Oh, Brother
Oscar Humphries has found a club he wants to belong to Brooks Brothers have made suits for every American president since Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln was wearing one of their suits when he was shot dead in 1865. Statistically, therefore, you are more likely to be assassinated if you are wearing a Brooks Brothers suit rather than, say, a Savile Row one. The Brooks Brothers PR sensibly prefers to promote the fact that you’re more likely to be elected president if you’re wearing one.
Brooks Brothers have arrived in England. And like that other American import — the smoking ban — they too are here to stay. Their flagship shop on Regent Street is a yuppie wet dream — all dark wood, glass bowls full of silk knots, and enough ties to clothe (or hang) the entire Canary Wharf workforce. It’s a shop where passing trends and fleeting fashions have scant influence. At Brooks Brothers hemlines hover in the same place, lapels don’t shrink and expand, everything remains static. It’s reassuring. It is a safe brand — despite the fate of some of its more famous clients.
The Brooks Brothers aesthetic is an East Coast one. It’s both Wall Street and Ivy League. It’s what preppie teens wore before they discovered MTV, Abercrombie & Fitch and gangsta chic.
Much of the brand’s appeal is in its history. It is the oldest clothing retailer in America, much older than most Savile Row tailors. Brooks Brothers have been dressing the American middle and upper classes for over 200 years. It’s a good look — easy and relaxed and classic. It implies hours spent golfing and cocktailing. In England earls and dukes wear Savile Row suits; in America men who are christened Baron or Earl wear Brooks Brothers. We need a bit of this classless ease over here. Our suits are too starchy and too expensive. If we can’t live in the richest country in the world — where the weather is often glorious and everyone has nice teeth — we might as well dress like we live there.
The first blazer I bought was a Brooks Brothers one. It had gold but tons which the other boys at Stowe told me were common. I still have the jacket and I still wear it. With pride. It’s one of the few items I have salvaged that survived the moth infestation that wiped out — among other things — my entire cashmere collection. Perhaps the moths didn’t like the buttons. Brooks Brothers is a great place to go for basic suits, ties sporting the school colours of schools that don’t exist, button-down shirts and blazers. They sell two styles of suit — an American cut and a European one. Wearing one I felt like I had a job — or at least I could get a job were I in the mood. A suit costs from £575. Good value, really, because once dressed it makes one appear infinitely smarter and better paid than one really is. It’s an understated luxury — the kind that people who don’t really need to work wear to work. You will look just like everyone else but the right kind of everyone else. Brooks Brothers sell a uniform — one that speaks of dry martinis, urbanity, Updike novels, Patrick Bateman (before he started killing people) and gentlemen’s clubs on Park and Seventy-something.
Brooks Brothers sell women’s clothes too. I found a table stacked with twin sets Y in pastel colours. Were I a Connecticut housewife (or someone who aspired to be ON a Connecticut housewife), I would have been ecstatic — reaching for my Zanex in D ecstasy. I remarked to the assistant that the only thing missing from this tableau of perfection was pearls. He pointed to a cabinet nearby where the pearls were kept. This was weird. I moved on to the kid’s section. Little blazers. Little cashmere jumpers. This was weirder. These are clothes for children one is grooming for a future of country clubs and boardrooms. These are clothes for the playground elite. Young Miles is sure to look dapper in his suit — kinda spooky, really.
The idea, I suppose, is that the entire family can live the dream and wear the clothes that best reflect that dream. One needn’t shop anywhere else because it’s all there under one roof. This is the lasting appeal of Brooks Brothers. It’s a glorious, decadent, slightly lazy, American convenience. I’m converted. I want to join this club, if they’ll have me.
DAVID MONTGOMERY
Brooks Brothers, 132-134 Regent Street, London W1B 5SJ. Tel: 020 3238 0030; www.brooksbrothers.com.
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