Ed Heald, Dartmouth '68

From Racked.com...

Ed Heald, Dartmouth '68, on his "Take Ivy" Photo and 1965 Ivy Style

Uniformity in American Higher Learning

...The United States is a nonhistorical environment, and individual identity must be earned.

But the young American male need not hunker down in a group like a fraternity to risk anxiety over being caught out of uniform...Fraternity boys engage in all sorts of levities and pranks, but not a single "brother" would think of appearing in, say, colorful tights. The brothers in their millions are clad in the obligatory uniform of their decade. It used to comprise, at least in the East, khakis or gray flannel trousers, button-down shirts, tweed jackets, and loafers. Crew neck sweaters and corduroys were also acceptable. Professor Edward Said of Columbia recalls what everyone - everyone - looked like at his prep school and at Princeton, where he went next: "My classmates either were or tried to be cut from the same cloth...everyone wore the same clothes (white bucks, button-down shirts, and tweed jackets)." Getting the shirts right was particularly important, and in button-downs, light blue was virtually obligatory. Said testified that he once witnessed two Princetonians at work soliciting the desired worn-out look by applying sandpaper to the collars of new, and of course blue, shirts.

Source:

Paul Fussell, Uniforms: Why We Are What We Wear (2002)

The Muskrat Man

(click to enlarge)

"My generation of businessmen dressed up. Coat and tie every day, pants creased, shoes shined, no worn heels. Everyone wanted to look like Gregory Peck in The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit. Then came retirement, and the uniform code changed dramatically: Goodbye Brooks Brothers, hello, L.L. Bean."

Source:

Williams College Review, Spring 2005

Milton and Maurice, the Julians of Chapel Hill

UNC-CH, 1965

If you were a member of a UNC sorority or fraternity this is how you dressed. Male clothes for this group came from Julian’s, The Hub, The Varsity Men’s Shop, or Milton's. These women were probably outfitted at the Fireside. All these stores did a booming business, and were located on central Franklin Street. (www.chapelhillmemories.com)

The story begins in 1946, when the Julian brothers, Milton and Maurice (father of fashion designer Alexander Julian), opened their first shop in Chapel Hill. Two years later, Milton went out on his own with Milton's Clothing Cupboard, pioneering the Ivy League look throughout the Southeast.

A local icon, Milton remained in his original Chapel Hill location for more than 40 years. Through the 50's and 60's, Milton's Clothing Cupboard expanded to locations in Charlotte, Dallas and Atlanta. Bruce started cooking up marketing schemes at about 14 (like the time he unleashed dozens of turtles marked 'Sale at Milton's' all over the UNC campuses). (www.brucejulian.com)

"Milton Julian is the personification of joy. Of all the people I knew growing up in Chapel Hill from the 1950’s through the 1990’s, no one seemed to enjoy what he was doing more than this Franklin street merchant. His fame is derived from his store, Milton’s Clothing Cupboard, which he operated from 1948 to 1992, selling upscale men’s, and often women’s, clothing. Milton was also always a man just a little ahead of his time, and continued to adapt to fashion trends better than any other store in town. While his brother’s store Julian’s for example maintained the Ivy League look throughout its existence, Milton’s continued to evolve without ever feeling dated or trendy." (www.chapelhillmemories.com)

A Brockton, Mass.-native, Julian brought the Ivy League look down south, including the flat-front khaki pants and alligator belts, his son Bruce Julian said. Milton Julian owned six stores in North Carolina, Georgia and Texas that have since closed. (www.thedailytarheel.com)

Milton went back to school, but six weeks into it decided to return to the haberdashery business. He had sold shoes and socks before the war, but now he joined his brother Maurice, who had started selling to servicemen training in Chapel Hill during the war, but was now serving clientele returning to school, at Julian’s College Shop."

“I started out across the street,” Milton said. “We were sometimes not so friendly, but were mostly friendly competitors,” he said of Maurice, who would later sell his store to his children, Alexander and Missy, who continue it as Julian’s. (www.carrborocitizen.com)

Milton Julian, a young buck from humble beginnings in Brockton, Mass., came to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill to attend law school after spending a year at Salem College in Winston-Salem. For two years, he went to classes in the morning and sold shoes and socks in the afternoon. He then served in the Air Force for three-and-a-half years, and upon returning to Chapel Hill in the fall of 1945, decided to join his late brother, Maurice (the father of fashion designer Alexander Julian) at his men's clothing shop on the bustling Franklin Street. After a couple of years, however, it was clear the siblings couldn't see eye to eye as business partners. As Milton cryptically puts it, "Some brothers are compatible and some aren't when it comes to business ventures."

Julian up-and-left Maurice's store in 1947, and nine months later, in the fall of 1948, started his own shop: the now- legendary Milton's Clothing Cupboard. After scoping out possible locations for opening his new store, including Charleston, SC and Morganton, Va., he decided to stay in Chapel Hill. He set up shop at 163 E. Franklin Street in Chapel Hill, a location at which he remained for over 40 years.

... Julian's game plan was simple: offer innovative, Ivy League clothing along with superior customer service. He told one interviewer, "We pioneered the Ivy League and Brooks Brothers looks in the Southeast. Esquire and GQ thought we were in the vanguard of men's fashion." Julian got the word out about his new store by placing fliers on cars around campus, and posting them around town. He also enjoyed extensive word-of-mouth referrals.

For the next 40 years, Milton's Clothing Cupboard sold items essential for the Ivy League look: Gant shirts, Weejuns, Rivetz ties, Harris tweed sport coats, khaki Chino pants, snazzy worsted wool suits. As one reporter stated, Milton's clothes had "snob appeal." (www.businessleadermagazine.com)


By birth a New Englander, Maurice Julian was the first to bring the best of Ivy League to the Southeast. A master in style and innovation, his groundbreaking designs helped to create "preppy." Julian distinguished his shop by his peerless taste and unending quest for only the finest, using the highest quality fabrics and custom tailoring. Maurice and his wife Mary sustained a rare, unique, genuine specialty store. Although the business was created to fulfill the needs of the Officer Training School (which came to UNC in 1942) Maurice quickly expanded his clientele to include the whole University community.

In 1990 GQ magazine described the gem of a store this way: "Julian's is a place where you can spend an afternoon looking at fabrics and buttons—some stock, some one of a kind—ordering a suit you won't see on every other guy on the street and talking about tweed and twill and Scottish mills and what all the rain lately will do for the magnolias."

Alex says: "When I was 12, I tore the collar of one of my 200 blue oxford, button-down shirts while playing football. I went down to the store to have the collar fixed, but decided instead to switch collars with one of my yellow oxford button-down shirts. They say necessity is the mother of invention, but whoever would have suspected that sandlot football would launch a fashion career?" (www.julianstyle.com)

Mickey Mouse to Mickey Cohen, 1959

Steve Stevens and Annette Funicello

For young men of my age, the preppy/Ivy League look was both fashionable and stylish. Button-down blue, pink and white oxford-cloth shirts from Brooks Brothers; narrow rep, regimental or knit ties. I'd recently purchased a pair of slim-fitting Cambridge gray flannels; a narrow-lapelled, three-button Harris Tweed sport jacket without shoulder pads; and cordovan Bass Weejuns penny loafers with Argyle socks from Zeidler & Ziedler, a trendy traditional-style men's shop next to Schwab's Drugstore on Sunset and Crescent Heights.

And that's how I looked when the (Hollywood Brown Derby) hostess led me back to find Mickey (Cohen), passing George Burns and Gracie Allen in one booth and Burt Lancaster and a party of studio types in another. Mickey and Joe were sitting in a large and very private back booth. As they moved over for me, I could see people leaning out of their booths, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mickey. His love of notoriety and publicity had obviously been given a boost since the Whelan murder.

Mickey, however, was appraising me.

"Nice threads, Kid. That's a very good look on you; very sharp."

Source:

The King of the Sunset Strip: Hangin' With Mickey Cohen and the Hollywood Mob, Steve Stevens, 2006

From Publishers Weekly:

Stevens traded Mickey Mouse for Mickey Cohen in 1959, after the mob mogul saw him play a "tuff guy" onscreen and sent a fan letter. Only 19, Stevens, who'd worked with Annette Funicello on The Mickey Mouse Club, was making the transition from child to adult actor, and under the tutelage of Cohen, he grew up fast in a world of guns, gambling, strippers and celebrities.

Calvin Trillin, The Ivy Look (and GHW Bush)

When I was home during a Yale break, my father would usually insist on taking me for a clothes-shopping expedition that I look back on as something close to a parody of the cultural tensions in store for a Midwestern family that sent a son to a place as removed from our experience as Yale then was. Even if I had gone to the University of Missouri, shopping for clothes would have presented a problem for us. My father was a strong believer in highly shined shoes and carefully folded pocket handkerchiefs; by his standards, I was only sporadically presentable. The outings were doubly complicated by the fact that what was to be called the Ivy Look had not yet made its way across the country, so the clothes for sale in even the best stores in Kansas City simply didn't look much like what people at Yale wore. Somehow, I couldn't get this across to my father. As we drove home from Wolff Brothers and Jack Henry Men's Clothing, having bagged only a single shirt or a pair of trousers I knew I'd never wear, the silence in the car was less comfortable than the silence had been in those drives to the city market.

Source:

Messages From My Father: A Memior, Calvin Trillin, 1997

Alice and Calvin Trillin on their wedding day, 1965 (NY Times)

Bush's Munchies A Preppie Journal: Up From Pork Rinds

By Calvin Trillin

I realize that I was expected to take a stand on pork rinds right away. Last month, when George Bush mentioned his love of pork rinds as an example of why he has been unfairly typed as a rich Eastern preppy, it was my role as a columnist to say something like, "That does it: Anybody who eats pork rinds is a regular guy." Or, if I had remained unimpressed, "Pork rinds served in silver bowls that have been in the family for generations don't count."

Before I discussed the matter, though, I wanted to consult an old college friend of mine who's a rich Eastern preppy. I wanted to find out whether a rich Eastern preppy who was caught eating pork rinds would lose his certification. But my friend, Thatcher Baxter Hatcher, was away on a yachting trip.

I might as well admit that Thatcher Baxter Hatcher is not the only rich Eastern preppy I number among my acquaintances, even though I'm a regular guy who enjoys nothing more than a package of barbecue-flavored corn-nuts washed down with a six-pack of Grain Belt. I know several rich Eastern preppies, all of whom have three last names, and the sort of nickname you might give a hound dog - Brewster Barton (Pudge) Brewton, say, or Thorton Horton (Mutt) Houghton.

But I decided to wait for Thatcher Baxter Hatcher, because he's a particularly authentic example of the type. He has three last names, of course, and a nickname (Tush). He wears pink button-down shirts that he bought in 1954. He talks with his teeth clenched, in an accent most scholars of the American vernacular refer to as Locust Valley Lockjaw. He plays a game called court tennis, which has rules so complicated that you can understand them only if your grandfather understood them.

A long time ago, Thatcher Baxter Hatcher took me to some parties at the fancy clubs he belongs to. I sure didn't see any pork rinds. I would have noticed if there had been any, because, considering the food I was given at those parties, I would have been grateful for the appearance of a package of stale Cheese Doodles.

I discovered that people in a truly fancy club eat food that has no taste at all; I later realized that they associate spices and garlic and schmaltz with just the sort of people they're trying to keep out of the club.

Anyway, as soon as Tush Hatcher returned from his yachting trip, I dropped by to see him at his place in Long Island. He brought a tray of drinks out to the porch, and I was astonished to see that what he brought for us to nibble on was a bowl full of Doritos jalapeno-flavored taco chips.

"I didn't know you folks ate this sort of thing, Tush," I said.

"They're my favorites, except maybe for smokey bacon-flavored potato chips," he said.

"Well, I'm amazed, Tush," I said. "I just assumed that what you would have with a drink was some of those finger sandwiches that taste like balsa wood."

"Then you remember the food at our clubs," Thatcher Baxter Hatcher said. ''Well, boarding school food is even worse, so all of us get hooked on packaged junk. We all ate so many of those little packages of crackers with peanut butter that some people think that's why we can't separate our teeth when we talk."

"I never knew, Tush," I said.

"Beer nuts," he said. "Beef jerky. Corn chips. Cheese-flavored popcorn."

"But surely not pork rinds," I said.

"Oh, sure," Tush said. "Remember Parsons Peyton Perkins?"

"Pork Perkins?"

"Exactly. How do you think he got that name? Eating pork rinds at the St. Paul's School."

I guess George Bush is going to have to come up with something else to eat if he wants to get de-typed. I suggest that he reveal an addiction to Frito Pie, a Texas specialty that's made by pouring chili - canned chili in the absolutely authentic version - into a package of Fritos and shaking vigorously. I'm sure it's safe. Thatcher Baxter Hatcher had never heard of Frito Pie, and when I described it to him he just shuddered.

Source:

Bush's Munchies A Preppie Journal: Up From Pork Rinds (August 18, 1988)

"shoe"

"In the early 50s, friends of mine and I picked up from somewhere a bit of verbal play which involved categorizing almost everything and everyone as shoe or unshoe. As new alumni of an Ivy League university, we obviously considered being shoe a compliment.

I remember that in clothing, button-down shirts, striped ties and gray flannel suits with narrow lapels were shoe. Anything less conservative was unshoe. The Ivy League and kindred schools were by definition shoe. State colleges were definitely un. Professional careers were generally shoer than business ones. Shoe people were confident and casual, unshoes insecure and overeager.

We grew up and less smug, of course, but for a short time, with our whole adult lives before us, we felt unafraid, undefeatable, immortal and very, very shoe.

Winifred G. Newman
New York, New York

Source: "Gimme the Ol' White Shoe" from No Uncertain Terms, William Safire, 2003

...

"When Denny and I were at Yale, one of the adjectives in common use was "shoe" - presumably derived from "white shoe." I still see "white shoe" in print now and then, used to mean patrician or old-money WASP: the Times has referred to, say, Morgan Stanley as a white-shoe investment-banking firm. "Shoe" meant more to us than "white shoe." It could indeed indicate a background of boarding schools and trust funds - something like what "preppy" came to mean a decade later, although without the scorn that term carried with it. It could mean dress or behavior that reflected such a background, even if the person involved came from entirely different circumstances. It could also mean something approaching cool or suave."

"I've been told that a few years before we arrived the term "white shoe," which we didn't use, was often heard at Yale, along with "brown shoe" and "black shoe." The white shoe people were, of course, shoe. Apparently, the brown shoe people were the bright student council presidents from white middle-class high schools who had been selected by Yale to be buffed up a bit and sent out into the world, prepared to prove their high-school classmates right in voting them among the most likely to succeed. Black shoe people were beyond the pale...They were called weenies."

Source:

Remembering Denny, Calvin Trillin, 2005
...

At Yale there is a system for pigeonholing the members of the college community which is based on the word “shoe.” Shoe bears some relation to the word chic, and when you say that a fellow is “terribly shoe” you mean that he is a crumb in the upper social crust of the college, though a more kindly metaphor might occur to you. You talk of a “shoe” fraternity or a “shoe” crowd, for example, but you can also describe a man’s manner of dress as “shoe.” The term derives, as you probably know, from the dirty white bucks which are the standard collegiate footwear (you can buy new ones already dirty in downtown New York to save you the embarrassment of looking as though you hadn’t had them all your life), but the system of pigeonholing by footwear does not stop there. It encompasses the entire community under the terms White Shoe, Brown Shoe, and Black Shoe

White Shoe applies primarily to the socially ambitious and the socially smug types who affect a good deal of worldly sophistication, run, ride and drink in rather small cliques, and look in on the second halves of football games when the weather is good. They try so hard not to be collegiate in the rah-rah (or, as they would say, “Midwestern”) sense of the term that they are probably the most “collegiate” types now in college. Brown Shoe applies to the general run of those who are socially acceptable but above thinking that it really makes any difference. They constitute the general middle class of the college that overlaps somewhat into both White and Black; their ambition is to be the average citizen raised to the highest power compatible with being a cultured and relaxed gentleman. Black Shoe implies some of the attributes of the “grind” and is applied to those who participate a little too eagerly in seminars, literary teas, and discussions of life, literature, and the pursuit of philosophy. They are in college because they consider it primarily an educational and not a social institution; they mind their own business rather intensely, are probably in love with the girls they will eventually marry, and in many respects appear a good deal more sophisticated and  grown up than the White Shoe crowd.

The shoe categories obviously allow for a great deal more precise definition than this, as I have no doubt the first Yale man you meet will tell you. But pleasant as it is under the elms of New Haven, let us move into other groves of academe. We will have to take our “shoes” with us, however; the terminology may not be the same in all the colleges, but we will keep finding men whom the shoes will fit.

Source: Esquire - September 1953 "How Shoe Can You Get", Russell Lyne
...

A friend of mine was at Brown in the 1950s. At the time the phrase for being cool was "shoe."

Yes, "shoe." And the "shoe" guys wore brown or burgundy penny loafers.

Only the Slide Rule Brigade wore black loafers, according to Val. They might have been genuises, but they were not "shoe."

Source: Andy's Trad Forum

Joseph Abboud, ca. 1967

"When I was coming of age in the mid-1960s there were two schools (at school) of dressing: the collegiate kids and the rats. The rats wore little Beatle boots and pointed shoes and tight pants. We weren't The Lords of Flatbush, but in seventh and eighth grade we thought we were pretty tough, so we slicked our hair back and wore black. The collegiates were wholesome, very Kingtson Trio, very Harvard Square - madras jackets, cuffed khakis, navy chinos, blue button-downs, yellow barracuda jackets, and Weejun penny loafers with barrels on the sides.

I started out a rat and morphed into a collegiate. I liked all those interesting madras colors and chino pants I was seeing in the epicenter of Ivy League, Harvard Square, and was beginning to understand that this was how the blue bloods dressed. I never sat down and analyzed the situation or decided that this clothing would make me look more intelligent. I just knew it was a nice way to dress."

...

"Came the junior prom. I tossed caution to the wind. I had a date with Auta, the most beautiful girl in high school, the girl every guy wanted - a flower child with long, dark hair who looked as if she'd just come from a hootenanny - and this was my moment. First move: the suit. It was a navy three-piece natural-shoulder from Rogers Peet, and it cost an inconceivable $100. I had no right to be spending that kind of money, and if my mother had known she would have shot me, but I was buying more than a suit. Rogers Peet was one of those blue-blood bastions where the customers' first and last names were interchangeable — like Stewart Graham or Patterson Elliot - and even if Joseph and Abboud didn't quite operate the same way, I figured I could work at it, keep my hair short, dress like the establishment, fly under the radar, and be accepted. It was sort of like The Great Gatsby. Not as beautiful and sad, not as romantic, but I was buying my way into another class. I thought that by simply showing the salesman that I could afford the suit, I'd make him realize that I was legitimate, and I'd command a certain respect. So I took out my envelope of twenty $5 bills (I didn't have a wallet) and endowed my future."

Source:

Threads: My Life Behind the Seams in the High-Stakes World of Fashion, Joseph Abboud, 2004

Adler crew socks (still $1), 1962, 1965

Ad from The Cornell Daily Sun, 10/18/65 (click to enlarge)

Ad from The Tech (MIT), 11/7/62 (click to enlarge)

"They were the rage at Southern universites in the late 50s-early 60s.They were sort of fuzzy, and the tag carried a strong warning against ever bleaching them. Therefore, everyone did bleach them and, as a result, they turned slightly orangish-yellowish. They also wore holes at the heels awfully quickly. With their unique color, they were just the thing to wear with your BD short sleeve madras shirt, khaki trousers, tan Baracuta G-9 jacket and Weejuns."

Source:

Andy's Trad Forum - Ken C. Pollock, 6/16/07

The Yale Man

The Yale man dressed impeccably in the preppy uniform of the day, though ''preppy'' wasn't in wide use then. ''Natural shoulder'' was what men's magazines called the Yale look, and for decades the clothing stores near campus at Elm and York Streets in New Haven were the natural-shoulder capital of the universe. Its bulwarks were Fenn-Feinstein and J. Press. In New York, not far from the Yale Club, there was Haberdasher's Row, commencing at 44th Street and Madison Avenue: Brooks Brothers, known as just ''the Brothers''; J. Press (there was also one in Cambridge, Mass.); and Chipp, which had a retail store but also did big business in custom tailoring. (We have Chipp to thank for, among other innovations, jackets and trousers of patchwork madras.)

In the 1950's and 60's, an experienced observer could tell where a Yale man shopped just by his shirt: plain pocket meant Fenn-Feinstein; pocket with flap, J. Press; and no pocket at all, the Brothers, which in those days didn't believe in shirt pockets, perhaps because almost all their suits still came with vests. Vest aside, to determine the origin of a suit might take closer observation; if it had a lining of bright red silk (like several of the suits of one of my classmates, a guy so Cole Porter-ish that, like Porter, he kept a piano in his room), it was most likely a custom job from Chipp; if it had a button fly, it was probably from the Brothers, which still sold such garments up on the geezers' floor, where you could also get voluminous high-waisted boxers of the kind sometimes on display in the Yale Club locker room. They had three buttons at the top and came up almost to the nipples, as if made with a built-in cummerbund.

All the sartorial niceties of the Yale style began to erode, as I've suggested, with the enrollment of what became the class of 1968 -- my class, as it happens, and also the class of George W. Bush. I seem to recall the president-to-be going sockless and wearing corduroys and cable-knit sweaters, but that could describe any number of us. He did not cut the figure of, say, Strobe Talbott, another classmate, who became deputy secretary of state during the Clinton administration. Strobe was a full-fledged intellectual, so he could carry off the affectation of wearing plaid Bermudas well into November.

Article source:

The Yale Man - NYT - 9/19/04

Photo source:

A Restless Transplant - Brian Kupke and his Yale Sweater

Inspiration:

Old School (Thanks!)

Dull clothes suit them fine

"Brooks Brothers' darkest hour (that's probably a poor choice of words) came in the mid- and late '50s when a terrible thing happened to its line of men's clothing. It became popular.

Even though the economy was booming, men's clothing took a conservative tack that was almost funereal in cut and tone. The Ivy League. Everything was charcoal.

The narrow-lapeled, three-button suit with its unpadded shoulders and a buckle in the back of the trousers. Flaring button-down collars on oxford cloth shirts. Gleaming cordovan shoes and "old school" neckties in paisley prints and regimental stripes. Heavy woolen crew-neck sweaters worn under Shetland sportcoats. Even Chesterfield coats."
...
"Dull. No. Not really. Because I can't remember a time in my life when men's fashions looked any better. Maybe someday the Ivy look will return - maybe in a hundred years or so. In the meantime, I guess we can safely leave it in the custody of Brooks Brothers."

Source:

Tom Hritz, Pittsburgh Post Gazette - p. 3 - 6/30/83

Photo source:

The Trad - 11/16/08

Shoulder Shifts

"Hip," natural-looking shoulders and an easier fit have come to imply sartorial independence and a certain patrician carelessness. Then again, they may signify nothing more than another swing of fashion's pendulum. The rise and fall of men's shoulders, after all, can be seen as the equivalent of women's soaring and dipping hemlines.

A cursory look at the styles of the past several decades confirms the point. Natural-shoulder suits sold by Brooks Brothers, J. Press and other standard-bearers of American style in the 1950's were fine for many men, but unfortunately rendered others pear-shaped.

Source:

NYT - Men's Style: Shoulder Shifts - 2/3/91

Suntans and flat-fronts

Cornell Daily Sun, April 5, 1956

Watching 'The Graduate' (1967) the other night on Turner Classic Movies, I coveted Dustin Hoffman's wardrobe, his preppy button-downs and flat-front chinos. Steve McQueen and Sean Connery's James Bond set off similar pangs of sartorial envy.

Looking for a little historical perspective, I asked John Weitz, the 77-year-old designer, about pleats versus flat-front.

"Obviously, it all goes in circles," he said. "The modern-day circle started after the war, when the men came back wearing what are now unfortunately known as chinos but were then called suntans, because they were a tan pant and they were flat." Until then, Mr. Weitz continued, "the only people who wore flat pants were the upper classes. You saw them in Brooks Brothers and the Ivy League. The rest of the country wore great big pleated pants in a rather bad imitation of the Duke of Windsor."

Source:

NYT - On the Pants Front: The War of the Pleats

Chipp - Walk Before You Run - 14 East 44th Street

"Chipp opened its doors on April 1, 1945. (My brother insists it was 1947; when I get a few free moments I will research it.) The Brooks Brothers flagship was, and still is, at the corner of 44th and Madison. J Press was on the second floor on the northeast corner of 44th and Madison. The Yale and Harvard clubs were within shouting distance. The Biltmore Hotel, with its famous “Meet me under the clock at the Biltmore”, was around the corner. This was the place to be.

In those days, we rented just the second floor in the brownstone at 14 East 44th Street. A famous watering hole called The Gamecock, which occupied the ground floor, was frequented by the advertising fraternity. (These were the “men in the gray flannel suits.”) Our customer base was primarily the men who Sidney Winston, my father, met when he had traveled the Eastern prep schools for J Press: young boys who had now matured into business leaders, and, in some cases, world leaders. He was the same age as his young prep school customers. As a result, the relationships that developed were very different from relationships that are made when one is older. Many of those customers remained loyal Chipp customers through their entire lives.

The bill of fare was custom clothing and special-order clothing. (Stock clothing on the rack would not be part of Chipp for a few years.) And the key was being where the action was: the infant Chipp’s famous neighbors drew many potential customers onto the street. My father and his partner at the time, Lou Prager, who also earned his spurs at J Press, would go down the narrow flight of stairs to 44th Street and snag the men they recognized. There was no elevator—many famous people trudged up that flight of stairs.

As the business grew, the third and then the fourth floor were rented. In the mid 1960’s (I think it was 1965), we bought the entire building, opening the ground floor storefront. The fifth floor became a true retail specialty operation.

In about 1985, when a lot of New York City properties were being bought by Japanese interests, we sold our building. After a brief incarnation on the second floor of 342 Madison Avenue (we occupied the space at the corner of 43rd Street), we moved to our present address, 11 East 44th Street, right across the street from where we began.

We have come full circle. Again we do custom and made-to-measure (special order) clothing. No clothing on the rack. I am sure my father on high is amused."

- Paul Winston

Source:

Chipp 2 / Winston Tailors Blog

"No one got pleats."

We always had some waist suppression, more than Brooks and Press. We were always slightly more updated than they were. No one is pure anymore, but Brooks was there first with readymade clothing. When readymade came into being, both Brooks and Press were very pure with three buttons and virtually no shaping. My father was greatly influenced by that because he worked for Press. We didn’t have darts, but we had a little more side suppression. But it was a very fine difference.

- Paul Winston, Chipp

Please read the entire interview here:

Ivy Style - Chipp Off the Old Block

Chipp - The Beginning

"In 1945 Sidney Winston and Lou Prager opened Chipp of NY, Inc. They had both worked for J Press. The business was financed by Jonas Arnold, who was the proprietore of a men’s shop in Cambridge, MA named Chipp. ( Arnold and the Sill’s brothers were partners in a men’s shop in New Haven, CT. named Chipp. They had a parting of the way and the Sills brothers then called their operation Sills and Arnold moved to Cambridge and continued using the name Chipp.) Arnold suggested that Winston and Prager use the name Chipp for their NYC shop. Through the years many Yale and Harvard men who had traded at the New Haven and Cambridge Chipp shops thought that Chipp of NY, Inc was connected to the shops where they traded during their college years. There never was a business connection between the three shops. This is the answer to the frequently posed question, “Where did the name Chipp come from?”"

- Paul Winston

Source:

Chipp 2 / Winston Tailors Blog

Ken C. Pollock on the Ivy League Look

TNSIL: Traditional Natural-Shoulder Ivy League.

The venerable Ken C. Pollock posted the following on AAAC some time in 2004):

I go back a long ways with traditional natural shoulder ivy-league clothing (hereinafter “TNSIL” clothing), a phrase I like better than “preppie.”

I cared and knew nothing about clothing in high school. However, during the years (1959-1965) I was in college and law school in New Orleans, I had part-time jobs at the TNSIL shops in two clothing stores. One of those stores, Rubenstein Brothers, still exists today (selling mostly dreadful high-styled Italian stuff), but the second floor “Madison Shop,” which one reached by riding in the madras walled elevator, no longer does. We sold Southwick, H. Freeman and Son of Philadelphia, Joseph Greif, Allen Solly, Pringle, Alan Paine, Corbin, Gant, Burlington Gold Cup, etc. Despite the fact that I could have gotten a small discount by shopping where I worked, I did most of my shopping when the J. Press traveling representative came to New Orleans. Sadly, that the road shows have ended for USA companies, but English firms like Henry Poole, Huntsman, Edward Green, and Cleverley keep up the tradition.

I also went to New York several times during my school years and was enthralled by Chipp, J. Press, and [partly] by Brooks Brothers. I then bought a trench-coat and a car coat from Chipp, made by a company hardly any American had ever heard of, named Burberry. Nearly all of my suits and most of my shirts came from J. Press. I have posted about Brooks Brothers previously. It was very different in 1960, as compared to 1968, and sadly of course, it is far more different now. In 1960, we lovers of TNSIL clothing had to pick carefully among its offerings, mainly the oxford cloth shirts, some of the English socks, the English sweaters, and the raincoats. We avoided the ties; they were 2” shorter than everyone else ‘s. Brooks would explain that they were long enough; since nearly all of their suits came with a vest, the vest covered most of the tie. Furthermore, the vests meant that the shirts did not need pockets. I then, as now, loved “pure” TNSIL clothing. I thought that it was better practiced at Chipp and J. Press, than at Brooks, which was so English and so old-fashioned. In 1960 Brooks sold stuff that had gone completely out of style 25 years before; things like braces (soon to come back again, however), nightshirts, even nightcaps (with or without a tassel), button-fly trousers, French-back boxer shorts, bowlers, etc. Its suits were mostly of too heavy fabric, like the old grey herringbones the Brits wore. I had similar problem during trips to London in the early 1970’s that I had had with Brooks earlier. I bought up lots of sweaters, ties and socks, but avoided the clothing. The suits had too much shoulder then, the waists were too suppressed, the fabrics were too heavy, and suits usually came with weird touches, like short, stubby double vents and one button on the coat sleeves. The trousers sat too high on the hips.

Of course, TNSIL clothing has major parts of its roots in English clothing and the “pure” TNSIL look adopted and absorbed much of the English stuff that Brooks brought from England; the button-down collar (supposedly), the Shetland sweater, the trench coat, the polo coat, Fair Isle sweaters, Argyle sweaters and socks, etc., so the line has always been blurred. I have had one major change in taste since school days. During those years I (now I think, sadly) avoided Brooks’ English shoes. I then liked the very heavy double soled, often grained, ones; the ones that Flusser calls “gunboats.” The McNeil and Leeds models still sold by Allen Edmonds are good examples of that type.I later went over to the English-style shoe, along with two American ones; Alden and a few of the lighter Allen Edmonds models. Brooks modernized all during the 1960s and by the end of the decade, I liked their suits more.

After I finished school, I came to Atlanta, but I kept on buying from the J. Press traveling representative. As has been commented on elsewhere in this thread, actually J. Press clothing, while good, has never been of the very best quality, Only the cut and style were perfect. I was married in a J. Press suit in 1968. It was about that time that Brooks Brothers opened an Atlanta store, ending the trips here by the J. Press.

I then shopped some at Brooks Brothers, but more frequently from a local store, named “Spencer’s.” It carried the big three TNSIL names, Norman Hilton, Troy Shirtmakers Guild and Alden. The first two are gone, although the Norman Hilton name (but not the cut or quality) comes back from time to time, made by someone else. Alden probably would have been gone by now also, but for the fact that the French, Germans and others in Europe have given it the attention that it deserves. I was happier with Norman Hilton, than I was with J. Press; the cut and style were equally good and the quality was better. It had lots of hand-work. The last J. Press garment I bought, a Harris tweed jacket, was nearly all machine-sewn. I think that it was not from its best line, however.

After Spencer’s went downhill (it is now closed), I moved to H. Stockton’s for my Norman Hiltons. I could not buy my shirts there, however, as it had Troy make them for them with a longer (then trendy) collar. My last experience at Stockton’s was to try to buy some non-pleated trousers. I was told that it did not have one pair in the store, but it could special-order them. As a result, I will not go back to that store.

Shirts are a problem now, too. Troy eventually got into fusing, my most hated word. I can understand that fusing in suits and sport coats saves a little manufacturing costs, but how can anyone justify fused (or lined) shirt collars? Troy is now completely gone. Kenneth Gordon and Gitman both have fused and/or lined collars. The only Brooks shirts that do not seem to have fused or lined collars are the oxford button-downs in about 4 solid collars and two stripes. The others are all Asian made, mostly no-iron, and, IMO, are stiff and dreadful. Mercer sells a nice shirt, with perfect collar and no fusing, but I do not like some of the fabrics. I have not bought there since Mercer changed manufacturers. Nor have I bought shirts from J. Press in years. I have some English shirts by Turnbull, H&K, H&H, Lewin, etc., but that is betraying the TNSIL cause.

Norman Hilton closed its factory 8-9 years ago. IMO, Nick Hilton had been taking it downhill for several years before. Suits are now a problem too. I never was “in love” with Southwick; poor quality control, I thought. I thought some fit, some didn’t. Lots of fusing now, too. Oxxford has wonderful tailoring, some fine fabrics (and some very ugly stuff), but are cut by idiots. If you are not short and fat, it makes you look like it. Hickey Freeman is, to me, a somewhat poorer man’s Oxxford; not quite as wonderful tailoring, some fine fabrics (and some very, very ugly stuff), but they are mostly cut even worse, if that is possible. Samuelsohn is cut much better, but like all the others, you have to special order non-pleated trousers. There is no one else, except for the Italians; in most cases, the second most dirty word to me. Several places on Savile Row can do its own style (not TNSIL) right, but you must be very rich.

The Paul Stuart logo shows a man sitting on a fence. I have wondered why. Is it because of satirical uncertainty, such as I now have about trying to continue on with increasingly difficult task of trying to find good “pure” TNSIL clothing, versus moving into the English style? I have had no trouble rejecting Italian, although I will admit that some of the fabrics are very nice (but usually quite light), others are bizarre, and the tailoring can be excellent. IMO, however, the cut is usually dreadful, especially Brioni. Isaia and Kiton can do a good job, but it is still not TNSIL clothing. Paul Stuart has some nice stuff, but again, it is not “pure” TNSIL clothing. Ben Silver seems to be a bit of a mix of “pure” TNSIL clothing with Southern touches, English, a little bit of Italian, and updated TNSIL clothing. I wonder about the quality (who really makes the suits and sport coats?), do not like the Italian stuff and think the prices are way too high. Cable Car sells Southwick for very high prices. I have not investigated to see if it any better than Southwick’s usual fused suits (usually $299 at Filenes’s, but on sale here now for $224); but for those prices (3-4 times as much), it should be.

I now live in a “mix.” I admit that I am a hypocrite. I claim to be for “pure” TNSIL, but I really sit on the fence. I have some, mostly old, “pure” TNSIL clothing, some updated TNSIL clothing like Paul Stuart’s Samuelsohn, some real Savile Row, and a little Italian, although I am happiest with the former.
I have not bought Polo, except for a little of the English-made purple label stuff, usually top quality, at over-the-top prices. I just do not like the idea of Polo, mostly Asian junk, lots of fake “discounting” and sold to the masses via a gigantic advertising budget, hinting that it is a way for the middle class can get that old-money look. Polo probably loses money on the higher quality stuff, but I suspect that it has made a fortune getting knit shirts with the horsey logo made in Asia for $5-6 or so, and selling millions of dozens of them to retailers for about 3 times that. In turn, those stores “reduce” them from their $52.50-$65 list prices down the $35-$40 range.

Who do I think gets it right? IMO, at one time J. Press got it right. Also, Sidney Winston at Chipp got it right, but he would have to remain inventive, if he was alive today, to compete. How to be inventive and yet within the boundaries? While I claim to be for pure TNSIL clothing, I admit that it can be boring, if it remains “fixed,” and people rest on their laurels, as J. Press’s Japanese owners currently do. I admit I am for purity, but I know there has always been an uneasy alliance with English style, and that that alliance can work. I think that perhaps the only way to remain for TNSIL clothing to remain desirable is for it to remain fresh and inventive. New stuff has to come out. When i sold clothes in college, Gant, which was then good, put out 2-3 new stripes every 3-4 weeks to keep the interest up. The only way, IMO, to be inventive now, is to continue to borrow from and to slightly modify the English. One way, perhaps the best way (to avoid wandering off into "fashion") to be inventive can be done by looking to the past for inspiration. Except for introducing a number of items that caught on, Brooks never really did it quite right and certainly does not now. It is getting away from the English too much and getting into its current owner’s Italian style. Why did the W. Bill fabric have to go? Why are the tweeds so light? Realistically, Brooks can never be pure TNSIL; it is too large and therefore must appeal to the masses. Paul Stuart and Ben Silver are too expensive for their quality and are not pure enough. Cable Car, like J. Press, is a bit mummified.

There are some people out there with taste. Jay Kos has taste, but his stuff is not real TNSIL; it is too English and too expensive. George Bass in New Orleans has great taste, but he is a little bit too Italian. I think that he is close, though.

What would I do if I was in the business? I would get someone to copy Norman Hilton exactly. I would sell 3 button sack suits and sport coats, very much like Norman Hilton’s Hampton model. I would also sell them in a slightly suppressed 2 button model like Norman Hilton’s West End model. I get tired of only worsted and worsted-flannels being widely available. One way to be inventive is to go to re-introduce really lofty soft flannels, hopsacks, cavalry twills, whipcords, cheviots, etc. J. Press has some, but not enough of this. Also what is wrong with more heather-shaded olives and browns. It is boring to keep drowning in a sea of greys, navy and tan only; very little else exists. I would sell button-down shirts like those by Mercer, but in better materials; it could substitute for Troy or the Brooks’ shirts of old. I would sell Alden, Edward Green, Grenson, C&J and a few Church’s (the heavier models like the Shannon and the Burwood). I would sell lots of vests (in tartans and tattersalls). I would sell lots of repps and club ties (Brooks’ Country Club line is good). I would carry only non-pleated trousers. Is Majer still good? I would sell standard Pantherella socks, argyle socks, French lisle socks and clocked socks in sizes, not one size fits all.

What do I think would be the result of all of a business doing this? Probably disaster. We few who are into TNSIL are dinosaurs in our thinking; pretty much old and out-of-date. It is all about fashion now, not about style. There are just not enough of us out there who love TNSIL to keep anyone in business. As usual, I think that the answer is that there is no answer, but it is an interesting subject.

Source:

Tucker's TNSIL blog (defunct) and the AAAC Forum

A Curmudgeon’s Lament

or Musings of an Old Ivy Leaguer...

The Sartorialist - G. Bruce Boyer

A Quasi-Official Yale Man

In my undergraduate years I had passed the storefront many times, and I knew the company's reputation as purveyors of the "Ivy League Look": expensive essentials for discriminating men, including tailored suits, crisp button-down shirts, and eye-catching, perfectly coordinated neckties, as well as quaint accessories like oar-shaped tie bars, polka-dot bow ties, and brightly-colored suspenders with matching two-tone socks.

Life Tales - The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine - 5/9/04