Wrist Candy

On my twenty first birthday I was given an Omega De Ville watch by my parents and have to say it is one of my most treasured possessions.

I've spoken with people who have said they don't bother with a watch as they have the time on their mobile but to me this is madness.

A watch is so much more than a timepiece - it can be a thing of beauty, an investment, a mechanical marvel, something deeply personal with a wonderful story and history attached to it, a statement about who you are and what you stand for.

Like a bespoke suit, choosing the right watch is totally dependant on the personality of the person wearing it and what turns them on, what they are wearing it with and naturally the environment in which it is being worn.

Take for example, Elton John. He's on stage, tinkling the ivories in a velvet frock coat, purple sequined hot pants and theatrical wig. The camera does a close up of his hairy little fingers running up and down the keyboard and there it is - a pink, jewel encrusted, platinum Chopard monster, flashing away in a sea of dials, buttons and swarovski crystals. It kind of works for him but if I spotted such a number on my accountant, I'd run a bloody mile.



The modern day watch was born in the early 16th century when a German called Peter Henlein invented a portable mechanical clock called the "Nuremburg Egg" with just an hour hand on the face.

Watches that do more than tell the time are said to have a number of "complications" and include things like showing the date, the moon's phases, a chronograph (stop-watch), repeaters (which strike the time using dings and dongs) and a tourbillon (a complicated rotating cage that contains various parts of the working mechanism and as it rotates makes the watch more accurate).

Although some time-only watches are worth a fortune, those with many complications tend to be more expensive, however, they cost far more to service and because they are delicate are not for crashing about in every day.

Watches, such as the Breitling Navitimer, are an orgy of complications and dials, and whilst no doubt the toast of airmen the world over, are not for me. I don't have a pilots license and think they look busy, fussy and messy. My bet is they are predominantly worn by people who want to flash their cash, or who were good at science in school and played Dungeons and Dragons in lunch break.



As far as size goes, I have nothing in principle against large metal watches and think they can look far better on chaps with a bit of meat on them, rather than a skinny strip of leather with a slimline gold face. All I would say is that whilst big has become fashionable over the past few years I would question the longevity of this trend.

So who makes the best watches?

If you go to the websites Equationoftime.com, ThePursistS.com and TimeZone.com you will find a number of forums debating this question. What counts as the 'best' is a very subjective question and depends on how much weight you give to the quality of the movement, the number of complications, the rarity of the watch, the historical importance, the accuracy, efficiency and value for money.

That said, it is widely accepted that the following companies are regarded as the mighty stallions who graze and rule the top meadow of the watchmaking world:

Patek Philippe of Geneva, founded in 1839 is 'the king' of the watch industry and it's Calatrava is it's most famous line. It makes some of the most complicated watches in the world, has what is regarded as the most magnificent museum in the industry and does not bend to fashion.



Audemars Piguet founded in 1875 is still family owned and is one of the most respected brands with a vast selection of sports and dress watches, some simple, some incredibly complicated. It's Royal Oak luxury sports watch was introduced in 1972 and was made of stainless steel - a big risk at the time, but one that paid off big time!



Vacheron Constantin claims to be the oldest watchmaker since 1775 and initially pioneered using machines in the watchmaking process to produce better quality parts at a lower price. Their watches can be quirky and their detailed enamel work on the Mercator series shows the time quite uniquely.



Jaeger-LeCoultre (JLC) is the man when it comes to technology and it's manufacturing ability is unrivalled. Often supplying the movements and parts for it's 'rivals' it is known as the watchmaker's watchmaker. It's Reverso model is its best seller with a watch case that flips over to show a protective back, or the insides.



The list goes on - Rolex, TAG Heuer, Omega, IWC, Lange & Sohne (one of my favourite,), Blancpain, those who are often regarded as jewelers such as Cartier, Bulgari, Chopard and new brands such as Frank Muller, RGM and Jacques Etoile.

A finally I'll touch on the Swatch. The mechanical Swiss watch industry was batterd by the introduction of quartz watches by the Japanese companies Seiko and Citizen in 1969 which provided incredible accuracy at a fraction of the price.



The Swiss responded with a better and slimmer movement produced by ETA that was introduced into the plastic Swatch watch in 1980. Slim, fun, funky, with some designed by the likes of Vivienne Westwood, sales went mental and they continue to innovate to this day (some have computer microchips that can access the internet) selling more than 20million a year!



The watch you choose to wear will of course be dictated by what you can afford but with a little effort it is possible to find something fabulous and very 'you' at the right price.

I would say that a watch is with you wherever you go and is worth investing in. As guys, we don't spend our money on 'it' bags, jewelry, or, ninety quid hair cuts from a bloke called Kiest, so why not treat ourselves to something that is useful, beautiful and can be passed down to our children?

After all, time is the most precious commodity we have so why not keep it in something a little bit special.

Savile Row - highway to sartorial heaven

For my friend Gullers, it's the sound of a Ferrari engine. For my brother Edward, it's a bottle of Château Latour or Penfolds Grange. We all have things in life that make our eyes sparkle and grin from ear to ear and for me it's always been clothes.

From my silver "Miami Vice" / Don Jonhnson number at the age of ten to my first Savile row suit from Chester Barrie at twenty one, threads just simply do it for me. Can't explain why, they just do and they always will.

No matter what your passion is in life, you can always find like minded people to share the buzz with. There is also, often a home, or, birthplace where that passion is nurtured, and held as something special, magical, almost sacred.

If writing computer-code causes peaks in your pyjamas, then you should go to Palo Alto. If it's cooking that sets your heart on fire, then like Gordon Ramsay, you need to make that pilgrimage to France. And if it's tailoring that flicks your switch, then I've only two words to say to you and that my blog reading buddies is Savile Row.



Located in Mayfair, it has been home to tailors since the early nineteenth century, who could see the value of being close to the townhouses of wealthy chaps like Beau Brummel who had developed a taste for looking good.

A stroll down this "golden mile" is truly a sight to behold yet the vibe, history and values of the players along it varies enormously. Let's start with the the big boys, the godfathers of this Mayfair mafia - Henry Poole, Gieves & Hawkes, Dege & Skinner, Anderson & Sheppard and Huntsman.

Henry Poole, founded in 1806, is considered the founder of Savile Row. He was a legendary front man who was financed by his father and Baron de Rothschild to move in the highest of social circles and dress the great and the good. It worked and they kitted out the likes of Napoleon, Churchill, various Prince of Wales and European Royalty. Sadly, Henry was not the greatest of businessman, extended too much credit and hospitality to all and sundry and his shop nearly went under. Today, the firm is led by Angus Cundey, who spent part of his career in Yorkshire at the mill Taylor & Lodge in Huddersfield - must have been the best years of his life! Like myself he is reluctant to name his customers, but it goes without saying they include the English aristocracy, Moguls, Magnates and International Royalty.

Anderson & Sheppard, moved to the Row in 1913 led by a Swede, Per Anderson and his partner Sidney Sheppard. They are known for their "limp look," a style of tailoring that is softer, less structured than those tailors such as Gieves & Hawkes and Dege & Skinner who come from a more military background, and this style remains today. As a firm, they are associated with dressing the legends of Hollywood, including Fred Astaire, and today many of the leading lights of the fashion world are their customers, Valentino and Tom Ford to name a few. Now based on Old Burlington Street after a fall-out with landlords their offering is purely bespoke.

Dege & Skinner went into business together in the late nineteenth century and their families have been in business together ever since. Through their respective military histories, love of equine pursuits and more importantly the acquisitions of respected firms such as Wilkinson & Son and military tailors Rogers, John Jones, they are the boys to see when it comes to getting something made-up for a weekend in the country.

Gieves & Hawkes background is in the Navy, has a string of Royal Warrants and currently resides on No.1 Savile Row - nice address I'm sure you'll agree! It is run by Mark Henderson and I take my hat off to his team and the way they have leveraged their bespoke tailoring roots to made-to-measure, off-the-peg and accessories. Kerrching!

Huntsman came to the Row in 1919, and are often regarded as tailor to the stars. I think I am correct when I say everything is still done in-house and work is not sent out to various outworkers. They are regarded as the most expensive tailor, not necessarily a bad thing, their construction (like ours) is structured and builds up a chaps shoulders and chest, whilst emphasising the waist. Alexander McQueen trained here but it didn't last....maybe he was a bit OTT, even by my standards!

And then we have the New Establishment, the young guns who like many of the founders of the firms above, and others such as Tommy Nutter, have achieved success through their ability as front-men. You've got Ozwald Boateng, Richard James, Spencer Hart and Timothy Everest. Clearly they know what they are doing when it comes to PR, marketing, building a brand and social networking. Some of their tailoring credentials are a little bit fuzzy but like myself, I consider that acceptable if you have the right people behind you and a genuine passion to delight the customer.

After Chester Barrie, Spencer Hart was the first place on the Row I visited and I can actually remember saying to Nick Hart how lucky he was to "be living the dream." You can imagine how chuffed I am now to be running my own show - who knows, in five years time we might even be neighbours.

And then there are others who must be mentioned. Kilgour and Norton & Sons - two firms who are steeped in history and through the re-positioning of their brands and acquisition of celebrity customers like Jude Law, are now attracting younger clientele.

In SOHO, there's John Pearse who fully embraced the excesses of the 60's and 70's and Mark Powell, once referred to as "the best dressed man in Town."
Edward Sexton in Beauchamp Place kitted out Mick and Bianca Jagger in matching white suits on their wedding day, although I felt the lapels on her coat were gaping a touch.



And last, but by no means least there are those who are tucked away from the bright lights of London but still have a reputation for some of the finest tailoring in the world. Thomas Mahon, of Englishcut, left Anderson & Sheppard to return to his roots in Cumbria and as ex-cutter to Price Charles has built an incredible International client base with regular trips to the US and even further afield. I bumped into Tom in Scabal on Savile Row as I was just starting out and his advice, encouragement and genuine passion for the trade has been an inspiration to me. I have made several visits to Warwick Hall to see him and the rest of his team and after a few beers in one of the local pubs recently offered to make a coat for him as a token of my thanks.

In the cold light of day, I realized what I'd done. It was a bit like asking Marco Pierre White if he'd like to swing by my place for dinner. No pressure then - yeah! That first fitting, I was sweating like a Scouser at Dixons but am thrilled to say that Tom is chuffed to bits with his Michelsberg special (pictured below). Thanks must go to the craftsmen and ladies behind me in Yorkshire who actually put the thing together.



So to all you guy's and girls who are tucked away in basements, attics, sheds, and workrooms throughout the country, working wonders with needle, thread and sewing machines, I'd like to raise a toast to you all who so often don't get (and don't want) the acknowledgement and praise you deserve.

Savile Row would be nothing without you.

Mohair & No hair

When a client called to say he was heading to Vegas and wanted some new threads, inspiration came in the form of the character Sam "Ace" Rothstein, in one of my favourite films, "Casino."



When it comes to mobsters and gangsters there is one cloth that is de rigeur and that my friends is a sexy little lady by the name of Miss Mohair. When she rubs up against your skin, it's time to hit the spirits, light that stogie and party.

The magic of mohair is it's sheen and lustre. Made from the hair of the Angora goat, it is light yet exceedingly durable and when it's pressed, will leave a seriously sharp crease down the front of your trousers.

The suit we went for was a true Michelsberg classic - fitted, skinny notch lapels, cloth covered buttons with a metallic silver lining. I can just see the lights of The Strip reflecting off the back of his jacket as he steps into the back of a limo in search of fun and frolics.

One of my favourite parts of the film is when De Niro is in his office and is told by his secretary he has a visitor. He gets up from his desk to reveal he is wearing no trousers, walks over to a closet and slips on a pair straight from the hangar. This is a guy who doesn't do creases.



I'd also like to bring your attention to his socks, the downfall of many a man. It is my opinion that the section of flesh between the ankle and knee should be covered at all costs. A pair of socks does the same job for a guy as a bikini wax does for a girl. You know what I'm talking about - it's that moment when some bloke crosses his legs to reveal a flash of pale white shin covered in fluffy brown hair. Shocker.

The only time you can get away with going commando is when you have a tan and are wearing loafers - unless your name is Giuseppe, my advice would be to keep well clear.

Socks should be knee-length and like a tie (see my blog 'Ties and a trip to London), be chosen with care, the colour and pattern of which will be based on the rest of your outfit and occasion. White socks have often been ridiculed but worn in silk at the height of summer with a white linen suit are perfectly acceptable.

Personally I stick with plain, darker colours for work although I've nothing against introducing a splash of colour, perhaps to reflect the colour in a tie, hanky or pinstripe.

As far as material goes, natural fibres such as cotton and wool breathe better although a small addition of synthetic fibre such as Lycra will help them keep their shape. I've inherited permanently cold feet from my father, who has solved this problem by wearing bright red cashmere ones - slightly eccentric but what would you expect from a man whose hobbies include pimping up the boot of his Bentley with mirrors and crystal ornaments.

So here endeth the lesson - two key points - Mohair is great for dastardly deeds in the desert and unlike some we could mention, keep your hairy bits covered.

I feel the need, the need for Tweed

It's that time in the year when we can start to kick back a little and tuck into the joys of corporate hospitality. The Grand Prix, glorious Goodwood, The Open and York races all lie temptingly before us.

Even as I write, the cash registers are going mental in the Champagne tents at Henley and Wimbledon - speaking of which, I'd like to propose a toast to Nadal for knocking out the bicep wheelding Brit who no doubt still supports "whoever's playing England.."



Yes gents, it's time to close outlook heaven, switch off the crackberry, dress up to the nines and give the liver a good going over. Bonding with colleagues, friends and valued customers is the name of the game so let's keep the sensible dark grey two piece firmly in the wardrobe, flex our sartorial wings and let the good times roll.

The races is a classic venue for fun and frolics and in my mind there are essentially two paths that a well dressed chappie can tread.

The first is something in tweed for which I have a particular soft spot. Perhaps the best merchant in the world for Tweed is W Bill at 13 New Burlington Street, London. The head honcho is a lovely chap by the name of Ray Hammet who calls me, and I'm sure the rest of his customers, "chief."

Classic tweed is heavy (at least 18oz), scratchy, almost bulletproof, usually in muted browns and greens with a subtly coloured windowpane check. It is worn by the likes of whisky drinking gamekeepers (who probably support whoever's playing England), the old school hunting, shooting and fishing set, and it's primary purpose is to keep out the cold and the rain.

In terms of style, the classic tweed coat has three buttons, slanted pockets and a centre vent. A client of mine who is conservative by my standards wanted a 'proper tweed suit' but NOT something that looked like it had been stolen from toad (of toad hall) or Farmer Palmer. Here's what we came up with.



We went for a fifteen ounce cloth from Lear Browne and Dunsford which has got some meat to it but won't feel like he's sitting in a sauna. It's got two buttons and a ticket pocket which nicely emphasizes the waist, a storm collar for detail and check out that imposing shoulder line and the way we've matched up the checks...tres bon, if I say so myself.

The second route one might take is perhaps a seriously snazzy lounge suit in Mohair or perhaps a more modern take on a classic tweed.

For example, I recently made a 3 piece suit in a Super 120's light tan herringbone with a lilac windowpane check. It had a bright lilac lining, lilac coloured button holes, peak lapels, one button on the coat, a flat bottomed waistcoat and flat fronted trousers. Sounds a bit over the top but trust me when I say it looked awesome.

A trip to the races also means you can go a little bit crazy with accessories - trilby hats (see my last blog), cuff links, hankies, pocket watches, ties that are so bright and colourful they'd send a mole running for cover - it's all fair game and if you've got it, there's no better place to flaunt it.

A recommendation - if you are looking to treat your employees or clients to some corporate hospitality then speak to a good friend and client of mine, Robert Poutch who runs Imperial Corporate Events.

And finally a word or warning - take it easy on the sauce or you might end up like this guy - then again, what would you expect from a man who wears rubber soled shoes.

Hats off to days gone by

I was recently invited to the 40th birthday party of Big Al Matchett (pictured above and resplendent in velvet), dress code - "The Roaring 20's."

This was a wonderful era which I would love to have experienced. The horrors of the first World War had made many people realise that life was for living. It was hectic and hedonistic. I can just see myself and my harem of flappers dancing to jazz music and necking cocktails that were being served for the first time in London clubs.

Forget the Primrose Hill set of today - this was a time of glamour, style and elegance with stars like Cary Grant and Clark Gable, Marlene Dietrich and Katharine Hepburn the toast of Hollywood.

On the threads front, 'Oxford Bags' and 'Plus Fours' were born and whilst in the early nineteen twenties gents wore high buttoning single-breasted coats, these gave way to longer double-breasted styles, tightly waisted with side vents and wider lapels.

I must say I do love a cheeky double-breasted number. There is something very old school and dashing about the way the coat sweeps across the body. The buttons accentuate the drop between the chest and the waist, and even the sharply pointed peak lapels seem to add a certain caddish 'whose your daddy?' element to the whole ensemble. It is imposing, dignified and in many ways a gentleman's suit of armour. Perfect for approaching a pretty young gal, stroking ones tash and uttering the Terry Thomas line, "well hello!"



So, out of the wardrobe came my trusty "button two, show three" and one cravat later held nicely in place with a pearl tie pin and all I needed to complete the look was some quality head gear.

Perhaps one of the saddest things that has happened since the 1960's has been the demise of the hat. Gone are the days when an outfit wasn't complete without a bowler, trilby, homburg, or fedora, to top it off.

I can't explain it but the very act of pulling a trilby down over my forehead sent a wave of testosterone rushing to my bollocks. Worn by fast-talking gangsters and cigarette smoking hacks in black and white movies, perhaps for a second I became a modern day James Cagney.



Whatever the reason, wearing one made me feel great and I will definitely be sporting one during my next visit to the races. For those of you who are interested in purchasing one, I'd recommend a visit to James Lock and Co in London.

In fact...I'm about to head off for a long weekend to the Cote d'Azur. Perhaps I should treat myself to a Panama to go with my white linen suit. Ding Dong!

You're fired! Raef 'the gent' is spent...

I'll say it loud, and I'll say it proud - I love "The Apprentice."

Car crash telly it may be, but the dreadful people, their political manoeuvrings, the back-stabbing and fabulous editing have made it for me truly compulsive viewing.

Last nights 'firing' of Raef Bjayou is further testament to the sad truth that the days when gentlemanly behaviour was held in high regard by others is almost a thing of the past.

Initially I took Raef as a jumped up little squirt but from the beginning it was clear that here was a man who knew how to dress.

Hardy Amies said " a man should look as if he had bought his clothes with intelligence, put them on with care and then forgotten all about them" and in the case of Mr. Bjayou this was certainly the case.



His shirt and tie combinations always made a statement and whilst on the side of flamboyant were never vulgar. His suits were well constructed around the shoulders and chest, and a pocket handkerchief was always tucked into the out breast welt. But what stole it for me was the dressing gown - whilst the others staggered around in the morning in boxers and a grubby T-shirt, Raef sweeped about in a floor length number complete with white piping and most probably a silk cravat - Noel Coward would have been proud. His only downfall was that after a hard day's graft in the boardroom, he didn't pop upstairs and slip into a velvet smoking jacket with silk lapels (get one), churches slippers and silk pyjamas.

Yes, Raef is certainly dapper but what impressed me most about him as the show has gone on is the fact that under that polished exterior lies a nice guy and a true gentleman. He came to the defence of Sara Dhada whilst she was being bullied by the rest of the pack, treated others with respect and was ultimately gracious in defeat. He's the sort of chap who who would stand up when a women walks into the room, open doors for them, walk on the outside of the pavement and know how to hold his knife and fork properly.

The guys that remain irritate me beyond belief - Alex 'the snake' with his whining voice and Michael 'the good Jewish boy' who proudly states he is arrogant. These two need a smack round the head and a good shave. Dat's what I'm tawkin abaat!

So why are gentleman fewer and far between? Because there are fewer ladies.

The Ladette culture is truly upon us and the girls in this programme make my skin crawl. I like strong women and do not subscribe to a bygone era when a woman's place was in the home, however, these abominations take the biscuit. I fear that Claire, will win the day. Nicknamed "the rottweiler because of her ability to go after whatever she wants" I feel she is more akin to a vicious walrus. I have watched with horror those brown eyes sparkle as she's twisted the knife in the boardroom and shuddered at the look of smug satisfaction on her face when some credit has come her way. She is undeniably bright, confident and can certainly stand up for herself but in my eyes is, like ALL the other female contestants, totally lacking in any charm whatsoever.

Mark Twain said, "Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society." I agree with this to some degree but also believe "you can't polish a turd" and it's what lies underneath that is just as important.

Raef certainly looked the part but was lacking in other areas. So six candidates left and six days to go until my next fix of Sir Alan and his band of reprobates.

Oh, and congratulations to Manchester United!...which won't win me many friends!!

Getting Shirty

At last, our first proper sniff of the summer to come. My god it feels so good to have the sun's rays beating down on my dome-like forehead.

There is something truly wonderful about this time of year. Beers outside after work, the taste of that first steak on the barbie, young ladies in flouncy skirts and strappy little tops. Yes folks, as a nation there is a spring in our step and the world seems a better place. Sod the credit crunch and falling house prices, mother nature is here and the sap is well and truly rising.

Whilst most of my blogs are focused on the craft of bespoke tailoring I must ask all of you to help me in spreading the word to your fellow man regarding one of the most terrible and heinous crimes that the summer months can bring. The wearing of short sleeve shirts in the workplace.



I'm not talking about the trendy variety. You know, the crumpled linen numbers covered in obscure logos with little epaulettes on the shoulders - often worn by stubbly faced creatives in design agencies, usually with a pair of battered cargo shorts and a pair of havaianas flip flops. No, I'm talking about what we used to wear to junior school, along with grey flannel shorts and brown sandals with holes in the front.

The short sleeved work shirt is the work of the devil - cruelly forced upon traffic wardens and police officers as uniform, once acrylic jumpers and fluorescent anoraks are put away in moth balls until the autumn.



I can already hear whining arguments about how much cooler they are to wear than long sleeved shirts. I say, grow some balls and roll your sleeves up man! Where would be today if it wasn't for the brave souls who fought for this country in the deserts of Africa in itchy 18oz woolen battle dress? The very act of rolling them up says playtime is over and it's time to get to work, not run off to mummy and ask for money for ice-cream.

So there it is. I've made my point. I'm not the sort of person to point and make fun of people but you have to draw the line somewhere. If you do spot a pale, skinny armed offender in your midst, jot down "www.michelsberg.co.uk/blog" on a piece of paper and present it to him with a flourish. One day, he just might thank you for it.