When Larry Richardson walks down the street in Victoria, people openly stare, and often ask if they can take his photograph. The 65-year-old knows he cuts a dashing figure in his vintage bespoke suit, bowler hat and wingtip leather shoes. Born a dandy, he revels in it.
"I'm never more photographed than when I'm in London," says Richardson, who travels to Britain frequently in search of bespoke – or clothing tailored for a specific individual – treasures, some dating as far back as the mid-1830s but also including "some pretty wild" Carnaby Street suits from the 1960s. But he also causes a stir in his West Coast hometown, where his natty attire regularly slows traffic as he walks to work everyday at a nearby seniors' home.
"The joy of collecting, to me, is not having the stuff in my basement, but in wearing it. I wouldn't have top hats, for instance, if I didn't want to wear a top hat myself. It's my way of preserving things. Bespoke, sadly, is fading away. It's becoming impractical."
Richardson used to hunt for bespoke treasures in London’s markets but now searches on eBay as supply becomes increasingly scarce.
Over the years, Richardson has lovingly retrofitted his art-deco home to accommodate his vast collection, which includes 600 hats (top hats, fedoras, trilbys, homburgs and pork pies); 150 tailor-made suits (frock coats, morning and tailcoats, Privy Council uniforms, royal household, hunt dress and court attire) as well as other accoutrements, such as ascots, cufflinks, collar studs, leather and cloth gloves, spats and braces (or suspenders, in North American parlance). He also has alloted space for what he calls "boy toys from previous centuries," including antique hip flasks.
"I'm interested in collecting anything that is no longer made," says Richardson, who adds that his long-time partner, Albert, "has been indulgent of me. My hat space, alone, could be leased as rental accommodation.
"But when I'm fully dressed in an outfit I like – and it fits me well – I stand taller. It's like putting on a suit of armour to go out and face the world. And I face it with a lot more ease when I'm well-dressed."
Richardson adjusts a beaver felt hat made in Britain in the 1950s.
Roughly 85 per cent of Richardson's collection comes from Britain, where men's wear etiquette dictates that day wear can't be worn after 5 p.m.; evening wear before 5 p.m.; and that tweed should never be worn in the city on a weekday. "Although Fridays are allowed because it implies you're going to the country," Richardson explains.
Ten years ago, he would haunt London's markets and thrift shops for bespoke suits and hats. Now his main go-to is eBay, primarily because supply is getting scarce as interest soars for quality, vintage men's wear. "If I'm looking for something specific, I have to be prepared to pay for it, because there are no deals," he says. "One of my favourite everyday suits is a green herringbone from [Savile Row tailor] Gieves & Hawkes. It's an early 1960s, three-button, three-piece suit that I purchased three years ago for a bargain, about £130. Those deals are harder and harder to find." (A new Savile Row bespoke suit can cost £2,500 to £8,000, or $4,275 to $13,700, depending on the tailor.)
Today, a Savile Row bespoke suit can cost $4,275 to $13,700, depending on the tailor.
He says his closets – which he built himself – look like a retail store, circa 1890. "I call it a gay man's man cave. And I can spend hours down there, with my stuff." The suits (including frock coats, morning and tailcoats, their accompanying waistcoats and trousers) occupy 12 wardrobes spread over three windowed rooms.
Rigid hats (i.e., top hats, bowlers and straw boaters) cannot be stacked. They take up six cabinets. "A top hat must sit on its lid," says Richardson. "If you put a hat on its brim, you'll look like Prince Philip at a garden party. He doesn't have to care [how he looks]. But the rest of us do."
Richardson’s vast collection includes 600 hats.
His soft felt hats (he has 120 fedoras) are also stored upside-down for posterity's sake. "Long after I'm gone, I hope there will be heads small enough to fit my top hats," says Richardson. "I even collect suits that don't fit. [But] if they're no longer made, or are examples of excellence in 19th- or 20th-century bespoke tailoring, I have to have it."
Richardson says bespoke is a dying trade, and he laments it. "Thirty years ago, I could have walked into two or three shops in Victoria and had a wonderful suit made. No more. Being seen in public is the joy I get. I wore white tie and tails to the Christmas party at the seniors' home about 15 years ago, and this sweet little woman came up to me, with tears in her eyes, and said, 'It's been a lifetime since I've seen a man in white tie.'
"She would have been born before the turn of the century. She may well have gone to the balls at Government House here in Victoria, and dreamed of dancing with the Prince of Wales. It touched me deeply."