London Fashion Week Daily

In which our intrepid, in house, LFW Daily Dandy attends a gentleman’s show or three.  Sir Hardy Amies famously advised gentlemen that they should chose clothes with intelligence, put them on with care and then give the appearance, at least, of having forgotten all about them. No pressure felt by this gentleman then, on entering the dressing closet, prior to sauntering to number 14 Savile Row, where today a trio of stalwart tailors convened under the same roof to receive friends and admirers. I count myself as both.

The Fashionista was not for sallying forth today because menswear is simply not her thing. She likes tailoring but not formality, which is rich coming from someone who, even on weekends, insists on being addressed as Ma’am and wants her Guardian ironed before she’ll touch it.

She was not available to help with my choice of garment, so I was stuck with solving the problem of following Sir Hardy and appearing at once intelligent and careless. Intelligence: a rather rakish vintage Comme des Garcons blazer. Carefully put on: a pair of dark Acne jeans and a cashmere polo by Stefanel.  Careless: A splash of colour at the neck, vital for the older gent with ash-blonde at the temples, courtesy a vintage Hermes scarf, the careless arrangement of which took sixteen minutes, and a splash of Shalimar on the pulse points.

Arriving then, at the august Mayfair town house rebuilt by Sir Hardy after Hermann Goering had given it a seeing-to, I obviously recognizable as a rule-follower and made to wait while their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Kent swept in to feel the width and the quality. With them, their son Freddie Windsor, who happens to be the Hardy Amies ambassador at large.

Just off the vestibule, where on colder days I have warmed by poop deck before the fire-effect fire, the Amies collection. This is clothing for men who are used to having the conversation pause when they enter the room. Sturdy yet elegant, blithe yet somehow earthy, these deft looks included a magnificent three piece suit worn with a black trilby and a gangsterish waisted overcoat designed for stepping out of the original Bentley Continental fastback in. A terrific dark two piece tweed shooting suit with bellow pleats for ease of reloading and patch pockets.

A maroon smoking jacket with black frogging made me want to take up smoking, illegal or not, on the spot.  Up to the first-floor drawing room for a bit of salmon and cucumber personally designed and cut with a scalpel by the HA press impresario Don Rouse, and then left into the salon for show one: Gieves and Hawkes. The ghost of the great dressmaker himself hovered benignly over the proceedings as a bevy of lads trotted out in sombre colours and unusual cuts – a two colour bumfreezer jacket made a big impression, as did a biscuit-coloured jacket with a shawl collar that extended, in elegant swags, much further than the average collar does.  Gieves, one feels, have, in the past, been overawed by their own magnificent building along the Row at number one.

It’s hard to do an edgy denim item or pop a zipper in an unusual place if it’s going onto a rail in the room where the explorer Stanley lay in state. These garments showed a spring-like emergence of new verve and confidence. Hurrah!  Sitting tight, we were then stunned by the appearance of the man who has come to represent all that is best about the Row, Patrick Grant of Norton and Sons.

Today he was playing Master of Ceremonies, announcing the latest looks from his E Tautz off the peg range. It’s a masterpiece in British fabrics, and Grant made sure we knew where every bit of cloth came from, and which granny knitted which woolly accessory. Vintage twills were resurrected, ethnic Harris Tweed supported. Giant herringbones, exploded Glen checks, sturdy worsteds.

All over too soon. It was raining outside – a greyer, less vibrant London awaited the for gentleman dressed intelligently but without a care.