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Many opposing forces shape menswear. Some of them rear their heads in varying ways: society, preconceived notions, culture, and history. All of that plays in. Those are at odds with the “science” of good design, colour theory, and so on.
The black suit, and how we use it, is an example of that. It has been relegated to extreme formality and funerals. Same thing with the black tie. We have made the case that the black tie is as versatile as the navy. We are fully committed to the design and the science of good style, which is what Pillars of Style sets out, and even so we cannot ignore how society views certain things. The truth is that part of how we dress, and why we dress the way we do, is for an audience. That is important.
Apple TV’s show Sugar, unlike, say, John Wick, has done a great job of showcasing the versatility of a black suit, and how a man can wear it and embody it effortlessly, so he can focus on the job at hand.
A black suit is ordinary clothing, not costume and not only formal wear, so long as the shirt stays white and the tie is chosen with some care.
What the black suit and the white shirt have already settled
Christie Wittenborn, who dressed Colin Farrell for Apple TV’s Sugar, built the character on Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Samouraï, the 1967 film with Alain Delon as a contract killer. “The one that stood out was Le Samurai for me,” she told MovieMaker. “Just that specific style and silhouette.” Howard Hawks’s The Big Sleep sits behind it as well, and Farrell came to fittings with Sinatra in mind, less for how a suit is cut than for how a man stands in one.
What she put on screen is a short list. Fourteen bespoke suits in navy, charcoal, grey, and black, some of them mohair, chosen partly because mohair survived the stunt work. Roughly fifty white shirts, one fabric, French cuffs throughout. Suspenders in black or navy, cufflinks, oxfords. The ties, in her own description, are subdued patterns in black or navy.
Across two seasons the palette never moves; what varies is the cloth and the tie.
The collar, and the detail that usually goes wrong
Roberto Revilla, a London bespoke tailor who examined the show in July, calls them “proper, strong semi-cutaway collars.” He is right about the spread. The more useful observation is about length: the collar points reach far enough to meet the lapels and disappear underneath them.
That is harder to get than it looks, and it is where a great deal of the shirting sold today falls down. A short point sits marooned on the shirt front, floating either side of the knot with a wedge of white showing between collar and lapel. Once you have seen it you cannot stop seeing it, and it undoes an otherwise correct outfit at the exact height where people look. Our own Pillars of Style puts this under proportion: collar spread, knot, and lapel width work as one system, and a failure in any of the three shows up in the other two.
Wittenborn got it right on a production where nobody would have complained if she had not.
Where the tailoring slips
The knots are the weak points, and the fault is tension rather than symmetry. A dimple sits shallow in one scene, and in another the knot pulls a size small against that semi-cutaway spread, where the collar is asking for something tighter and more pronounced. Set against the alternative this is a small complaint, because the show never falls into the loose, oversized Windsor that costume departments reach for whenever a man is meant to look important. A four-in-hand tied slightly badly is the better error.
Why a loose knot bothers me
Irregularity itself is not the fault. A dimple that sits off centre, or a knot that finishes fractionally askew, is the evidence of a hand rather than a machine, and it belongs. What has to hold is the tying. Every step, from the first cross to the final draw up against the collar, is made once and made with conviction, and each one is pulled taut. A knot tied that way and finished off centre is correct. A knot tied tentatively and straightened afterwards is not, however level it ends up.
Movability and comfort require a relaxed fit
Farrell’s jacket flowed well through the scenes. The fit was relaxed, cut for a flattering silhouette and still at home in hard movement. My one critique of some of the jackets is the sleeve length, which ran slightly long. A shorter sleeve would have exposed a band of Sugar’s white shirt at the wrist, and that exposure is the detail that completes a mastery of proportion.
The trousers were the biggest opportunity. Revilla praises them, and on function he is right: they “flow through his legs rather than twist around and strangle them,” which is more than I would say for the suits Daniel Craig wore through the later Bond films. Those were cut too tight for my taste, the trousers above all. Relaxed and functional is a good result, though it is not the same as classic. A higher rise and a straighter line through the thigh would have given the silhouette the mid-century proportion the rest of the wardrobe is clearly after. From my perspective, the flow from the jacket to the trousers was a bit jarring.
Fourteen suits, fifty shirts
Fourteen suits and fifty identical shirts look like excess until you count what they take off the table. Sugar spends the series looking for missing people. On the mornings that work matters, he reaches for whatever is in front of him and it is already right. The decisions were made once, in advance, by a man who understood that attention runs out and had somewhere better to spend his.
Aklasu has made this argument since the beginning, and it holds outside the fiction. A wardrobe improves through restraint that biases towards longevity. I mean that visually more than practically: will it still look right in a decade, when the clothes around it have moved on? Versatility ahead of variety, repeat wear ahead of occasional use. What you get for it is the morning you dress without deliberating.
The tie is the part still open to you
A white shirt and a black suit set the backdrop, and a tie is not required. When the occasion warrants one, the best choices are muted in colour rather than bright, and their interest comes from texture, which is what a grenadine weave provides. Pattern works too: micro patterns, dots, or geometric shapes. Tonal designs open the range further, into paisleys and beyond, while keeping the colour restrained. Our Navy Blue Grenadine Tonal Stripe Tie is an understated example.
Navy Blue Grenadine Tonal Stripe Tie
Handmade in Como, Italy
Details & Care
- Tonal
- Grenadine Fina
- 100% Silk from Como, Italy
- Three-Fold
- Dry Clean Only
- Handmade in Italy
Learn why Grenadines are the best-kept secret in menswear and why you should wear them.
Delivery & Returns
Delivers in 3–5 business days.
Free delivery to the United States on orders over $135 USD.
Free returns and exchanges. See our return policy.
Client Service
Hours
Monday to Friday, 9am – 5pm MST
Closed weekends and statutory holidays
Reach us
1 800 595 0276
office@aklasu.co
A deeper dive into texture
Against black, the weave matters more than the colour. A flat black silk goes dead beside a dark suit, with nothing in it for the eye to hold. Grenadine is a leno weave: two warp threads twist around each weft as it passes and lock it in place, leaving an open, porous cloth with structure and air in it. The twist takes light along its length, so the tie keeps depth and shape under a jacket instead of dissolving into the cloth beside it. The difference between a grenadine and a knit tie is worth knowing if you are choosing between the two.
The weave also helps the knot. An open grenadine has more body than a flat silk, and a wool interlining gives the knot its dimple, so a four-in-hand holds a semi-cutaway collar without a Windsor being called for. That is the knot the show wanted and did not always achieve.
The Navy Grenadine Tie is the first tie a man should own and the last he stops reaching for. Against a black suit it is warmer than black, and it stays correct under charcoal, grey, brown, and navy besides. I have set out the full range for a navy blue suit and for a grey suit elsewhere.
Navy Grenadine Tie
Handmade in Como, Italy
Which length?
- 6′ and under
- Standard
- Over 6′
- Extra Long
Details & Care
- Solid
- Grenadine Fina
- 100% Silk from Como, Italy
- Three-Fold
- Dry Clean Only
- Handmade in Italy
Learn why Grenadines are the best-kept secret in menswear and why you should wear them.
Delivery & Returns
Delivers in 3–5 business days.
Free delivery to the United States on orders over $135 USD.
Free returns and exchanges. See our return policy.
Client Service
Hours
Monday to Friday, 9am – 5pm MST
Closed weekends and statutory holidays
Reach us
1 800 595 0276
office@aklasu.co
The Black Grenadine Tie is the second. It pairs with as much as navy does, and it comes second only because black brings an association navy does not: the evening event, the funeral, the room where being noticed for your clothes is the worst available outcome. That is a reason to choose it deliberately, not a reason to keep it for those rooms alone.
Black Grenadine Tie
Handmade in Como, Italy
Which length?
- 6′ and under
- Standard
- Over 6′
- Extra Long
Details & Care
- Solid
- Grenadine Fina
- 100% Silk from Como, Italy
- Three-Fold
- Dry Clean Only
- Handmade in Italy
Learn why Grenadines are the best-kept secret in menswear and why you should wear them.
Delivery & Returns
Delivers in 3–5 business days.
Free delivery to the United States on orders over $135 USD.
Free returns and exchanges. See our return policy.
Client Service
Hours
Monday to Friday, 9am – 5pm MST
Closed weekends and statutory holidays
Reach us
1 800 595 0276
office@aklasu.co
Both are garza fina, cut and finished by hand in Como. Navy first, black second.
Once your trusted base is set, consider these ties, socks and squares for your black suit.
