I arrived with only a few minutes to spare to see a production of Candide at the ENO recently and, aware that the show would last more than three hours, dashed to the Gents. As the final bell rang from above, I struggled clumsily with the button-fly on my trousers, dashed up the stairs and flopped into my seat with only a second to spare. Moments later, my companion, not entirely impressed, pointed out that two of the buttons were still undone. This wasn’t a good look.
I have never understood the point of a button-fly: they are always fiddly, the buttons are prone to fall off, and they are just an added complication that entails having to spend longer at the urinal than you would perhaps prefer. And, with navy cotton trousers in particular, the fly area can be prone to unsightly stains caused by hands trying to do up buttons while tainted with sweat, unguent or newsprint.
Yet more and more ready-to-wear trousers now feature a button-fly because, one suspects, the designers feel it gives them a more bespoke air. While we increasingly like to think that something we are spending money on has provenance and craftsmanship as well as functionality, there is a reason why the invention of the zip, at the end of the 19th century, was welcomed with open arms (and flies).
Richard James, one of Savile Row’s most fashionable tailors, never uses button-flies on tailor-made or bespoke suits (unless requested to do so). He points out that since fabrics worn today are much lighter than before, the button-fly is impractical as well as outmoded. “If the motor industry was like the fashion one, we’d all still be driving Ford Model Ts,” says James. “There are some elements of dressing the fashion industry is loath to let go of. There is a lot of nostalgia: zips were part of the mass-manufacturing revolution and some feel that a zip-fly denotes cheapness.”
It is small yet troublesome details such as this that can bother us men; much more so than what appears on the designer catwalks twice a year. I’ve just returned from the men’s wear shows in Milan, where pyjamas for daywear were revealed as a big trend for next summer. Frankly, I’m unlikely to lose any sleep wondering whether, in mornings to come, I should just put a blazer on over my nightwear and head straight to the office. It simply isn’t gonna happen.
No, a far more reliable place to discover what’s happening in the men’s wear world and, indeed, the wider world, is your tailor. While being measured for a new suit last week at Brioni, on London’s Bruton Street, I asked the manager, Christian Adam, if he had noticed any sign of credit crunch: here you would expect to pay between £2,000 and £5,000 for an off-the-peg suit.
While the beginning of the year was sluggish, and they were a little concerned, Adam admitted, the last three months had been ebullient and more than made up for the slow start. And had there been any shift in the clientele? After all, in the heart of Mayfair, Brioni is surrounded by hedge funders who are not only happier in jeans but have seen their bank balances take a dive. “Actually, the main difference we’ve seen is that the Russians are less visible and we’ve had a sharp increase in Arab customers,” said Adam. It kind of makes sense: the Russians are too busy poisoning each other to have time for a suit fitting and the sharp rise in oil prices is obviously benefiting the vendors.
In spite of having had no requests for pyjama suiting as yet, Brioni has seen a shift in styles recently: requests for the three-button suit are diminishing while two-button suits (with a slightly larger lapel) are on the rise; and there’s more demand for slim, double-breasted suits.
“And would you like a zip- or a button-fly?” interrupts Donato, the tailor who has been studiously taking my measurements. A zip please, I reply. “The right decision,” agrees Adam. I, and my crotch, are in safe hands.
Jeremy Langmead is the editor of Esquire
Vanessa Friedman is away. Next week’s column will be by designer Anya Hindmarch
