Battenwear’s New York made camp shirt hearkens back to a time when even outdoor pursuits were undertaken with a certain panache. It looks like something you might have found in an L.L. Bean catalogue during the company’s heyday.
Made of a soft cotton flannel, the shirt features two front breast pockets with a smaller pocket on the bottom left. But something else entirely–a pair of raglan sleeves–sets it apart. Typically, raglan sleeves are found on overcoats, so their appearance on a shirt is both unexpected and refreshingly iconoclastic.
But, for yours truly, raglan sleeves also have a practical dimension. One of my shoulders slopes a little more than the other, making it impossible to get a perfect fit in off the rack shirts. Sometimes the difference is minimal; raglan sleeves, set at the neckline, avoid those slight differences in fit at the shoulder seam.
I acquired my shirt on something of a whim. As you may recall, I was in the market for a parka, and Battenwear’s Travel Shell Parka fit the bill perfectly. I purchased one before visiting Battenwear’s Bivouac retail store, and I really hadn’t planned on buying anything during my visit.
But when the Battenwear folks showed me the shirt and I tried it on, I was hooked. It is an exceptional shirt in every way–with an aforementioned design that is so well thought out. It reminds me why American made goods are some of the most innovative (while remaining true to the precepts of classic dress) on the market today.
The American musician Scott Miller once wrote, “I’m not above cliches tonight.” So, dear readers, forgive this small incursion into the realm of the hackneyed and shopworn.
Sifting through the wares in New York’s Fine and Dandy Shop, I was like a kid in a candy store.
There is not a single thing for sale in the Fine and Dandy Shop that would not appeal to the well-dressed man. The shop has a commitment to the kind of old fashioned, independent haberdashery you see all too infrequently in these times of rampant, multinational consolidation.
Fine and Dandy traces its origins back to 2008, when it emerged as an online vendor; as it grew, it organized popups around the New York area. By 2013, the enterprise had taken brick-and-mortar roots.
I had the opportunity, during my visit to New York last November, to visit the Fine and Dandy Shop.
First, a small word of warning. The shop is not particularly easy to get to. It’s located on West 49th Street, in Hell’s Kitchen, one of the few areas in Manhattan underserved by the otherwise excellent subway system. I came up from Chelsea (after a visit to the Dia Foundation), intending to take the M11 bus up 10th Avenue. But the traffic was so thick that I got off the bus and hoofed it to the shop on foot. I beat the bus.
It’s worth the effort.
A paean to dandyism as high art, the Fine and Dandy Shop is, despite its modest dimensions, densely stocked with men’s furnishings of just about every stripe: suspenders, ties, socks, pocket squares, sock garters, cuff links, scarves and spats. Just about everything in the shop is American made, and most of that in New York City.
I purchased an ascot, a pair of suspenders, a pocket square and, rectifying a (literary omission), a copy Take Ivy. The ascot, pocket square and suspenders are all made in New York.
The ascot is fairly light, making it ideal for spring and summer wear, although I’ve already employed it in the unseasonably warm Southeast Texas winter.
The pocket square is a beautiful, muted plaid wool challis with blue edging.
A pink and cream cotton, the suspenders are will have to wait until spring and lighter colored suiting.
Back in the heyday of the Ivy Style, the squared off knit tie was one of the essentials. It was formal enough to pass muster at events that called for a jacket and tie yet sufficiently causal to convey an easy-going, jaunty manner.
The early 1980s, with the renewed fascination for all things Prep, were a veritable renaissance for the squared off knit tie; I owned a few. And the ur-label was Rooster; at the peak of the tie’s renewed popularity, production of the ties was a 24/7 undertaking.
Since then, the Rooster style square knit tie has made occasional reappearances on the necks of stylish men. But sadly, there is no longer a maker of such ties in the United States. Even Brooks Brothers, which maintains an otherwise ironclad commitment to neckwear made in the USA, outsources its knit tie production.
This is why the vintage Rooster versions (made in the USA) are so prized by Ivy partisans.
A few days ago, I was sifting through the wares at a thrift store up in Houston, and I lucked into one of these, a navy Rooster Cottonit. A little internet sleuthing reveals that the trademark for the Cotonit name was issued to Rooster in 1979.
We’ve written before on the venerable toboggan (aka the woolie cap), extolling its virtues for outdoor winter pursuits.
A few months ago, while roasting in the Southeast Texas summer, I ordered a Filson toboggan, an act of not insubstantial imagination. My current cold weather hiking cap is from SmartWool, and it’s more skullcap than toboggan, with scarcely enough fabric real estate to cover my ears. The Filson cap rectifies that deficiency.
During my trip to New York City last November, the cap received its first wearing, during a hike of Inwood Hill Park and a walk of the entire length of Manhanttan. I’m pleased to report that it performed its task with aplomb, keeping my noggin warm in the morning chill.
Filson maintains a fairly strong commitment to American manufacturing. This cap is among those items that continue to be made on these shores.
This many years into adulthood, I have few holes in my wardrobe. Sufficient disposable income combined with a general parsimony in other areas of my life mean that most of my clothing needs have been satisfied, my wants fulfilled.
The one that remained was a good casual jacket for fall and winter–one that could offer at least a modest protection from the elements.
I considered a few options. The Dunoon Parka from Pierrepont Hicks caught my eye. But it wasn’t available in my size. Seattle’s Crescent Down Works seemed to have a few parkas, but those I could find online appeared also to be sold out.
In my searches, I third option emerged: the Travel Shell Parka from Battenwear. I can’t quite remember where I first heard about Battenwear. But I’m certainly glad I did.
Battenwear has been around since 2011. After a stint designing for Woolrich Woolen Mills, Shinya Hasegawa and his wife Carrie set out on their own to begin producing sportswear–classic pieces that are defined as much by function as they are by aesthetic.
The first item in Battenwear’s collection was the Travel Shell Parka, and it remains the backbone of Battenwear’s collection.
It is, of course, manufactured in the United States, just a few blocks from Battenwear’s Garment District Headquarters, as are nearly all of Battenwear’s products.
I had the distinct pleasure of visiting Battenwear during my visit to New York last month. Its brick and mortar shop is charmingly called the Bivouac Shop, a nod to the kind of outdoor activity that inspires much of the company’s product line.
I had originally planned to purchase one of the Travel Shell Parkas while I was there, but I was concerned that the size and color I wanted would be gone by the time I arrived. So I pulled the trigger in advance of my vacation.
Let me not mince words. It’s difficult to talk about this jacket without resorting to superlatives; if an everyday, midweight parka is on your wish list, I strongly recommend that you give this one serious consideration. Every detail (and there are many) has been exceptionally well thought out. Pockets abound, perfect for the urban explorer. And the construction appears rock solid. I can easily see this jacket lasting me well into my dotage.
One website characterized the jacket as “gear that’s as well-suited for the Appalachian Trail as it is for the streets of SoHo.”
As an avid outdoorsman, however, I have to take exception with that characterization. With its 60/40 cotton and nylon fabric, this is not the jacket you want on a serious hike. First, it’s a little too heavy for those of us immersed in the ultralight ethos. Second, its cotton composition makes it ill-suited for inclement weather in the backcountry. When wet, cotton simply does not insulate, which is why backpackers rely upon wool, polyester and nylon for warmth in rainy conditions.
This, however, is not to diminish the jacket’s charms. It’s only to suggest that the jacket is more ideally suited as an outer layer for casual urban and country pursuits.
Over time, the Battenwear product line has expanded, and a number of items would have a welcome home in a traditional wardrobe. While at the Bivouac Shop, I purchased a navy flannel shirt with raglan sleeves; we’ll talk more about that particular item in a future post.
I’m not usually a fan of clothing emblazoned with corporate logos. But when the logo is this classic and distinctive and the company is one I willingly champion, how can I say no?
Many of you may remember my fondness for Criquet Shirts‘ American made polos and chamois shirts. I recently had the privilege of stopping by Criquet’s clubhouse after a conference in Austin. While there, I picked up one of their polos in burgundy and a D-ring belt with a recurring version of the company’s grassy C logo.
With the weather today creeping up into the low 70s, it was a perfect opportunity to give the belt its first wearing.
In an earlier post, we pegged High Cotton as the preppiest brand in America, an honor well and truly deserved. Based in North Carolina, High Cotton conjures up the best of southern prep culture. There is not a single item among its offerings (all American made) that would not enliven the wardrobe of every self-respecting traditionalist.
A few months back, I ordered a pair of tweed suspenders from High Cotton that I had been eyeing for some time. The weather finally cooperated enough for me to give them their initial wearing.
And a joy it truly was to don these suspenders for the first time. It’s the kind of item that makes you feel a bit better just for wearing it.
As my purchase was being rung up, I thought to myself, “Why are you buying this hat. You’ll never wear it.”
How wrong I was.
It was a dank, dreary day–cold and cloudy with a slight insinuation of rain. The day, in fact, right after the election.
Walking in New York’s West Village, I came upon the Goorin Bros. Hat Shop. It wasn’t on the list of stores I had planned to visit while in New York, but I can never say no to a hat shop. And so I entered.
I received a warm welcome. This was not surprising. Despite its reputation for dispensing with social pleasantries, I’ve found New York to be among the friendliest cities I’ve ever visited.
I was pleased to learn that several of Goorin’s flat caps (alternatively known as golf caps or newsboy caps) are made in the United States, New Jersey to be precise.
I tried on a few, and found one that was to my liking, both in shape and fabric. Called the Iron Bound, it’s a dark olive barleycorn tweed (Harris Tweed, no less) with a blue and orange overcheck.
Still, as I was checking out, I was skeptical. It’s not that the cap was lacking. It’s truly a beautiful piece of headwear, and it has an easygoing, friendly style. But I’ve never been much of a cap man. I tend to favor the fedora, with occasional diversions into Homberg territory.
I’ve had the cap for a couple of weeks, so let me say this: My initial skepticism was ill-placed. I’ve already worn it five times, and it has a regular place in my fall/winter headwear rotation.
Goorin traces its origins back to 1895, when Cassel Goorin began traversing the streets of Pittsburgh, selling hats from a horse drawn cart. Eventually, his sons Alfred and Ted (the eponymous Goorin brothers) took the reins of the family business. Under their stewardship, the business expanded. Diversions into skiwear kept the company afloat as the market for men’s traditional hats began to dry up. Today, the company has more than 30 hat shops across North America.
To add insult to injury, the election has emboldened white nationalists to co-opt one of America’s last remaining sneaker manufacturers, declaring them the “official shoe of white people.”
A little background: A few days after the election, New Balance’s Matthew LeBretton told The Wall Street Journal that “The Obama administration turned a deaf ear to us, and frankly, with President-elect Trump, we feel things are going to move in the right direction.”
Most of us can agree that it was impolitic at best for him to wade into partisan waters. A corporation that depends upon selling its wares to the general public would be wise to avoid partisan entanglements, particularly so soon after a bitter and divisive election.
But his pronouncement teaches us (as if we needed reminding) that words have consequences. And so it should come as absolutely no surprise that, in an election where the Republican nominee engaged in overt calls to racism (with policy proposals to match) that his pronouncement would, for many, place him and his company on the wrong side of the fence.
In the wake of his public relations miscue, white nationalists have attempted to ruin one of America’s last remaining producers of athletic shoes, staining it by association with their vile and unconscionable beliefs.
To those goons, I have a simple message: You can’t have it.
I refuse to let New Balance fall into the hands of those who betray American values–those who teach a philosophy of hate, exclusion and violence.
But I also refuse to follow my fellow liberal brethren and consign my New Balance shoes to trashcan, toilet or flame.
Instead, I take New Balance back. I take it back in the name of tolerance, respect and diversity.
I take it back in the name of the New Balance workers–both those from established American families and those who are transplants to these shores.
I take it back in the name of all that is good and decent in this world, conjuring a passion for the moment when we are, in Lincoln’s immortal words, touched once again by the better angels of our nature.
So I’ve taken a page from the book of Pete Seeger, as fundamentally decent a human being as there ever was. Let his words remind us that there are ideals to which we all must strive.
The very nature of classic clothing suggests that some things should be immune to the vicissitudes of fashion. So those of us who venerate the classics don’t undertake change lightly; we lean hard on tradition.
Consider the button down collar shirt.
Finding a shirt with just the perfect roll–the ideal compromise between collar length and button position–is a challenging proposition. Many bemoan the existing Brooks Brothers shirts; according to popular lore, the company tampered with perfection, and the modern version is a walking shadow of what it once was.
Nearly 35 years ago, David Mercer was among those who were aghast at changes in the iconic polo shirt (the button down shirt in Brooks Brothers’ nomenclature), particularly to the collar. But he turned his lamentation into action.
So, in 1982, Mercer & Sons began, resolving to produce a shirt with all the classic details: an unlined 3 and 7/16″ collar, offset cuffs, a six button placket. It offers shirts in all the classic fabrics, including oxford cloth.
Mercer’s customer service is legendary, and my experience is illustrative.
Yea though I count myself among the lovers of traditional modes of dress, I favor a slightly trimmer shirt. But everything I saw online suggested that Mercer shirts were voluminous about the torso, so much so that they’d be comically large on me. The measurements provided by the company reinforced that.
So I contacted David Mercer, and he offered a simple, but elegant solution. He would make a shirt for me with a 16″ collar and a 33″ sleeve, but with a body that normally accompanies a 14.5″ collar, which, based upon the measurements he provided, would produce a shirt only marginally wider than my custom shirts from Hamilton.
I ordered a shirt in a blue oxford cloth university (candy) stripe with a button down collar. About six weeks later, the shirt was on my doorstep.
Generally, quite solid. The collar is everything I hoped it would be, with a roll that is nothing less than sublime. I do wish the shirt had gauntlet buttons, and the buttonholes are a little ragged. But otherwise the construction appears first rate.
As for sizing, the shirt is only slightly larger than my custom Hamiltons, and the shoulders are almost perfect, with the sleeve seam hitting at just the right point. I can easily see adding a few more of these to my shirt rotation, particularly because Hamilton is a little thin in the oxford cloth department.
While Mercer has moved several times since its inception (they currently reside in Bozeman, Mont.), its commitment to American manufacturing has never wavered.