Hairy Times

The beard is back. Even my brother is growing one. A face full of fur smacks of swashbuckling "derring-do." It's testosterone on a chin. The hirsute marque of heroic daring.

Beloved by World War two fighter pilots and pipe-smoking chaps who raced along country lanes in their Morgans, a bristling moustache embodied the spirit of British invincibility, but like many things, it's often hair today, gone tomorrow.

Facial fuzz is no longer a foible of the few. The birthright of a geography teacher has been embraced by the many, with varying degrees of success. What starts off in the mind's eye as a dead ringer for Tom Ford, can quickly transmogrify to Jeremy Beadle in the mirror.

The meterosexual male has given way to something altogether more manly and this trend for all things hairy has been reflected in the world of cloth.

If a relaxing wet shave with hot towels is cashmere, then heavy stubble, or a set of mutton chops is Harris Tweed.

To qualify as genuine Harris Tweed, the cloth must be hand-woven (or warped) by islanders at their homes in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland. Weavers are self-employed and can work for any of the three mills who spin and dye the woollen yarn from which the fabric is made.

The fabric is then finished (cleaned and made stable) and stamped with the official Orb Mark trademark as a seal of its authenticity.



Designers such as Paul Smith, House of Holland and Vivienne Westwood are huge fans. To give you an idea of its popularity, production has soared from four hundred and fifty thousand metres in 2009 to over one million metres in 2012.

The picture below is of Lee Price in his Michelsberg wedding suit. He's worked for Vivienne Westwood for twenty years and they supplied the Harris Tweed cloth (woven exclusively for Westwood) and we did the rest.



Vivienne has got to be one of my favourite designers, and like herself I enjoy working with tartans. I'm currently making a three piece suit for a customer in 'Buchanan OC' that will knock the balls off a mighty elephant.

'Black Watch' in particular is all the rage at the moment. Here's Sam, from Church's shoes in Leeds with a pair of Michelsberg 'och-aye-the-noos,' and below that is a shot from Valentino's latest Autumn / Winter collection.





Whilst caber-country is the obvious place to go in search of tweed and tartan, ten minutes walk from my home in Otley, West Yorkshire, is Marton Mills. Introducing Duncan Watts, their Chairman, and Hannah Slater, their designer.



Established in 1931, it's a family business, employs forty eight people and turns over six million pounds a year.

The yarn comes from M.B. Appleton in Bradford and the cloth is finished at Roberts Dyers in Keighley which they part own with the SIL group.

They also offer a personal bespoke design service and will produce as little as thirteen metres of cloth which is just about enough for six blazers.

So, if there's a gang of chaps out there who want to cut a dash in Michelsberg blazers made-up in their own bespoke tartan / striped fabric, these guys could be just the ticket.

In my mind the vibe would be 'Reservoir Dogs' meets 'Three-men-in-a-boat.' A martini soaked fusion of Ralph Lauren and Jack Wills, minus the Tarquin.

Perfect for terrorising Henley, owning it at the races, or, simply being the best dressed stag-do on the planet.

London Calling

It's Saturday morning, I've just done my last fitting before Christmas, there's a brass band playing carols in the Victoria Quarter and I'm feeling simply bloody marvellous.

Whilst the bling-tastic Christmas tree outside is impressive, it's nowt compared to the bright lights of London.

Last Thursday I spent twelve glorious hours in our throbbing metropolis.

Most of it was out and about on the streets of Mayfair, a perfumed playground for the privileged, where delicate noses safely sniff, far away from the fetid stench of despair and poverty that lies beneath this truly great city.

My first port of call was to investigate a new workroom which I'd heard made-up for the great and the good down South.



I've seen quite a few operations in my time and this one hit the spot. Run by a lady with real passion for the trade, I was impressed not just by the quality of their work, but the fact that the atmosphere was jovial. People were enjoying their work and the focus was on quality rather than quantity.

Here I am modelling one of their smoking jackets made-up for one of the outfitters on Jermyn Street who holds a Royal Warrant.



It's a bit "Captain Peacock" for my taste. I'm not really a fan of all the frogging around the button holes and cuffs but at last I've found a team who are happy working with velvet. The uber-cool Michelsberg smoking jacket will be a reality. Get in!

After that, I had lunch with my friend Flynny at The Hawksmoor on Air street. Now that's a steak joint. Slightly art deco in style it's a mahogany and leather temple to man-food. A place where the dreams of carnivores collide with the nightmares of the bovine massive.

After my cholesterol raising car-crash of rib-eye, bone marrow, triple cooked chips and red wine, I stumbled outside and paid homage to my spiritual home (after Croyde Bay) - Savile Row.



If tailoring is part theatre, then this is the ultimate stage. Just being here fills me with pride, joy, a sense of hope and fuels the dream of what might be.

My favourite bit in "Masterchef" is where they get to cook for some of the best chefs in the world and meet their heroes in the flesh. Being on Savile Row is just like that for me.



First port of call was Huntsman, pictured above. Now these guys are busy but I was still given a warm welcome by their head cutter, Patrick Murphy, and Johnny Allen, their Sales Manager. Then who tapped me on the shoulder? Steve from Yorkshire Textiles. It seems us Northerners get everywhere.

After that it was over the road to Spencer Hart, tailor of choice to the coolest of cats.



Here I am with Theo Gould in the inner sanctum where fine threads have been commissioned by the likes of Robbie Williams, David Bowie and David Beckham. Eight years ago, when I first started my own tailoring business, I remember entering this cavern of dark wood and even darker suits, meeting Nick Hart and being blown away with the set-up. Inspirational stuff.

Then, it was down the golden mile and off to Lock and Co on St James's street to pick up a Christmas present to myself - a new hat.



I adore this place. It's understated, charming, devoid of all pretence. The gentleman above is Andrew Baselgia, their retail manager, and twenty minutes later, armed with a spanking new 'Borsalino,' I headed to my final destination - a Christmas party thrown by Scabal on Savile Row.



The wine flowed (heavily) and here I am with the guys from Kilgour - Michael Smith, their Senior Cutter, and Martin Crawford and Andrew Skillen on the sales floor. We talked shop and I loved every moment.

As I pulled out of Kings Cross (drinking yet more wine) I reflected on the words of Samuel Johnson - "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life" - and after living the dream for a day, I couldn't agree more.

So that's it. "Out of office" on. Shop Shut. Here's wishing you a truly magnificent Christmas and a fabulous 2013 for us all.

Festive Finery

Christmas, to me, should be a Dickensian schmaltz-fest of ruddy faced joy and conviviality.

The clatter of a carriage on cobbled streets. The crunch of snow under stout leather boots. An Inn with a crackling log fire where bearded men swill porter and supp mutton stew.

No Sky Sports. No games of pool. Just raucous laughter bathed in the warm glow of gas-lamps, as wenches with flaming locks, heaving bosoms and velvet dresses behold the swelling scene.

These days it's Michael Boublé, frilly knickers, half price scotch and flights out to Tenerife. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas, but oy vey, you've got to work at it.

To me it's about family, friends and a time for reflection, reaching out spiritually and giving the liver a good kicking. The latter usually involves a charity ball, dinner dance, or, back-slapping industry awards bash, where more often than not, the dress code is Black Tie.

Formal wear is to the dandy what formula one is to a racing driver. It's the ultimate show. The Big Kahuna. The dinner suit is the dark knight in your wardrobe, a creature of the night, just a DBS and PPK short of 007.

One of my coat-makers is constantly telling me to 'keep it simple' and I get untold grief for my love of doing something different.

I want a Michelsberg jacket or lounge suit to turn heads. Contrast coloured button holes, velvet top collars, flower loops, secret pockets and flashes of silk behind the working cuffs are all on the menu. The trick is to balance these with the cloth to create something stylish and elegant. Go overboard and you've got a costume, not an outfit.

Mark Ronson was recently lambasted for wearing red socks at an Amy Winehouse Foundation fundraiser.



I love red socks but not with a tuxedo. Whilst I believe clothes should be an expression of who you are, when it comes to formal wear I am a purist. There is a time and place for everything and certain events require a modicum of decorum. As such, you need to find the Methodist within and show restraint.

Nothing beats the understated beauty of a tuxedo. Done right it is minimalism at its finest, a monochrome work of art. The fit must be perfect and it must be made using the finest materials.

To start off with you need pure silk facings for the lapels and pocket jets. Outrageously expensive and a nightmare to press, what they lose in practicality is more than made up for in downright gorgeousness.

Then the cloth. The very DNA of the suit itself. I've just delivered a stunning creation using a Super 150's and cashmere blend from Scabal. It's incredibly light and feels like the mons of an angel.

Here's one below I made for Andy in cashmere & summer kid mohair produced by Taylor & Lodge of Huddersfield. It was used to make Daniel Craig's tux in Quantum of Solace, is stiffer than the Scabal fabric and tailors very sharply.



When it comes to colour you've got three choices. Black, noir, or, schwarz. That said, Ralph Fiennes wore a beautiful midnight blue number for the Skyfall premiere and so will my customer Lesley (pictured below) for his Christmas party.



When it comes to styling it's very simple. The jacket should be single-breasted with a peak, or, shawl lapel (as above), have one button, jetted pockets (no flaps), side vents and a four button working cuff with silk covered buttons.

The notch lapel on a dinner is the work of the devil. An absolute shocker. It's up there with 'novelty' dress-shirts and Bruce Forsythe inspired waistcoats.

Double-breasted coats can look great. Prince William wore a fine specimen on his wedding day but the downside is that you have to keep it buttoned. Traditionalists would say no vents on a dinner suit, but god help if you've got a fat arse, or, want to put your hand in your pocket.

Trousers should be worn higher on the waist with braces (from Albert Thurston, or, Trafalgar), flat fronted or forward pleats, silk down the sides and plain bottoms.

I wear a double-breasted marcella waistcoat with a silk lapel but the 'horse-shoe' is particularly popular at the moment and certainly something I'd pen my name to.

Final flourishes.

A crisp white Michelsberg bespoke shirt with fly front (concealed buttons) or studs. I'm not really a fan of wing collars and cummerbunds and think them best left to Transylvanian Counts and matadors.

A white linen, or silk, hanky tucked into the out-breast-welt. Check out Turnbull & Asser on Jermyn Street. Their shop is an Aladdin's cave for anyone with a serious silk fetish.

Invest in a pair of long black silk socks, preferably to the knee. The flash of a pasty white calf covered in hair is not a good look. I'd recommend Pantherella, or, Bresciani.

Finally black patent shoes (try Church's, or, Jeffery West) and most importantly a self-tied bow tie.

So there you have it. The perfect tux, Michelsberg style. Here's one below that is being collected today by my customer Sean.



Christmas is going to be great this year. It's less than four weeks to go until my Mother's roast goose with prunes and Armagnac hits the table.

I've got all sorts of little treats lined up including a night out at the Bierkeller and dinner with my old school friends Jedoir, HotBongDaddy (don't ask) and the Bainer.

There'll be a trip to London, Bournemouth and of course a stroll down Savile Row.

Wishing you all the best for the build up and here's to the ringing of Rudolph's bells and the Michelsberg cash register.

Tinker, Tailor, Shoulder, Spy.

007. Three digits, one man, five billion dollars in revenue. James Bond is the ultimate brand.

After the front page of Google, Daniel Craig's pecs must be the most valuable space on earth. Pay per nip advertising - his agent's missing a trick.

A third of Skyfall's £100million budget was paid for by product placement deals and who can blame them. Bond is a living god: the Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit of all things cool.

I can't wait to see it. The 'intelligent' and 'ambitious' girl will still no doubt have legs up to Orion's belt. There'll be a fuel guzzling Aston Martin leaving Jeremy Clarkson slobbering for metaphors, an Omega watch, extreme violence, all washed down with a swig of Heineken.

The other thing that's guaranteed is sharp threads. I've blogged about the Bond tailors in a previous post. If your business involves a needle and thread, then kitting out Fleming's finest has got to be the ultimate gig.

Anthony Sinclair (Sean Connery), Doug Hayward (Roger Moore), Brioni (Piers Brosnan) and Tom Ford (Daniel Craig) all have got their 007 wings. It might mean sacrificing a hundred suits during filming but imagine the payback? A honey pot the size of Canada faced with a hurricane of fifty pound notes.

Whilst the saviour of Gucci dines out with the Broccoli massive, at least a few crumbs fall from the table to tailors like myself who are still scratching our way up.

Even before the hype, one of my customers was at my doorstep, a feverous look in his eye, thrusting the picture below into my hands and muttering the 'Little Britain' catchphrase, "Want that one."



Single breasted, two buttons, straight pocket flaps. Looks rather classical. Then you spot the gorge on the lapel. It's higher than usual. And check out the fronts. They're more cut-away than normal. As for the jacket length, it's on the short side. Not 'Top Man' freeze your bum to death short, but certainly more contemporary in length. Finally the shoulder.

The shoulder is to tailoring what terroir is to wine-making. It's shape and character sets the tone and silhouette of everything below and is the first thing somebody notices because it's in their line of sight.

Essentially there are two types of shoulder. One that is 'natural', often soft and unstructured, and one that is straighter and more constructed.

Style forums are full of posts declaring the Italians as the godfathers of the "natural" shoulder. It makes sense that in a hot climate, a tailor would want to offer his customers lighter weight cloth, and as such need to use light-weight scaffolding underneath.

The hallmark of a Neapolitan shoulder is one of little (if any) padding and canvas. They also cut the sleeves wider at the top, and this excess cloth is sewn, or 'eased' into the shoulder / armhole.

This combined with a clever manipulation of the seams when sewing the sleeve and the shoulder together will often create a slight 'puff' or pucker. Some of this can be shrunk away by pressing, although many dandies declare it a thing of beauty.

This is often referred to as a shirt shoulder, or "spalla camicia," a picture of which is shown below and made by Napoli Su Misura.



Italians don't have a monopoly on the less is more school of thought. Anderson and Sheppard's soft 'drape cut' is very similar. Here's Karl, one of their ex employees and now running his own show, wearing a coat with a typically soft, rounded shoulder.



Military and horsey Savile Row tailors such as Dege & Skinner, Gieves & Hawkes and Huntsman tend to go for a bit more welly in the shoulder. The same can be said for Brioni and Caraceni. It's probably why they do so well in the States as the Yanks, like myself, prefer a more imposing shoulder line.

An example can be seen below in what I consider to be one of the finest and most iconic suits ever made.



The shoulder is straight, there's certainly some padding and I think it flatters and draws attention to his naturally broad shoulders.

Piers, in his Brioni, also has a more constructed shoulder, however his are 'roped' at the end.



The Roped Shoulder, or Con Rollino, is named as such when the sleeve is higher than the shoulder line, as if it has been draped over a rope. I think it looks more formal and is what my customer wanted, similar to the Tom Ford special in my first photo.

As far as Michelsberg is concerned, we've always used padding in the shoulders including a 'sleeve-head,' which sits between the sleeve and the shoulder and is shown below.



I explained to Jon, Debbie and Sandra in the workroom that a 'rope' was the goal and we got busy. It wasn't easy, but then doing new things never is. We cut the crown (top) of the sleeves with more fullness (so there was extra cloth to create the rope) and added another layer of construction in the head-roll, which I'm pointing out with my stitch-cutter below.



With some scratching of chins and clever sewing we achieved the following.



There are still a few things to sort out but that's what it's all about. Pushing the boundaries, being open to new ideas and not being afraid to fail.

I've made my peace with the crushing blow that I'll never get to be James Bond. Which leaves the next best thing. Dressing him. Velvet collar, Daniel?

A swellegant, elegant party.

At my wedding, my best man and college friend Paul said in his speech, "over the years we've shared many highs together, some legal..."

Whilst this might be true, I doubt many were better than the one I got from hosting my customer party last Thursday evening.

After a last minute flood of "sorry we can't make it" texts, the clock struck six. Within minutes I was surrounded by friends, family, suppliers and grinning customers, adrenalin and alcohol pumping through my arteries.





The sound of popping champagne corks and laughter filled the air, melding perfectly with the smooth, sexy tones of Matt Anderson on saxophone, Aubin Vanns on guitar and Stewart Garden (who played at my opening party) on keyboard.





Ever the show-off, I decided to take centre stage and make a speech.



The key thing I wanted to get across was the fact that the evening was not about Michelsberg tailoring, but a thank you to everyone who makes it possible for me to do a job that I love.

People like the weavers from the mills of Yorkshire who provide me with beautiful cloth, and those in the workrooms who make it up into something truly special.

I expressed my gratitude to other tenants in the Victoria Quarter who have referred customers my way, with a special thanks to Patrick of Church's shoes who generously provided a dozen bottles of Church's Champagne for the bash.



The final doff of my cap was, of course, to my fabulous customers. Many of them have become good friends over the years and, as ambassadors of my brand, had made the effort to come and support me on a school night, their continued patronage enabling the Michelsberg tailoring show to go on.

What a buzz to see all those "Michelsbergs" under one roof - a glorious cacophony of tweed three piece suits, jackets with velvet and moleskin top collars, flashy waistcoats, double-breasted numbers with uber-peak lapels, sharp Mohair specials with creases like razors and man-about-town covert-coats.

As the clock struck eleven, my driver (and long suffering wife Nikki) called time at the bar, and on the way back home, I wallowed in the passenger seat, a smile on my face, looking forward to a cunningly planned day off.

Here's to the Christmas bash!

Wilde Times Ahead

"I find that alcohol, taken in sufficient quantities, may produce all the effects of drunkenness.” (Oscar Wilde)

Sprawled on my Chesterfield, a glass of tawny port in hand, I couldn't agree more. For those of you who haven't seen his biography, "Wilde" is a decent film. Whilst my wife, and no doubt Stephen Fry, enjoyed extensive footage of Bosie's (Jude Law's) bottom, I was captivated by the wardrobe.

In a recent article I declared "The Dandy is back," but compared to the Victorians, we're lightweights.

Velvet smoking jackets, silk brocaded dressing gowns with quilted shawl lapels, gold pocket-watches, jewel-encrusted tie pins, cravats, double breasted vests and top hats and straw boaters were paraded before me.

I particularly liked this blazer with matching vest.



Checks are everywhere at the moment. I recently made this jacket in a Super 130's Merino wool blended with Mongolian cashmere. With its purple velvet collar and flashes of purple silk behind the working cuffs, I think it gives the former a run for its money.



It's been a great month here at Michelsberg HQ.

This Saturday, a friend and customer (Paul Dunphy) dropped me a line to say he had just been voted Best Dressed Man at York Races and here he is pictured below with Jeff Banks (remember The Clothes Show?:-).



As my Facebook Page shows, I've been very busy delivering lot's of new threads to happy customers including a few "Uber Levels."

The 'Uber' is our very top-level of construction. I've gone into the nitty-gritty in a previous blog but basically it's as good as tailoring gets.



The button hole above has been sewn by hand in silk twist - it's slightly longer than a machined button hole and has that rather charming hand-made look about it.

If you look at the picture below, you can see small dints in the fabric where the canvas in the lapels has been pad stitched onto the cloth by hand to achieve a wonderful roll.

And check out the chain-stitch which makes up the flower-loop. Sweet.



Best of all, it's got my name in it, beautifully cross stitched by hand.



These are the hallmarks of a truly artisan workshop, craftsmanship at its finest and it gives me a huge buzz to be able to offer it to my customers.

The dream has always been to be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with the best tailoring houses in the world and with 'The Uber' in my armoury, I've got one hell of a pair of Cuban heels to raise me up to their lofty heights.

There's much for me to look forward to - at the end of this week I'm heading off to Devon for a holiday in search of cider, surf and sunshine. Can't wait!

Then, when I get back, I'm throwing a party for friends, customers and suppliers here in the Victoria Quarter, on Thursday 20th September from 6pm.

If it's anything like my opening bash, things could get a bit messy and as Friday morning rears its throbbing head, let's remember Oscar when he said, "Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

First is first, second is nowhere.

Baron Pierre de Coubertin (the founder of the Olympics) said, "It's not the winning but the taking part that counts."

Utter tosh. These are the words of the loser, the also-ran, the dud, the deadbeat, the defeated.

In battle there is no prize for runner-up. Coming first is everything.

One day, like Brian Clough, I hope I can look back on my career and declare: "I wouldn't say I was the best tailor in the business. But I was in the top one."

"Firsts" are truly special. Your first car. Your first kiss. Your first suit. All a rite of passage into the engine revving, tongue tussling, thread wearing world of Manhood.

Mine - a VW Beetle, a Spanish lass called Candice and a two piece that lit the touchpaper to what is now the bonfire of vanities that dominates the wardrobe space at Casa Michelsberg.

I remember it like it was yesterday. The night before my first 'ball', standing in front of my parent's full length mirror. Patent leather loafers, black leather tie and silver grey double-breasted jacket with padded shoulders to rival those of Krystle Carrington in Dynasty. With the sleeves rolled up and lemon yellow socks, I was Yorkshire's answer to Don Johnson.



All the big moments in my life have a suit memory attached. My first job as a Marketing Assistant - the get-up, a navy blue three piece, bought from Reiss on the Kings road. With my slicked back hair and Marketing degree I was ready to take on the world and ended up making the tea.

Fast forward five years and I was earning decent wedge in London thanks to the telecoms boom. I was on business in Rome and walked into Valentino on the Via Condotti and left with a black two piece. As I skipped up the Spanish steps and jumped into a taxi back to the Cavalieri Hilton, I thought I'd made it.

And then the suit that changed my life. My first Bespoke, fitted by the legendary Graham Rigby, a lovely man who is sadly no longer with us. I popped my cherry with a blue pinstripe cloth from LBD with a bright purple lining and every bell and whistle known to man. It was then that I realized I had a drop shoulder and sway stance. Not perfect? Me?? Never!

There are many others. The morning suit at my wedding. The tweed at my first daughters christening. The John Steed special at my first Pitti-Uomo in Florence. They all have their place but that Miami Vice number was my true first and will always be 'The One.'

As far as the Olympics go, I'm no sports fan and couldn't really give a monkey's. But to see someone who has dedicated their lives to being the best win gold and achieve their dreams is chicken soup for the soul.

Whilst getting onto the Podium is truly something, being the last to get off is everything.