BLOKE
the men's magazine like no other
BLOKE Contents Bonjour Monsieur
Tweeting Tailor
If you blink you could miss it. But this tiny shop near Pall Mall is a haven of style and elan.
How one man is combining the tailoring traditions of the past with the social media buzz of today to create a unique business.
Gentleman's Corner Before you fire off that email, take a moment and read up on communications etiquette for the 21st Century.
Behind the Welt
Reading Matter
Residing right in the heart of Northampton’s shoe-making tradition, Loake continues to impress.
As if The Bloke wasn’t reading enough for one man, we offer you some more reading delights.
Wax On, Wax Off Secreted away in London’s Park Lane is a man that is keeping the traditional shoe shine flag flying whilst adding his own modern twist.
Objects of Desire The Tesla is more than a car; it is an iPad…on wheels…and on steroids.
Man of the Hour You can keep your models and celebrities. For real style, you need a real Bloke.
BLOKE Leader It is embarrassing to launch a new magazine with an apology but we feel we must. For the issue you are about to read is roughly six months late. Unfortunately, our original publishing partner got cold feet about two days before we were due to hit the print button back in January and we have been treading water ever since. But, all good things come to he who waits. We came up with the concept of The Bloke having become increasingly frustrated by mass media’s refusal to cover fashion, style and interests of anyone over the age of about 35. We had grown tired of seeing anyone with a beard dismissed as (a) a hipster or (b) an ageing hippy. And we had long since grown weary of being told that a skeleton-cum-model or footballer with more tattoos than fashion sense is a new style icon. From those petty frustrations, The Bloke was born. The name of the magazine was inspired partly from the fact that “he’s a well-dressed bloke” is, perhaps, the highest compliment I have ever paid another man; and partly by the fact that this was the nickname given to my father by his father. But it goes beyond that. Within the pages that follow, you will find no celebrities, no models and no football players. You will find no bigname brands or ludicrous advertising campaigns featuring pentapeptides or chiselled men diving from rocky cliff faces. And you will find no scantily-clad models or D-list celebrities – This is the 21st Century – Deal with it. Instead, we have tried to bring you affordable and attainable products worn by and used by real men (and, for the record, REAL men to us are neither gay nor straight….they’re just men. They are Blokes). If and when we feature men, they will be just that – Fresh off the nearest demolition site, just back from the office, or juggling work and family life like the majority of men. So, sorry once again for the delay, and thanks for the patience of those that stood by us through what has been a prolonged and troublesome birth. We hope the pages that follow were worth the wait. The Bloke Editorial Mark Anthony - Mark Anthony Publicity markanthony@markanthonypublicity.co.uk 07973 456 166
Circulation Mark Anthony - Mark Anthony Publicity markanthony@markanthonypublicity.co.uk 07973 456 166
Advertising Sales Executive Business Development Ben Chambers ben@demolitionnews.com 01903 538432
Production, design & reproduction Barry Morgan - Down to a Fine Art barrymorgan2@hotmail.com 07539 259 737
General Enquiries 07973 456 166 Publisher Mark Anthony
Published by Bloke Publications 9 William Evans Road, Manor Park, Epsom KT19 7DF markanthony@markanthonypublicity.co.uk 07973 456 166
Bloke is published 6 times a year by Bloke Publications. The subscription rate is £60 per year. Subscription records are maintained at Bloke Publications 9 William Evans Road, Manor Park, Epsom KT19 7DF Articles and information contained in this publication are the copyright of Bloke Publications and may not be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publishers. The publishers cannot accept responsibility for loss of, or damage to, uncommissioned photographs or manuscripts.
BLOKE Object of Desire The Tweeting Tailor The Bloke meets Tweeting Tailor Adrian Barrows, an artisan for the Internet age.
Adrian Barrows home office looks, for all the world, like the headquarters of an advertising agency or search engine optimisation outfit.
But for all the modernist and futuristic trappings of the office, Barrows remains a man very much in touch with the Edwardian origins of his trade.
Barrows is clad in dress-down Friday casual combats and a t-shirt; his hair cropped Bondvillain short.
His attention to details speaks of a time before off-the-peg suiting.
The walls are pure white, unadorned, distraction-free. And on the desk sits a wide screen Apple computer that slowly but steadily feeds Twitter messages downwards like electronic cloth on a modernist loom. The minimalist and futuristic feel comes as no surprise, for Barrows is widely known in social media circles as the Tweeting Tailor. Indeed it is a combination of word of mouth and social media that led me to Barrows' office in the first place.
And when the consultationcum-interrogation comes to an end, he takes my measurements in imperial inches, not millimetres. Technology may have brought me here, but it is the trade heritage that led me to entrust the Tweeting Tailor with the impossible task of cladding me in a suit sharp enough to detract from the parlous state of the body beneath. HISTORY REPEATING Although my wardrobe contains several disposable high street suits, this is not my first journey down the bespoke road. My first journey was not an entirely happy experience and I am keen not to repeat previous mistakes.
For my 30th birthday, my wife - the long-suffering Mrs Bloke - paid for me to have a suit handmade to my own specifications. The resulting suit, a gorgeous single-breasted, grey pinstripe number, remains a mainstay of my wardrobe almost 20 years later; its classic lines seemingly untroubled by the passage of time and fashion. Looking at it now, however, I can see where I went wrong. The jacket pockets aren't quite right. Likewise, the cuffs might have been finished better. And, although I might be mistaken, I don't recall even being consulted on the colour of the lining. Throughout the consultation, measure, fit and finish of that suit, my tailor insisted on calling me Sir even after I had asked him to use my first name. At the time, this struck me as misplaced deference. With the benefit of hindsight, I now see it as stand-offishness; an unspoken reticence to connect and interact.
BLOKE Perhaps that's why I ended up with a suit made from heavy cloth and equally heavy lining that is really only appropriate when the name of the month ends in "uary". This time will be different. I arrive armed with clear ideas on how my suit is to look. The width of the lapels and trouser bottoms is clear in my mind, as are my desire for surgeon's cuffs, straight pockets, contrasting lining, side vents and no break in the trousers. But before the discussion comes the analysis. SUBTLE INTERROGATION Adrian Barrows has an easyto-like personality, a quick sense of humour and an easy conversation style coloured by a West Midlands accent. Almost an hour has passed before we even mention the word suit. In that time, I have learnt about his love of Cornwall by caravan holidays and the fact that one of his dogs is about to undergo hydrotherapy for a "wobbly knee".
He speaks freely about his clients - Premiership footballers, demolition men, Paralympians and city whizz kids - without naming any of them.
For all I know, he has taken a client-tailor oath to ensure that the secrets of their inside leg measurements are never leaked to the tabloid press. But the giving of information is far outweighed by the gathering.
Having taken the road marked conservative the last time a tailor took my measurements, I arrived with visions of fluorescent pink linings, peak lapels and unique pockets fluttering through my head. But now, seeing the sheer breadth of cloths on offer, I am overwhelmed by the need for a suit for all seasons; a suit that will stand out in a crowd while not being remarkable enough to make it a one-wear pony. In the end, I opt for a fine navy blue cloth and pale blue lining. Long before we have even looked at a cloth swatch, Barrows has extracted details of my working and personal life, the better to judge my precise clothing needs. He knows that I spend a lot of time in the car and on trains; he knows that my suit needs to be equally at home in the boardroom, a nightclub, or a family wedding; he knows that I have a couple of tattoos that are positioned to be visible only to Mrs Bloke and the mirror. All of this informs his guidance when we start to discuss the suit itself.
LOPSIDED STANCE The measuring process is precise and unobtrusive but what is more telling is the measuring that takes place after he has set down his tape measure. He eyes me up and down, looking for (and, sadly, finding) any lop-sidedness in my stance; he quickly identifies the fact that I carry a bulky iPhone in my trouser pocket; and homes in on my love of cufflinks. All of this is taken into account in a leatherbound notebook. We then move on to the subject of cloth.
But the suit will ultimately carry my personal stamp. The surgeon’s cuffs – all the better to show off those cufflinks my dear – are put on the to-do list, along with flat front and fishtail back of the trousers and the contrasting buttonhole. All of this, and much, much more, goes into Barrows’ notebook. How that will be transferred through his brain via a sewing machine and into a wearable suit of clothes remains to be seen. To be continued…
BLOKE Plates of Meat Wax on, Wax off The Bloke visits the London Hilton on Park Lane to meet Steven Skippen, one of the last true practitioners of a dying art.
Well forget that. While that approach might still be found on the streets of New York and in Hollywood movies, the modern shoeshine man is a very different animal. Steven Skippen is dressed from head to toe in Johnny Cash black complete with waistcoat bearing his Shoeshine UK logo that lends him the air of a misplaced and sponsored snooker player. He doesn’t wear a hat or braces, he is sporting a decent growth of designer stubble, and his patter is more West End hotel discreet than inyour-face-Manhattan-streetcorner. This is shoeshine as service, not entertainment. WORKING CLASS ETHOS
Mention the word shoeshine and most people’s mind will conjure an image of fasttalking street hustlers clad in braces and flat caps, their
patter and repartee as much a part of their trade as their ability to put a sheen on the footwear of passing strangers.
I have never had my shoes shined before, save for a time when a kid of about 12 insisted on shining my trainers on a Bourbon Street corner in New Orleans.
Mere minutes into my first ever shoeshine, the leather seat feels like it was made to accommodate my rear; and Steven Skippen feels like my new best friend; admittedly a new best friend who is cradling my brogue booted feet. My father was a chauffeur for whom shoe polishing was both Sunday night ritual and pre-work therapy, a genetic trait that I inherited without even noticing. Perhaps that working class ethos is also to blame for my reticence to having my shoes shined by someone else – I have just never felt like I have earned the right to look down upon another man while he buffs shoes that I am too lazy and self-important to shine myself. Skippen has tackled this issue head on. While traditional shoeshiners place their customers on a pedestal, Skippen’s set-up places him virtually eye-to-eye with his clients, shifting the feeling from one of master and servant to something more akin to buying a drink at a bar.
THE POWER OF THE THUMB
And while he is endlessly polite, his conversation is less deferential and more “doing anything nice this weekend” barber shop banter.
The first thing you notice about Skippen’s approach to shoeshining is the lack of equipment.
All of this, combined with our mutual love of shoes and the shoeshiners’ art, quickly puts me at my ease.
Oh sure, he has brushes of every size, shape and colour laid out neatly on the floor beside him.
BLOKE
But for the duration of my shine, they remain resolutely in their rightful place on the floor while Skippen adorns my shoes with layer after layer of conditioner, wax and polish using nothing more technical than his thumb. “A brush is fine for removing dust and dirt, but the secret to a good shine and to the care of the shoe is to ensure that the wax penetrates the leather,” he explains.
“The heat from my thumb together with the moisture in my fingers effectively works like a traditional spit and polish, ensuring the wax penetrates the leather for a deep, long-lasting shine.” Bootlaces removed, Skippen works his way across the entire upper of my boots; not a square inch of leather goes untouched by his ever-busy thumb.
And just when you think it’s time for that final, theatrical buffing flourish, he reaches for yet another canister or container of fluid with which to adorn and anoint my shoes in something akin to a deep tissue massage for footwear. By the time he has finished applying, reapplying and applying lotions and potions, my boots look parade-ground ready to my untrained eye. But Skippen has one more treat in store. Having performed something akin to reflexology on my tan boots, he then ups the fetish ante by reaching for a pair of the women’s tights he uses for the final buffing. And even here, the style is all his own.
There is no tow-handed sawing action; this is more of a caress to tease every last ounce of shine from the leather. Admittedly, the boots are less than six months old. But as I emerge into the Park Lane sunshine once more, they seem to glow, the toecaps seemingly shellacked. And just before I descend into the underpass, my boots lighting my way, I am sure I saw a woman squint, dazzled by the glare from my footwear. Seriously, if you have feet, if you have a pair of shoes worthy of the attention, and if you find yourself in London, you owe it to your footwear to pay Skippen a visit.
BLOKE Stuff Bonjour The Bloke visited the recently-opened Monsieur London outlet in Royal Opera House Arcade in West London. He returned sporting a look of pained covetousness.
The hinterlands between London's Lower Regent Street and Pall Mall are not a regular haunt for the bloke about town or closet dandy, falling as it does in the shadow of the Institute of Directors, a monument to grey suited conformity. But, thanks to the opening of Monsieur London's new outlet at the end of the nearby Royal Opera Arcade, this previously barren style wasteland has been at least partially transformed into a haven of style and French panache.
For while the shop is smaller than some changing rooms I have rattled about in, it manages to cram in pretty much 360 degrees of covetable items. Seriously, if you were spun around in the store with your eyes closed and then forced to purchase the first item your eyes alighted upon, chances are you'd still leave happy. ( This probably works best, however, if you share The Bloke’s love of luxury ties, hats and scarves).
Monsieur ARTISTIC ABANDON Monsieur London has very smartly turned the online/bricks and mortar retail experience on its head. The company comes from an online background and, save for a few high profile pop-ups in London and Paris in the past, this is its first static shop. And it’s a mini triumph. The tiny shop is styled like the Parisian apartment we all secretly covet. Polished wood flooring, random and eclectic furniture, and wall-to-wall wearables strewn about with artistic abandon. And the reason it works so well – attentive French-born staff aside – is that you get to touch and feel the quality of the merchandise; a pleasure still impossible from an online shopping experience. Online, the company’s Olderfleet blue tie looks just like any navy blue tie on offer from countless on and offline retailers.
But when you get to hold it, you realise that the 100% Grenadine silk makes this a tie apart, with a weight and thickness that would make a four-in-hand knot every bit as imposing and stylish as an expertly-tied Windsor. This is the sort of tie you could wear to work, formally and informally and yearround, and no-one would mind. The felt hats, similarly, need to be tried and caressed to understand just why they should be a part of your wardrobe.
BLOKE IF THE GLOVE FITS... The belts, which can be made to measure, are sourced here in the UK – from that bastion of the leatherman’s trade, Walthamstow – and are of the type worn by those irritatingly stylish French, Spanish and Italian gents that seem to consume flair for breakfast. And the gloves! Ah, the gloves. I have a personal hang-up about men’s gloves. Sourced from the point in France that is just an Ole from the Spanish border where traditional hat making still thrives, these hats come in just about every hue you can imagine on the “practical to statement” scale. And while the bottle green number might only get an outing, perhaps, once in a year, it would be a truly memorable outing. Incidentally, this is the first time that a shop assistant under the age of 40 has ever correctly worked out my hat size with nothing more than a glance at my over-sized noggin. These garcons know their apples.
While women’s gloves are fitted and available in a veritable rainbow of colours and textures, men’s gloves generally come in black and the type of brown that accessorises nothing aside from soil and which have seemingly been stolen from a passing wicket keeper. The gloves on offer at Monsieur London are a different beast altogether. The Bragelonne plum formal gloves hark back to an Edwardian idyll in which gloves were held as well as worn, such was their luxury and status.
Better still are the Treville grey racing-style gloves retail at a London-reasonable £134 but are likely to cost you considerably more as you’ll almost certainly want a convertible sports car to pair them with. All the gloves are already fitted but if you want them REALLY fitted, the company will shortly be offering a custom-fit option on its glove range based upon a pair of handprints.
All in all, Monsieur London is the sort of shop in which you could drop a monkey (that’s spend £500 to those unfortunate enough to have been born outside London), leave with nothing more than a small bag of accessories, and be quite happy about it. The Bloke says: Yes,you can buy all this stuff (and more) on line at http://en.monsieurlondon.com. But do yourself a favour and go stroke the goods in person.
BLOKE Plates of Meat Behind the Welt The Bloke visited the Northampton factory of shoemaker Loake to find a company rooted in tradition but with its future very much in tune with the needs of the modern gentleman.
Imagine being shown around Upton Park by Bobby Moore (for this to work, you probably need to be a West Ham fan with a belief in the afterlife). Or imagine being invited to “jam� with Jack White; or taking boxing lessons from Muhammad Ali when he still answered to the name Cassius Clay.
Gordon Underwood, final examiner at Loake Bros.
Photo John Robinson
Well that is pretty much the feeling I experienced when I was invited for a tour of the famous Loake factory in Kettering under the tutelage of Andrew Loake; a fourth generation shoemaker and (as it transpired) closet guitar aficionado. Loake admits that the factory rarely sees visitors other than retailers and overseas dealers arriving to look over the new season’s show line or to haggle over prices. But he quickly warmed to the task, combining the guided tour of the factory with an insight into the shoemakers’ art and a history lesson on a quintessentially English company.
How English, you say?
STITCHED UP
As English as a country garden.
For all my love of my personal shoes of choice, I had never really given too much thought about the painstaking work that goes into their manufacture.
As English as rainy summers, xenophobia and sarcasm. If this boot could speak, it would sound like Terry Thomas and its first words would be “I say.” If this boot were a meal, it would be roast beef served with lashings of English mustard. If this boot landed in a foreign country, it would promptly stick a flag in it and claim it for the Queen.
I didn’t realise, for example, that each pair takes roughly eight weeks to produce. Nor did I realise that insect bites, veins and other remnants of the leather’s previous life as a cow’s overcoat might influence how (or even whether) a shoe is made. What sets Loake shoes apart from lesser footwear that graces the high street is the Goodyear welted design that has been an intrinsic part of the Loake range for some 130 years.
BLOKE Perhaps surprisingly, the Goodyear Welt has nothing to do with tyres. The “welt” is, in fact, a strip of leather that is sewn around the bottom edge of a shoe. This stitching (the welt seam) attaches the welt to both the insole and the upper of the shoe. The welt is folded out to form a point of attachment for the outer sole. The outer sole is sewn to the welt, with a heavy-duty lock-stitch seam. What does all this mean to the wearer? Simply, it means that the stitching runs around the outside of the sole rather than piercing the part under the foot, maximising the sole’s water-resistance and ensuring that your feet remain as dry as a camel’s humour. REASSURINGLY EXPENSIVE My lasting impression of the factory, however, was that I had been allowed a sneak peek behind the curtain and a glimpse of the past: a past where quality outweighed quantity; where fashion was transient while style was permanent.
According to Andrew Loake, an average pair of men’s shoes today costs around £45. Loake is spending that much on raw materials alone; and that’s before the craftsmen, artisans and elves have weaved their magic. Yes, Loake shoes are more expensive. And for good reason. They are an investment; one that – with the correct care – could last you 20 or even 30 years.
If you are the type of man that strives to be “cool”, the Loake range may not be for you. If, however, you appreciate quality and understand style, then there is no better destination for your footwear spend. Loake specialises in shoes that your father or even grandfather might have worn. And, until Rolls Royce supplies its cars with flared arches or the Queen delivers her Christmas Day speech as a gangster rap, that – frankly - is precisely as it should be.
BLOKE Object of Desire It’s Electrifying! The Bloke gets behind the wheel of a Tesla Model S electric supercar and is left with a serious case of car envy and a smidgeon of environmental smugness.
Let’s face it. Just about every man with a fully functioning set of testicles and an indifference towards show tunes and the career of Lady Gaga secretly craves a supercar. Sure they’re scarily impractical and buttclenchingly expensive but they’re also a statement; a statement that beats its chest and proclaims “I am man, hear me roar”.
Nobody tunes in to Top Gear to check out the ashtray styling features of the new Suzuki Liana; they tune in to see Clarkson and his cohorts driving supercars sideways around corners, shredding tyres and punching a Ferrari-shaped hole in the ozone layer.
However, just recently, the desirability of supercars has faced a dual threat. On the one hand are the environmentalists that look upon the ownership of a car developing more than 75 horsepower as some dolphinbludgeoning, neo-Fascist threat to global harmony. On the other are women who advertising moguls have led us to believe are struck down with involuntary nudity and lust by the sight of a prancing horse logo but who, in fact, regularly dismiss these engineering marvels as a “penis extension”.
SO FAR, SO SUPERCAR But now from the supercar backwater that is the United States of America comes a new breed of car that will appeal equally to macho men, tree-hugging environmentalists and bra-burning feminists alike. Totally electric-powered – there’s none of that hybrid nonsense here – the Tesla Model S boasts a level of performance to make seasoned Ferrari engineers weep into their spaghetti vongole.
BLOKE In disconcerting silence, the Tesla Model S zips from 0 to 60 mph in just 4.2 seconds before powering to a top speed of somewhere North of 200 mph in a smooth, gearchangeless surge. So far, so supercar; but the power and performance of the Model S is the tip of a gamechanging iceberg that will redefine the car. For one thing, there’s the battery. Guaranteed for eight years, the lithium power cell affords the supercar with a range of 600 regular driving miles on a single charge.
Even when driven Clarksonstyle, owners have sufficient juice to drive from London to Birmingham and back without the inconvenience of recharging. When a recharge is required, the battery shifts from empty to half full in under 30 minutes thanks to the Tesla supercharger system. And that “fuel” comes free of charge at the majority of UK public charging stations. That’s the tree-huggers happy then. So what about the ladies? Well, for one thing, there’s no engine in the Tesla and no engine means not one but two boots in which to store shoes, make-up, hair and beauty products and salad.
Despite the supercar performance credentials, the Tesla is also a family car, switching from five to seven seats with an ingenious design that folds two additional seats from beneath the rear boot space. If the men manage to wrestle the keys from the ladies’ grasp, there is sufficient room in the rear boot for a full set of golf bats, the front boot better suited to storing the argyle sweaters and pimp trousers that are a prerequisite to a good walk spoiled.
If the thought of driving an iPad leaves you cold (and if it does, you need to get back to your cave painting), then you seriously need to give this a try. Inside the car itself, the ladies can content themselves by checking their emails, surfing the web and buying more shoes on Asos via the 17 inch touchscreen display that doubles as a sat nav and reversing camera display and system diagnostic and control panel. IPAD ON WHEELS But to concentrate on the fixtures and fittings of the Tesla Model S is like discussing the leg room in a Stealth Bomber.
For the Model S is WAY beyond a car. It is a design and engineering marvel; it is an iPad on wheels and on steroids; it is the future right now.
The lack of engine and gearbox has also left room for more innovation than you can shake a large, expensive stick at. In addition to ensuring you can find the nearest golf course and that you don’t back into the lesser car parked behind you, that huge central display is also home to a control system swiped straight from the bridge of the Starship Enterprise (the Next Generation one; not the cardboard and gaffer tape 1960s version).
BLOKE But practicality is for Mondeo drivers. It is the clever quirks of the Tesla system that really mark it as unique. That control hub is constantly beaming system data back to Tesla’s UK headquarters in West Drayton, allowing the boffins to monitor performance, upgrade system software, and carry out genuine system fixes in the event of a failure. (As an example, customers familiar with driving a standard automatic car called for a “creep” mode that would make the car move slowly when the drive gear was engaged. That creep mode was added remotely.) And that level of electronic innovation extends to the driver too. Each car comes with an iPhone/Android app that allows the owner to interrogate the system’s controls, check “fuel” consumption.
Using the app, you can precool or pre-warm the car’s interior to ensure that it is the correct temperature long before you climb behind the wheel. You can also pre-heat the seats too if you’re that way inclined. When you get back to Heathrow having just been to Zurich to visit your money, you can use the app to make your car easier to find, remotely flashing the lights or honking the horn.
Oh, and the “key” - which never does anything as mundane as being pushed into the ignition - is shaped like the car itself and uses proximity sensors to extend the door handles when the driver approaches to grant access to the gorgeous interior. Add to that the fact that it carries no taxable benefit in kind – meaning that the kindly George Osborne is effectively paying roughly a third of the purchase cost of the car – and that it is congestion zone exempt, and this is a supercar that is super in more ways than one.
If you fancy driving a Tesla supercar but have left the required £100,000 in your other jacket, there is a solution. Evision is the appropriately-named brainchild of Hugh Edeleanu, the man behind plant hire giant H.E. Services whose diggers seem to be an almost permanent fixture on the UK’s highways and byways. The new company has invested in a fleet of Tesla Model S supercars that are now available for long and short term self-drive hire or as part of a chauffeur service. The fleet is operated from a new outlet in Rochester, Kent, overlooking Edeleanu’s H.E. Services operations. While they’re off hire, the fleet is recharged from an impressive solar powered network at the Evision and H.E. Services headquarters that generates almost half a megawatt of clean, green power. “People are increasingly looking to hire premium cars for both business and leisure and we’re excited to be the UK’s first to offer the Tesla Model S in both the rental and chauffeur markets,” says Edeleanu. “Whether for business or pleasure, a city break, long weekend or a longer period, it’s the perfect choice for those looking for a luxury supercar experience that literally won’t cost the earth!”
BLOKE Stuff – Gentleman’s Corner Email Etiquette Text speak; one line; bad grammar; no grammar; no names; no signature, and the list goes on and on. These are only some of the things that enter my email inbox on a daily basis and I get frustrated and a little saddened.
Let’s put it in context, I love technology. Currently I am writing this on a tablet, I was an early adopter of the mobile phone and had an email account as soon as I could. Yet, I remember typing letters on a typewriter and waiting a full week for the post to exchange letters between parties. Etiquette is one of those things that changes through the years, but is underpinned by fundamental rules. This is also very true of email; although it needs to move with the times and adapt to the world today, we also need to remember the fundamental rules of communication. Electronic Mail is at its core purely a digital version of a paper letter. We frequently forget that it has similar elements to its paper cousin and therefore also has the same etiquette.
Here is our short guide to writing Emails for Gentleman. Let’s start at the beginning, with the address. An email address is certainly not the same as a person’s physical address, but it still directs your missive to the right person. Take the time to make sure that you are sending the email to the correct person or group of people, be careful with those ‘reply all’ buttons. In this day and age people often have both work and private emails and you should make sure you are sending it to the correct address, and also that you are sending from your own correct address, whether it be personal or business. One of the significant but positive differences between paper and digital is the email’s Subject Line.
This line of information gives the recipient a clear indication of the type of email it is and what it might contain. In general, keep it simple, concise and informative. In traditional letter writing, the greetings (or salutations, to give them their official title) are exceptionally simple. You start with ‘Dear XXX’ and follow this either with: their First Name, if you are friends or well known to you; their title (e.g. Mr/Mrs) and their Surname, if they are business related or unknown; or ‘Dear Sir/Madam’, if they are not known to you at all, even by name. This should be the same for email. Unfortunately, we now think that ‘Hi’ is an acceptable greeting no matter who you are writing to, or how well you know them. The bulk of an email’s content should be written like a letter. Unless you are dropping a missive to a good friend, you should use correct language. No text speak, check the spelling, check the grammar and, if needs be, read it out loud to double check; something that I do frequently.
One of the most frequent reasons to email people is to make an introduction. If that is the case, make sure you state that in the subject of the email, and in the bulk of the email give the reasons for introducing each of the people and repeat their contact details. When you finish your email and you are signing off, remember to do so correctly or with a flourish. It shows that the email has ended. If it is formal, end with ‘Yours Sincerely’. If that is not the case, sign off with a phrase, personally I always use ‘Kindest Regards’ but you can find your own. Don’t forget the email signature, which acts in the same fashion as an Address Header on a physical letter. Make sure it has all the relevant content and is up to date.
One small tip - if you are writing emails that require thought or need to be carefully worded, compose the email before adding the recipient's email. Only when you have checked and rechecked the email, should you add the email address. This will stop you sending in haste or by mistake. As you can see, we are quite passionate about proper email etiquette, it makes a good impression and enables you to stand out from the crowd. We will look forward to receiving a carefully written email from you in the future.
Henry Gentleman is the personification of The Perfect Gentleman. He and the rest of the PG team are there to bring about a more respectful, stylish & gentlemanly world. Our first book 'Becoming the Perfect Gentleman' is out now and others in the series are due soon. We also run life skills courses in business, romance and more. Join us at www.theperfectgentleman.tv
BLOKE Stuff – Reading Matter The sublime to I am Dandy makes for a superb coffee table discussion point. But some of the dandies featured appear to have spent rather too long in the dressing-up chest. The Bloke reports.
“If people turn to look at you on the street, you are not well dressed.” Beau Brummel
Beau Brummel - gentleman, bon viveur and originator of what we today consider fine tailoring – once said that “if people turn to look at you on the street, you are not well dressed.” I was reminded of this truism whilst browsing through the luxurious pages of “I am Dandy – The Return of the Elegant Gentleman” by Nathaniel Adams and Rose Callahan.
For while the authors have gathered together some incredibly well-dressed chaps in stunning full page photographs that are worth the cost price alone, they have also assembled a number of individuals whose flamboyance has strayed into “what are you thinking” territory. For every tweed or pinstripewearing chap with a wardrobe to die for, there is another for whom elegance has given way to affectation; every manabout-town is matched by a kaftan-favouring sartorial road crash; every nod towards sprezzatura met with the equal and opposite force of a top-hatted escapee from the wardrobe department of the local amateur dramatic society.
the ridiculous
But then that is rather missing the point of the book. Well researched and beautifully photographed, this a coffee table conversation starter and look-book, not a how to guide.
And while it sheds no real light on the reason for the assembled gentlemen’s sartorial leanings and is, perhaps, a little too focused on those with the disposable income to fuel their insatiable clothing addictions, it is a book I am proud to own‌
even if it is to serve as a reminder that sometimes, just sometimes, too much really IS too much.
BLOKE Stuff – Reading Matter Turning back the “The hardest job kids face today is learning good manners without seeing any.” Fred Astaire
And, overall, it makes a pretty good case.
clock The Bloke gets his paws on the new Becoming the Perfect Gentleman book and finds himself strangely torn. I bought a copy of Becoming the Perfect Gentleman by Zach Falconer-Barfield and Nic Wing partly because I couldn’t blag one – this magazine didn’t even exist at the time – and also because I was half intrigued and half disappointed that such a book should even exist in this modern “every man for himself” age. The concept of the gentleman speaks to a bygone age of chivalry and derring-do. But, as the modernist front cover and sections on digital etiquette make perfectly clear, this book aims to reclaim the term gentleman from the lavatory door and restore its former meaning for the 21st Century.
I concurred almost entirely with its suggested list of the 14 essential wardrobe items (although I have an irrational distrust of reversible belts) and upon its attention to things such as oral hygiene as part of a gentleman’s daily grooming regime. I would have liked more on the history of the gentleman but that’s purely because I have a personal fondness for tales of the fops and dandies of yesteryear. I never read the Romantic Gentleman section – I fear I am a lost cause - and have also ensured that Mrs Bloke never gets to see it lest she realise how much she has been short-changed over the past 25 years of marriage, but I am sure the advice contained therein is both entertaining and useful. The regular and insightful “Gentleman’s Hints” make this an ideal book to dip into. While I am sure that etiquette would dictate that no gentleman would ever read whilst “on the throne”, these bullet-point style hints make for ideal “bathroom perusal”.
All in all then, a book I would recommend and pass on to friends. So why do I find myself quite so torn? Becoming the Perfect Gentleman is designed to showcase, reinvigorate, reintroduce and reinforce skills that were considered the norm until relatively recently, certainly in my lifetime; skills that would have been passed from father to son; traits and standards that would have been absorbed by osmosis over years and decades. This book then is The Great British Bake-Off in literary form. That such a book is required in today’s world is a damning indictment on the decline of manners and civility in modern society. That the authors and publishers believe that the standards and virtues extolled in this book are worthy of protection and resurrection speaks to the resilience of what is right; and it should be required reading for anyone that believes baseball caps and tracksuits have a place outside the sporting arena.
BLOKE Stuff Man of the Hour In honour of our unrequited love of Twitter, in each edition we will bring you a Tweet-style interview with a notable BLOKE.
Name? Pete Murphy Age? Let’s just say the wrong side of fifty! Location? NorthWest Occupation? A bit of this and a bit of that. Style Icon? I like the Ricki Hall look, if only I could grow a beard like his Favourite gadget/device? Not really a big gadget fan but couldn’t be without my HTC smartphone. Favourite book or film? Hmmm, so many, think you’ll have to leave that one with me. Dream car? Any Aston Martin or Ferrari, I'm not greedy! Dream holiday destination? I've always dreamed of going to Australia, my dreams will be realised in November Do you have a daily grooming regime? Yeah, I think we all have to some degree, gotta be ready to meet the world! How much do you spend on grooming products each month? That varies month to month, not too much though.
How much do you spend on clothes each month? Again that would depend if there is a holiday or special occasion coming up. Do you have a favourite clothing brand? Not really, I go for a look not necessarily a label. But I like a bargain so if I see any McQueen in the sale……. Do you have a favourite grooming products brand? I have many brands, I like to try anything new. Lush have just introduced a moustache wax and a face/beard wash so I’m trying that. How often do you get your hair cut? Every four weeks, it’s my treat to myself. Who cuts your hair? Inky Steve at BarberBarber UK in Manchester or Liverpool Favourite item of clothing? Loads of favourites, I’ve got some cool tees and vests from CoolBeardBroCo. Most expensive item of clothing you own? Probably my shoes, Grenson or Jeffery West. Most ridiculous item of clothing ever purchased? Ha Ha, far too many to mention here!! What clothing item in the world would you most like to own? Not sure, something iconic so I could wear it once and then get it on Ebay!! What grooming product could you not live without? A tossup between my hair gel or my tache wax. What, in your opinion, is the greatest fashion crime? It’s got to be socks with sandals, argghhh! If you could have anyone’s wardrobe, whose would it be? A combination of Ricki Hall, David Gandy and David Beckham. The best of casual and smart casual. Who, in your opinion, is the world’s best-dressed man? Any of the above, depending on the occasion.