled Casa Minimus and I reveled in her homework catch-up and her dance class shuttling and sleep deprivation recoup. No sleepovers, no competition from other, more appealing weekend options. It was bliss. Like the old days. You remember, don't you? It was a year ago.

My Sperry sportin' little dancer…post classes…bagging the goods for our valve closing white-trash taco party. White trash tacos are heavy on processed ingredients and the only allowable meat for the trailer park, anything but esoteric, Pawn Stars-Pickers version of the concoction is ground beef.

Add the chemical packet included in the kit. Bam. Just add a neighbor and their three year old little boy and we gotta party. Party be a noun.

This ain’t hyperbole or drama. I feel whole again...restored as a dad…after my two-night LFG weekend. And for those of you who are hyper-vigilant regarding my digs, the original upholstery on my sofa is what you see here. The decade old slipcover is currently under forensic review and fumigation. After that, it’ll probably be on ebay.

Further along the random trail…I’m always late to the technology party but this Instagram photo thing for the iPhone is new to me. And I love it. I posted the photo above on my tumblr and several of you asked again about the source of these Kilim slippers. So here you go, again. Contact Pammie Jane Farquhar at Nomad Ideas. Tell her what size shoe you wear in European sizing. She will send you a photo of what she has. You select your poison and send her your card details.

I hate shopping but I like stuff. And my stuff affinity is usually rather precise and eccentric so my dosh gets spread all over the globe. But I urge you, if you live in the D.C. area and are in need of anything Alden or Crockett and Jones or from another smattering of tasty shoemakers, please go by and see the guys at Sky Shoes on Wisconsin Avenue. There’s little in this aesthetically barren town that I buy…save for the lovely offerings at Sterling and Burke and an occasional Polo/J. Crew tchotchke. But Sky Shoes will always be my go-to place for some of the more mainstream shoddings that my anything but mainstream a_s desires. Go see them. Spend money.

This is it for now folks. I’ve gotta rejigger my to-do list and then not do it.

Onward. Sandy unimpeded. ADG II

Ps…and speaking of Sandy…an older cousin of mine—I had about twenty first cousins—gave me two Sandy Nelson albums when I got my Slingerland drums in the 6^th grade. I played this stuff over and over and over till I finally blew the speakers out of my mom’s big a_s piece of furniture stereo in the living rooms. And forty years later, my eardrums are in about the same shape.

The Christmas Haul

Someone asked me to weigh in on the Christmas loot that LFG and I accumulated and I figured I better get to it before the Holiday memories become even more distant. But before diving into the materialistic nirvana of our goods, let me offer up a bit of prophylactic karma. (Karma for my damn self—to shroud this “look at all the cool and expensive stuff that we got” story in hopefully, some level of social responsibility and gratitude so that God won’t slam me with another broken molar this weekend. You my friends, are responsible for your own karma depleting/escalating tactics. Shut up.)

I like stuff. But I’ve learned some tough lessons about allowing money and possessions to ride in the front seat of my life journey buggy. And…I believe that giving anonymously has more gravitas than indexing the amount you give to how prominent your name will be on the donors list or where and beside whom you’ll be seated at the charity event. But for a moment, I’ve just gotta mention what LFG and I give, before we preen about what we get.

Our charitable giving is kid centric. It’s my choice and I like the measureable efficacy of the money that’s given to a select few charities. It’s the business modelling-measure the value of the effort-consultant in me. I’m hopelessly commercially minded. It’s what I do for a living. And to that end, I like the fact that when I give two hundred and fifty bucks to Smile Train, I am guaranteed that at least one child will receive the restorative surgery necessary to literally change forever, the trajectory of their life-journey. So there are a half-dozen of those little people somewhere in the world that as a result of what LFG and I’ve done in 2011, have mouths, lips and palates that now look right and function properly. Ok, before you begin to contrive your scalding ass comments, calling me out for bragging about our charitable giving; chill out. At the risk of redundancy, I’m telling you that this little bit of giving pales breathtakingly when compared to the obscene level of getting that LFG and I experienced at Christmas.

And we love Meg Fairfax Fielding for about one point eight gazillion reasons and if for no other, we would give every year to Woodbourne. But the other reason that we always give to them is that older kids seem to get forgotten by society faster than others. It’s no secret that a healthy new-born child usually gets adopted quickly. But let a kid get a little older or have a special need or be a minority and the chances of placing them become much tougher. So I believe that places like Woodbourne are doing sublime work by creating an environment where their kids have a better chance of growing up and becoming self-sufficient members of society. LFG and I gave to Woodbourne in 2011 and we’ll do it again this year.

And finally, my business partners and I decided about a decade ago to change how we expressed appreciation for our clients. My partners and I are blessed with healthy, happy children. LFG of course, is smarter and prettier than any of them but that’s beside the point. We decided that instead of sending all of the holiday gift baskets and booze and typical loot that every other vendor and consultant also sends, we’d do something better. The Make a Wish Foundation offers, as you probably know, an opportunity for a terminally ill child to experience their dream trip, event or whatever. I can’t imagine what it feels like to learn that one’s child is terminally ill. But what I can imagine is how it feels to know that a terminally ill child will realize their wish. We send one child each year on their way…to whatever experience it is that will bring them some joy. And we make sure that our clients know that we are doing so in their honor. 

Whew, now that I’ve gotten all that karmic penance shite out of the way, let’s get to the good stuff. And let’s start with LFG. This Christmas was different in a couple of ways and mostly because LFG is older and the magic of the “throw any toy under the tree and they’ll squeal with delight” strategy is over. She wants, surprise I know, in addition to a sock monkey hat... clothes and money and gadgets. But I ended up faring rather well with my choices for her.

I’m gonna begin with the one thing that I was proudest of…LFG delight-wise. LFG tried on this cute little blazer several months ago in Brooks Brethren. It was too expensive for a jacket that even she couldn’t articulate how/when/where she would wear it. I figured that if I ever saw it at 60% off, I’d buy it for her. But from time to time, she would bring up unprompted, “that navy blazer.” And then she saw a ladies standard, less twee looking navy blazer in Brooks and said that she liked that one better.

Alas, it ain’t easy to find a navy blazer for a little girl. I tucked into J. Crew on Christmas Eve eve…the day I began my shopping this year, and saw a rack of ladies navy blazers. A nice sales lady talked it out with me and we decided that I should give a ladies size “0” a go. She said that if it didn’t work that I could return it and she’d order a “00” to try.

Folks…the navy blazer was THE hit of all the gets. LFG loved it and when I said that we could have Suh shorten the sleeves she resisted…demonstrating that she’d want to push the sleeves up on her arms. And like her tacky-a_s fuzzy daddy, she undid a couple of the working sleeve buttons.

I’m not sure why this particular gift of all things, had me bursting with pride. Maybe there's some kind of Trad neuroses bubbling up courtesy of the iconic navy blazer. Shut up.

I think that Hunter Wellies were barn mucking, utilitarian boots for generations. Not no more. They come in an array of colors and the fleece interlining socks are an interchangeable fuzzy accoutrement that just adds whimsy to the whimsical.

LFG preferred purple boots and she’s got pink and purple fleece fuzzies to swap out when so inspired.

And she loved the Vineyard Vines fleece vest and bracelet so much that we gave a similar vest to one of my business partner’s daughters.

And then LFG’s stocking began to ring. Yes, I bought her an iPhone. With very rigorous utilization criteria and consequences associated. And we allowed LFG to collaborate with us regarding what the rules should be. Before you tisk tisk and eye-roll over this one, hear me out. LFG already had a cell phone in her back pack for emergencies. She already had an iTouch for games and Apps and all the other things kids do with these delightful Apple devices. She is required to give her iTouch to charity. Her old cell phone is now obviously, shut off. Her mother and I have full access to her passwords, her emails and her texts. And on a selfish note, I can now call her and text her without having to undergo the hit and miss triage/middle person process of calling her mother and seeking telephone access to LFG that way.

So as always, it was a good Christmas for LFG.

And the obscenities don’t end there. For I was extry prone this year to practice a few highly skilled tactics myself. First, I did the “buy one for them and one for me” gift strategy. Next, I did the “tell them exactly what you want so that you don’t get shitty gifts” thing. And the outcome was perfect.

I love one hundred year old lead soldiers but I’m also a huge fan of how Bill Hocker of Berkeley California interprets the old ones. His story, not only about how he came into creating these contemporary versions of antique toys, but about the people he employs to help him, is a great one.

And so I got the Hocker Boer War Observation Balloon and another grouping of his little lead men.

Fuzzy Dog sweaters from J. Press are nice but they are so darned thick that unless it’s twenty degrees, my a_s tends to overheat in them. But I’m really digging the less expensive, thinner version that Rugby offers.

And of course, my Hulme leather Gladstone bag from Sterling and Burke is stellar. The jury is still out on how well it’s gonna work as a carry-on. Stay tuned.

My Anglo American tortoise sunglasses frames served me well for over a decade. And I decided on my Gotham stopover the week before Christmas, to replace them with an updated, lighter colored tortoise version. Same size, same everything. The guys at A.R. Trapp just popped my prescription lenses into the new frames and bam.

Uncle Alan Flusser bestowed upon me yet another pair of his bespoke Poulsen and Skone shoddings from thirty years ago. Sublime.

Drakes scarf. Yep…that rounds out my Christmas loot for 2011.

Oh, and I almost forgot the most intriguing find that I gifted myself this Christmas. It was absolute serendipity that I was offered these four large scale, hundred year old Georg Heyde lead soldiers. They are rare to the point of virtually unobtainable. I’d only seen one of these size soldiers one other time before. And you don’t even want to know what the tariff was in these four musket-damn-teers.

I’ve gotta close this drivel and get back to writing stuff that actually pays wages. I think that perhaps now you see why I took the time to drone on at length about giving…before crowing so much…about getting.

Onward. Having gotten. And now giddily prepping for an LFG weekend.

ADG II 

Gladstone and Levis 501s

My maiden travel sortie of 2012. It dawned on me last night as I checked into the Hyatt Regency Princeton that I've been doing this gig since 1996. And the trade-offs I make to do what I do for a living have on balance, been worth it. The biggest trade-off is averaging two nights each week away from home. It’s a fair price to pay given that I compensate by taking pretty much two months off each year for holidays/staycations/LFG jaunts etc. It’s all good.

Oh...and I've done really cool things with my travel points over the years. I had a fair amount of business miles and commensurate points under my belt before starting my own gig. And I suppose one of the most memorable uses of my travel points was flying Concorde before they decommissioned the program.

As I rolled up here last night in a pair of 501s I pondered “jeans and the middle-aged man” as a blog story. I’ll address the issue of my still-in-work ADG Denim/Age Index and who knows, I might create an iPhone app to sort it out for those in the lurch on this issue.

To steal and edit a phrase from my buddy Fitz…“501s are the Meryl Streep of jeans”…they're generally successful in any role. You may disagree with the 501s part of the analogy but think about Streep for a moment. Other than being a sixty-two year old stunner, she’s one hell of a role-player. Evidence?

Karen Silkwood

Julia Child

Margaret Thatcher

Back to this 2012 first night on the road for a moment. Someone asked if my self-gifted Hulme leather Gladstone bag was gonna be too heavy-comparatively-to the canvas carry-ons and duffels that I’ve used for years. Well frankly, I don’t have enough experience yet to settle on an opinion. I love the bag for several reasons but one of the deal closers for me when I saw it at Sterling and Burke in Georgetown (I was doing the “one present for them-oh, and one present for me” thing that day) was the Gladstone-esque way the thing opens. It’s like throwing stuff in a barrel. And that suits me. But I haven’t flown with it yet so stay tuned.

Oh, and for those who haven’t visited Sterling and Burke, it’s one of the best and hopefully less-kept, secrets in D.C. If I want a little whiff of New Bond Street I just step inside Sterling and Burke. And one of the most appreciated gifts I gave (not the Gladstone bag to my damn-self, silly) this year came from them.

Onward. Amidst breakfast and John O’Hara. Then a project pitch and a hurried drive back home.

ADG II