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Q and Answer: What is the meaning of numbered fabrics?

An anonymous reader asks: Would you briefly explain the meaning of numbered fabrics (like super 150’s, 120’s, etc)? I’ve never seen a good article on this. Maybe you could point one out to me. Thanks very much!

Jesse has a knack for answering questions well and succinctly. I don’t have that knack, but will give you the best answer I can. I’ll take you through the history of Super wools, which I think is a fascinating story, as well as what it practically means for you. If you want the short answer, just skip to the takeaway section.  

The History of Super Wools

The story behind “Super wools” is an incredible tale of how early periods of the global economy affected men’s clothing. 

In 1789, King Charles IV of Spain gave two rams and four ewes to Colonel Gordon of the Dutch East India Company, who in turn brought them to South Africa. Six years later, Colonel Gordon died and the original six animals had by then become 26. His wife sold the flock to an enterprising British immigrant in Australia who would then use these animals to found the multi-billion wool industry in Australia today. Most of the middle- to high-end suits in the market these days use Australian wool, which means much of the tailored menswear industry can be traced back to the six animals that King Charles IV of Spain originally gave away as a gift. 

However, that’s not the story of Super wools just yet; it’s only the background. Australia doesn’t weave wool, it only grows it. Once the wool has been shorn from sheep in Australia, it is typically sent off to Yorkshire, England (more specifically Huddersfield) to be spun into yarn, and this yarn is then woven into cloth. The innovation of “Supers” comes from this Yorkshire town, Huddersfield. 

The traditional way of grading the quality of wool yarn in Huddersfield was to see how much could be spun out of one pound of raw wool. The finer the fibers, the most spools - or “hanks - could be filled. Thus, if a wool was “70s,” it meant that a pound of raw wool would yield 70 hanks. Not only would finer yarn give more hanks, but it also meant that it was softer and silkier to the touch. 

For a many centuries, 60s wool was considered the best in the world. Through selective breeding, however, Australians were able to produce new generations of sheep with finer fleeces. This was the advent of 70s and 80s wool. Consumers at this point still weren’t aware of these distinctions, but people in the trade became obsessed with getting the first 100-count wool.

When it was finally achieved in the 1960s, Joseph Lumb & Sons and H. Lesser, two British companies, decided to market the suitings as “Lumb’s Huddersfield Super 100s.” Now, this is a completely arbitrary distinction. There’s nothing inherently more monumental about breaking the barrier between 90s and 100s than 80s to 90s. It just feels more monumental because our ten-count digit system adds another digit once we reach 100. The marketing of “Super wools” however really took off in Japan, where a few Savile Row tailors had outposts. The idea of a wool being “Super” conveyed that this stuff was the best. It made such an impression that early Japanese and Middle Eastern customers would buy bolts of this “super cloth” and give them as gifts. 

The evolution of the Italian menswear industry at the time also affected the wool industry. After the war, Italy’s ready-to-wear menswear industry really took off. I’ve written a bit about the history of Italy’s most important brands, and if you read through my articles, you’ll notice how many of them went global after the war. These Italian firms heavily marketed their suits as being made of “Super wools.” It was, in a way, to help distinguish themselves as a “luxury” brand on the international market. 

This market reaction from Japan and Italy, coupled with the improvements in loom technology in England and breeding practices in Australia drove the development of Super wools to a point where we’re now somewhere in the mid 200s. Quite a feat given that Mother Nature was only able to develop “60s wool” herself. 

So What Does it Mean for You? The Orthodox View

The simple story here is that the higher the number given to the wool, the softer and silkier to the touch it will be. However, many say that the fineness of the wool means that it will break down faster. As you wear your Super wools, they’ll tend to get shinier in areas that get more stress or wear - like say the seat of your pants. Sometimes it will even wear straight through. It’s a “higher end” wool, but in this case, you trade short term luxury for long term durability. For customers who have a lot of money, this may not be really a big deal, and the tradeoff for luxury may be more valued. If you’ve ever handled a Super 120s and Super 200s, you’ll be impressed with how soft the higher count suiting feels against the skin. 

The other advantage of the higher count Super wools is that the the finer yards will allow weavers to get more intricate colors and designs into the fabric. Imagine then a customer going into a store - stroking and gazing at the soft, beautiful cloth, and being told that this was a “Super wool.” Who can resist? 

The More Nuanced View of Super Wools

That’s the simple orthodoxy - super wools are more luxurious, but aren’t as durable. There’s a much more nuanced and sophisticated understanding, however. 

First, remember that the way we measure wool comes from a centuries old practice that wasn’t particularly sophisticated. It wasn’t a very precise measure of fineness and to the degree it even did that job well, it only measured one aspect. There is more to the quality of wool than it’s thickness, however. For example, there is the length of the fiber. The longer the better, as it will be less likely to break. There is also the crimp, as a waviness to the wool will give it resilience; its consistency in the batch; the amount of natural oils in the fibers; how well its woven; so on and so forth. This point was very well proven in this article by Jeffery Diduch, one of the best sartorial minds around. In it, Diduch shows an old bespoke piece made of Super 150s wool. The lining has been worn straight through, but the wool is in near perfect condition. The suiting is clearly high quality and can’t be reduced to just a number. 

Second, there is the issue of whether the numbers are even correctly reported. The Wall Street Journal had a great article five years ago about how suits designed as being of a particular “Super count” actually clocked in at a higher or lower number. This was found even in luxury end suits by Canali, one of the best off-the-rack Italian suit makers in the world. You have to wonder then whether what you’re buying is really the Supers designation that was given to it. 

The Takeaway

So what’s the takeaway? Super wools refer to the fineness of the yarn, which in turn translates to how silky, soft, and complex the weave can be. However, there is more to the quality of wool yarn that how fine each fiber is. This means that you shouldn’t judge the quality of a suiting just from it’s “Supers” count - either adoring or dismissing it for its high numbers. Instead, you should just take it as one dimension. If you buy a nice Super 150s wool from a very good mill, it will wear fine, though perhaps not as well as a more traditional cloth in the 60s and 70s. There’s no reason to be afraid of it straight out of the gates, however. On the other hand, if you get a Super 150s suiting from a bad mill, you’re probably just being suckered into a marketing ploy. In the end, there is no quick label to tell you what to buy and what not to buy; you have to do your homework. 

Q and Answer: A Striped Jacket with Odd Trousers?

Adam asks: In one of my best thrifting trips yet, I snagged a Brooks Brothers Golden Fleece suit jacket for just a couple of dollars. It’s wool, navy with thin charcoal stripes, single breast with 3-roll-2 buttons, and fits me like a glove. The only problem is that I wasn’t able to find the pants to go with it. I was hoping that you guys could advise me on how best to wear odd jackets like this. Should I try to find some pants to match, or just avoid that altogether and wear it like a sport coat?

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Adam, but this was not one of your best thrifting trips yet.

Outside of bold blazer stripes, which are almost never seen in the United States, a striped jacket is part of a suit. A business suit, specifically.

If you’re particularly cool, the fabric isn’t too formal, you’re in Italy, and everything else is going your way, you might be able to pair a suit jacket like this with dark jeans. Be advised, though, that this is a sartorial power move. Ralph Lauren can do this, but I’m not so sure you can.

As far as looking for the matching trousers… the time to do that was when you bought the jacket. Thrift stores often separate suits, so the pants to a suit coat can be located, I’d say, three out of ten times. (Often a suit coat is donated when the pants wear out.) Post-facto, though, your chances of finding a match are slim to none.

If you’re not sure, in future, what kind of jacket you’ve got in your hand, try reading our article on the difference between a blazer, suit jacket and sport coat.

Q and Answer: The Blue Oxford Cloth Button-Down Shirt

Nik writes: On the menswear blogs I follow, I always see the blue Oxford button-down as the go-to shirt for any occasion, the “only shirt you’ll ever need”. However, I rarely see a button-down worn in a business setting, with a suit and tie, here in Europe. Do I suffer from selective vision or is it an inherently American style (since almost all of the men’s style blogs hail from the States)?

You’re seeing two factors at work, here. The oxford cloth button-down (referred to colloquially by style nerds as the “OCBD”) is indeed an inherently American shirt. It’s also a shirt that isn’t often suitable for business wear.

The OCBD is probably the greatest American contribution to menswear. The shirt features a soft button-down collar and cotton in a durable, richly textured oxford weave. Colored oxfords often combine colored thread with white, creating the soft colors seen above. Oxfords were pioneered by Brooks Brothers at the turn of the 20th century, and they’ve been the classic American casual shirt ever since. Brooks still calls the oxford the “polo” shirt, because the button-down collar was originally seen on polo players. It’s an incredibly versatile shirt, and looks great in a wide variety of contexts.

Its popularity here in the US means that you will often see it paired with a suit. This can be pulled off, especially with a casual suit - say cotton or tweed. It pairs very well with sportcoats and bow ties. It’s mostly worn in a business context, though, by people who just don’t know any better. (There are exceptions: Yankee types steeped in “trad” style might pull it off in a conservative business context.)

In Europe, you might see a button-down collar on a more high-collared Italianate shirt, but the classic OCBD is a relative rarity. More typical is a variation of the traditional English shirt, with a stiffer, spread collar and fabric in a finer weave (a fine oxford is called a “royal oxford”) or a weave with a harder finish, like a poplin.

Q and Answer: What Color Shoes Should I Wear With a Navy Suit?

Peter writes: I was recently given a fantastic vintage navy blue suit from the ’70s by my father. The only thing stopping me from wearing it every opportunity I have is the fact that I do not know what shoes to wear with it. I have seen images of men wearing brown and black oxfords and derbys and I really have no idea what is correct. Also, how does the choice of shoe alter which sock is appropriate?

What color shoes to wear with a navy suit is a matter of perpetual debate. The general answer is that it depends on the circumstances and personal preference. The specific answer? Well, let’s run it down.

• Brown: Once, wearing brown shoes with navy was heresy unless you were a Boston Brahmin or a particularly wild Italian. However, brown is the default choice for daytime wear today. The color makes a comfortable partner for navy blue, particularly in darker hues like chocolate. Whether brown shoes are appropriate in the workplace is up to you; there are traditional gentlemen in London who still think brown shoes are inappropriate at a business no matter what color your suit is.
• Black: This is the traditional choice, particularly in the English tradition. Black shoes are more suitable for business and the evening, and while I don’t go to a lot of suit-wearing business meetings, when I wear a navy suit at night, I reach for the sharper, more formal black footwear. 
• Burgundy: Burgundy or cordovan shoes are the wild card here. (Note that “cordovan” is a color, “shell cordovan” a material.) They pair well with navy and are suitable for day or night wear. They’re certainly a somewhat bolder choice than chocolate brown or black, but I think they acquit themselves well. When I wear a navy suit during the day, I find myself pulling out my burgundy shell cordovan Florsheim longwings.

As far as socks are concerned, your default should be to match your trousers - that means navy socks. This applies no matter what color shoes you’re wearing. In fact, you can pretty much wear navy socks with anything other than shorts. If you don’t choose navy, you’ll want something with some contrast, and that contrast should compliment the rest of your outfit. It can pull a color from your accessories, for example. It can also be a wildcard - once in a while, with a white square, blue shirt, blue tie and blue suit, I’ll wear red socks.

(By the way: while this guy looks good, I don’t recommended fitting a suit like this.)

Q and Answer: Why Are Vintage Ties Short?

Eijah writes to ask: For the second time, I found myself with a vintage tie I’d bought online that was far too short. I clearly need to pay more attention. The last time this happened, I decided I wasn’t crazy for the tie anyway, and so I gave it away to be someone else’s problem. This time, however, I really like the tie in question, which you can see here http://www.etsy.com/transaction/50877227 Like the last one, strangely, this very short tie doesn’t have much or any lining inside of it, and so is pretty thin.

First question: Why are these ties so short? Are they kids’ ties? Are they from back in the day when everyone had a vest or a double-breasted jacket and ties didn’t usually reach too far? (When I tie it normally, it reaches just past my chest.)  

Second question: Is there anything that can be done? I really think that I could pull this thing off in the summertime, but the only possibility for wearing it as a tie that I can think of is to have a tailor add a big chunk of random fabric around where it would be on my neck (like the solid section of a knit tie) and hope that it’s never visible. That doesn’t seem like a great idea. The only other thought that came to me is taking it to a tailor and seeing if it can be turned into a pocket square, but I don’t know if that’d be some kind of horrible blasphemy or what.

Let’s address why vintage ties are so often shorter first, then address your craft project ideas.

There are a few reasons older ties are often shorter.

• People were smaller. Any vintage clothing buyer can tell you that the American man of the 21st century is bigger than his grandfather was. My grandfathers were 5’11” and 5’10” or so. My father’s 6’1”. I’m 6’3”. 
• Trousers had high rises. You know the classic image of an old fogey with his pants waist hiked up to his chest? Trousers used to have much higher rises. The tie simply had less distance to go to reach the belt line.
• Short ties were in fashion. Before the 1950s or so, and especially before the mid-30s, ties were often worn shorter, above the belt line. Think of Oliver Hardy, for example. In the 1960s, a short, wide tie called a Kipper had a brief vogue among the peacock set.
• Yeah, that’s probably a boy’s tie. It’s really, really short. A typical contemporary necktie length is about 58”, and the one you bought is 45”.

Also of note: that type of unlined tie was not uncommon in the 1960s and earlier, particularly for “Ivy League” styles and more casual ties.

Now: about your craft projects…

I love the creativity of the neck addition, but it’s so short that unless you’re a very small man, even adding 10” to the tie would still leave it pretty short. I think it’s possible, though, if you can find a tailor willing to take on a completley cockamamie project.

As far as turning it into a pocket square - if, unfolded, the tie is big enough, then that should be a pretty straightforward process. I’d make sure there’s no wear or discoloration along the folds before I tried it, and I’d expect to pay a tailor or seamstress about $20 to roll the edges.

Q and Answer: How to Clean a Tie

Norm writes: I recently bought a lovely cornflower blue silk tie. I first wore it about two weeks ago, but it was only today that I discovered several small spots near the point or unknown origin. Do you have any recommendation on how to clean a silk tie? All I have ever heard is to not use water. Is it even worth cleaning a silk tie or should I just buy a new tie (assuming I can find a similar tie, of course)?

First, the bad news: you’re probably screwed.

There are, however, some things you can try should you happen to stain a necktie.

First of all, you can take it to the professionals. Don’t send it the cleaner unless you have one you trust absolutely to spot clean without dry cleaning or pressing. Send it to a necktie specialist. Tiecrafters, in New York, have been specializing in cleaning ties for more than fifty years. They take ties by mail, and they will spot clean your ties and refresh them, without pressing them flat as most dry cleaners will. The service costs $11.75 per tie, with a minimum order of four. Not cheap, but worth it if you’re talking about a favorite tie.

If you don’t want to take that route, you can try to treat the stain at home. If it’s a grease stain, first put some talcum powder or corn starch on top of the stain and allow it to sit overnight. Then brush off the talc, which will have absorbed some of the grease. This can be repeated until the grease stain is invisible.

For other types of stains, you can try a standard spray stain remover - spray it on the stain (don’t soak) and blot to dry with a clean cloth. This may remove color from the tie along with the stain, but that’s the risk you must take.
You can treat ties with a fabric protectant like Scotchguard if you like. I’ve never done this myself, but I’ve heard from those that do that they notice no difference in the appearance of the tie.

Q and Answer: What About Cheap Ties?

Adam writes: You guys always feature really nice, but also really expensive stuff. For ties, you might like to highlight www.thetiebar.com. They offer some truly hideous ties, but also some really nice ones, especially for wardrobe staples in solids, stripes, wool—and all at only $15 a pop. The quality is on par with ties costing 3-4 times the price or more. I think your readers might appreciate that they don’t have to fill out their tie collection at $150 a pop to look sharp.

I’ve never bought a tie from The Tie Bar (feel free to send me some, if you’re reading this Tie Bar people), but I have handled a couple in thrift shops. I agree with you, they are roughly the quality of a tie that costs 2-4 times as much. If you changed out the tag on the red tie pictured above, put a Macy’s store brand tag on their, or Tommy Hilfiger or Calvin Klein, I don’t think anyone would notice. They are certainly equivalent to a tie that retails for $30-60.

But how much of a compliment is that, really?

While Tie Bar ties are, in my experience, better than, say, novelty ties you’d buy at the flea market with Bugs Bunny on them, I hesitate to recommend them.

Here’s the thing with ties: no one buys them at retail except the kind of desperate men who run into the store and says: “WHAT COLOR TIE GOES WITH A BLACK SUIT? MY AUNT JUST DIED!”

So, there are two questions: what ties do I recommend, and what should you pay for those ties.

The lowest level of tie I recommend is usually Lands’ End. Their ties aren’t on par with a truly excellent tie, like the blue Drake’s tie pictured above. They are, however, an excellent value at their price point (often on sale at around $20-35). The Lands’ End ties in my collection are roughly comparable to the Brooks Brothers and Polo ties I own, which retail in the range of $75 or so. That is to say: they are fine. The silk is heavy enough, and the construction good enough, that most people wouldn’t notice that I wasn’t wearing a very fine tie.

Most fine ties retail for $100-200. These are the ties we usually recommend when we’re recommending ties. For $100, you can buy a custom tie of excellent quality from Sam Hober, who will make it to your specifications in Thailand. Our friend Kent Wang offers ties of this quality for just under a hundred dollars, including our own club tie. For $150 or so, you can buy something from an outfit like Drake’s, or from our friend Will of A Suitable Wardrobe. These are ties worth paying extra for.

I have dozens of ties. Maybe a hundred. I think I paid retail price for one of them (a grenadine from Sam Hober). I’ve bought many, many ties used. If you’re one of about 85% of men, ties always fit, so they’re a great thing to buy at thrift stores. Try eBay, too: I love the country designs of Holland & Holland, and grab them for $25 or $30 when I can. These days, my collection is so full that I only buy ties that I love, and regular readers will recall that I sold about 75 six months or so ago.

I find that as I’ve come to appreciate the quality of truly fine neckties - the Marinellas and Drake’s and Borrellis of the world, I want fewer, finer ties. Since I also thrift and eBay avidly, I can fulfill my interest in novelty that way, without ever stepping foot inside a store.

My strongest recommendation is to remember that quality trumps quantity, every time.

So… when you can buy a Drake’s tie for $50 on eBay, is it worth spending $20 on one from the Tie Bar? Or $30 on one from Lands’ End? Should you spend the time thrift shopping to build up a wardrobe of ties at $3 each? Is a tough-to-find tie like a striped grenadine worth its $150 retail price? Only you can do that math for yourself.

Q and Answer: Should I Wear Non-Iron Shirts?

Shai writes to ask about non-iron shirts: I love the convenience but am not 100% sure what I’m giving up (partly because I think they’re too good to be true).  Is the quality inferior?  Do the shirt wear out sooner (if so, is it significant enough that it matters)?  Should I avoid certain colors/brands?  So far I have only purchased a couple from Brooks Brothers and have been pleased with the results, just trying to learn more.

I own a non-iron shirt. I just bought it recently, actually. It’s a point-collar blue oxford from Brooks’ slim-fit line, and I picked it up for a couple dollars from a thrift store in nearly new condition. It’s the only non-iron shirt I own.
Non-iron shirts used to be made by blending cotton with synthetic fiber (usually polyester). Some, in fact, especially on the low end, are still made this way. Synthetic fiber is cheaper than cotton (particularly since cotton prices have skyrocketed in the last year or so), and it a blend can retain some of the positive qualities of cotton, while gaining some of the non-wrinkling properties of synthetics. Polyester, though, is unnatural-looking, and wears warm and clammy, which is why blends have fallen out of favor.

These days, better non-iron shirts are made by impregnating an all-cotton shirt with a mix of chemicals, including formaldehyde. This means you get less of the stigma of polyester, but it does have downsides. The fabric often has an unnatural sheen, it can be clammy and the chemicals eventually wash out. Even when they are working, their total lack of wrinkles betrays them for what they are.

The real question in my mind is: do you want to avoid wrinkles? Completely? I think a bit of wrinkling through the day is perfectly fine. Maybe even desirable. In fact, some shirts, especially oxfords, don’t really even require ironing. I think that one of a cotton shirt’s greatest qualities is the life that’s built into it. Those non-iron chemicals kill that life.

Q and Answer: What Socks with Plimsoll Sneakers?

Dave asks: I just saw Derek’s post on plimsolls. I picked a pair up for the summer recently and coming from the high-top world primarily I’m not sure exactly what the recommended sock situation is for these. Navy/dark socks, or a white athletic sock (these are navy shoes, by the way)? A shorter sock, a no-show sock, no socks at all? Does it event really matter if I am wearing pants?

I’d say that this is one that depends on context.

There are plenty of situations where no socks (or no-show socks) are perfectly appropriate. Typically with shorts for example, socks will just look silly. Similarly, there are plenty of folks interested in a summertime breeze on their ankles who prefer a sockless look. This can be particularly appealing with a slim pant that’s rolled at the ankle (the “I subscribe to the Sartorialist” look). No socks has the convenience edge here, but no-show socks have the “less gross” edge, and will do less damage to your shoes.

When I’m not wearing shorts, I usually wear crew socks with sneakers. I’m not crazy about white tube or gym socks when I’m not exercising, but some cling to them. I certainly can’t recommend wearing black socks, which will make you look like a grandpa (in a bad way). I generally wear more brightly colored casual socks when I’m wearing plimsolls with casual pants like jeans or khakis. I love these ones, from Lands’ End, and if you’re lucky enough to live within access of a Uniqlo, you’ve got a near-bottomless supply of cheap ones. Of course, stores like H&M and Gap often have options as well. I find that a good pair of red socks are enough to punch a white-tee-jeans-and-white-sneaks outfit up a bit.