If the Suit Fits (It’s Probably Custom) – Part 2: The Rise and Fall of Comfort (and Trousers)

By Andrew Yamato

Last month I outlined what I think are the elements of proper fit for suit jackets and sport coats, Before I continue that analysis with trousers, I’d like to take a look how we arrived at a moment in menswear whengood fit is such a rarity.

Bearing in mind that any notion of sartorial propriety is to some extent a matter of personal preference, I believe that comfort is at least as important as appearance to good fit. For most of the past century this belief was generally shared by a menswear trade that was heavily invested in the quality and longevity of its product. Skilled tailors making clothing at a variety of price points built comfort into their garments as a matter of artisanal expertise and pride; high armholes here, some fullness there, trousers on the natural waist, etc. These elements of comfort were appreciated by the men who wore tailored clothes, and were by and large maintained across stylistic evolutions; a slim but well-cut bespoke suit in 1964 didn’t necessarily feel dramatically different from a drape suit made a generation earlier, however different their silhouettes and overall effect.

In the 1960s and 70s, however, countercultural trends began casting traditional tailored clothing as the oppressive work uniform of square dads everywhere, and younger men came to see clothes more as women always had: opportunities for individual, fashionable expression. More often than not, that expression has taken the form of the casual, athletic, and activewear that has dominated the menswear market ever since. Inexpensive, disposable, and above all comfortable, these clothes largely consigned tailored clothing to the unloved categories of office and occasional attire. Men who wear tailored clothing because it’s mandatory — whether for work, a wedding, or an interview — tend to wear it indifferently, with little expectation of comfort, and with irritation at its relatively hefty price. Thus was the stage perfectly set for the rise of cheaply made ready-to-wear clothes made possible by new manufacturing techniques and inexpensive overseas labor. By and large, the men fitted with the resulting stiff, boxy, and bland clothes (usually by poorly trained sales staff) didn’t know what they were missing in terms of fit and comfort, let alone style — they just knew they were paying relatively little for it.

An ignorant consumer is one easily led, and the mass-market fashion industry has long since realized that men can be as easily lured into profitable trend cycles as women. The vested interest of fashion designers and editors in keeping men uncomfortable — both psychologically, in terms of anxiety about whether or not they’re on trend, and literally, by taking a page from women’s fashion and marketing a largely unattainable image of young and slender men in clothes that only the young and slender could possibly fit into. This slim silhouette can be seen, especially in its early days, as the inevitable reaction against the baggy proportions of the 1990s, but almost two decades later its continuing popularity testifies to a profitable obsession within the industry (and the culture more generally) with the fun, fitness, and fecundity of youth.

The fashion industry (as opposed to the erstwhile menswear trade) uses sex to sell clothes, so it’s hardly surprising that the most easily sexualized item of male clothing — trousers — are especially subject to its dictates. The aim of traditional men’s tailoring has never quite been “sexiness” as we know it today, but rather an aesthetic of balance and proportion, seeking to impart a more or less ideal male form: broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. A curvaceous bum doesn’t hurt, but it’s not really on the agenda; “prominent seat,” after all, has always been discrete euphemism on Savile Row, not a client request. The majority of RTW manufacturers today, on the other hand, are selling low-rise, flat-front trousers, trim if not tight through the thigh, and tapered to a cropped ankle. Rather than improving one’s physique, these clothes are intended to show it off; indeed, Bonobos founded its very successful trouser brand on the coy suggestion that its wearers will enjoy the same copious social benefits of a well-presented posterior as its namesake primate.

To be clear, I’ve got nothing against anyone who wants to highlight what he might consider his best feature or two by wearing constricting, low-rise, crotch-hugging trousers — I just don’t find them particularly elegant or comfortable, which are my two main criteria for well-cut tailored clothing. For those who share my perspective, the best place to find trousers that make them both look and feel their best is where it’s always been: custom.

Even among the sartorially inclined, most men don’t give the fit of their trousers nearly as much thought as they do for their jackets. Having decided upon certain largely stylistic matters — pleats or flat front, cuffed or hemmed, etc. — they often fail to consider the most important factor in trouser fit: rise, and specifically, the benefits of a longer one. Such is the ubiquity of bluejeans and the homogeneity of the RTW landscape that most men may have never experienced how trousers feel when they sit on the natural waist. Higher-rise trousers resting above the hips rather than across them are simply more comfortable, requiring less cinching by belt, and allowing for classic custom-y touches like side tabs, DAKS adjusters, and Hollywood waists that don’t look good or function properly on low-rise trousers. The stale but commonly held prejudice against “old man” pants, pulled up high over paunches, obscures the fact that such old men were once young, and attuned in a much more sartorially-inclined era to the aesthetic benefits conferred by a higher rise: a longer leg line, a more defined waist, little need to be constantly re-hiking sagging pants or retucking loose shirt tails, and little fear of having an inelegant triangle of shirt peeking from beneath their jacket button or blousing out from under a vest. Having had these points explained to them, and having been shown the positive examples of countless contemporary bloggers, influencers, and trendsetters in the parallel sartorial universe of #menswear for whom high-rise trousers are emerging as a new orthodoxy, many custom clients may still opt for lower-rise trousers — such is the power of mass-market fashion trends — but at least they’ll do so aware of what they’re giving up.

A general corollary to a higher waist on trousers is a somewhat fuller cut. Again, this is to some extent a matter of taste, but custom clients should at least be advised that the rationale behind this is anything but arbitrary. Slight fullness over the hips (elegantly afforded in flat front trousers by front darts) and thighs affords both greater comfort and a smoother visual transition from the bulk of the jacketed torso to the legs, avoiding a top-heavy, spindly-legged effect (especially noticeable on heavier men). This fullness needn’t be retro-cartoonish, nor does it have to be continued to the bottom of the trousers. The most fashion-forward of high-end artisanal menswear labels (e.g. Ambrosi) have recently been showing high-waisted, single-pleated trousers with a fuller thigh tapering to narrow cuffs; while not being ideally proportioned to my eye, it is at least a fresh new silhouette that suggests that menswear (or at least #menswear) is ready to be comfortable again.

With regard to length, the current trend for cropped trousers (often showing bare anklebones) has probably had its moment, especially if the trend for fuller trousers descends below the knee. This is because while a narrow cuff looks crisp and clean above the shoes, a wider cuff at the same altitude tends to simply look (and feel) too short. It’s possible that some sort of culotte effect will have its fashion moment, but it’s probable that inseams will continue to have a proportional relationship to leg openings: short and narrow, or long and wide.

Perhaps the most frequently neglected angle of trouser fit is from behind. Largely because it’s so difficult for men to actually see their own backside, they’re often blissfully unaware of what a crumpled, saggy mess the seat and back thigh of their otherwise crisp and clean trousers can be. This is because the shape and prominence of a man’s seat is the most salient variable in trouser fit, and one which RTW trouser patterns simply can’t account for. The adjustments required to fix this problem — usually lowering the back waistband relative to the front — is beyond most alterations tailors. Analogous problems in the front are less common but even more difficult to address properly.

Such difficulties in achieving fit might be the bane of RTW, but they’re a boon to custom. Educate a man about how clothes should fit to afford maximum elegance and comfort, and you’ve already made the most compelling and fundamental argument for why he should have his clothes made for him.