No one likes the notion of stepping into a ghostly stranger's clothes. A man might wear a fine item that once belonged to his grandfather—and gladly tell the requisite story about the old coot needing this or that just so—but what of all those painstakingly crafted suits never bequeathed?
Track them down in Hamburg's Old Town, where Rudolf Beaufays's cavernous clothing store is a true Church of Tweed—a comprehensive museum of mostly British tailoring theatrically packed with richly colored suits and jackets. One rack alone might boast large-checked blazers with leather buttons, a pale-green Harris Tweed sports jacket, and, for the more adventuresome, a stunning, bracingly rust-orange herringbone suit.
Situated just off the stately Colonnaden that leads to the Inner Alster Lake, Beaufays's shop is in the center of the city's Anglophile heart. Hamburg has a longstanding affinity with England. Both have a wealthy Protestant merchant class that prizes discretion, country pursuits, and welted brogues. They also battle damp climates, which explains their shared love of heavy woven wool, Barbour jackets, and why Hamburgers say, "When it rains in London, we open our umbrellas."
Rudolf Beaufays himself is a raffish gentleman. It's not uncommon to find the wavy-haired 63-year-old in a double-breasted blazer, cufflinks, beaten-up loafers, and, of all things, a pair of shorts. Beaufays visits London regularly to peruse his scouts' recent recommendations and to send back a crate full of what he likes. Though the shop opened in 1999, it looks as if it's been around since the days of Kaiser Wilhelm. Its walls are nearly hidden by piles of Lock hatboxes, rattan suitcases, and oil portraits of forgotten sitters. "No architect would let you design a store like this," he laughs. "They'd want to put in shelves for sweaters."
Beaufays encourages browsing, but he has a knack for disappearing into the racks and coming back with something that will fit you perfectly. He'll suddenly pull out an elaborate dressing gown lined in orange plaid flannel, from Hawkes, before they merged with Gieves. Or he might turn up with a cashmere blazer by the current Gieves & Hawkes. Or a tweed suit accompanied by two sets of trousers—one normal and a second, much shorter pair. "For riding," Beaufays points out. "In the country, you see."
For those still squeamish about secondhand clothes, a sturdy Harris tweed coat—which rarely loses its shape—is a good place to start. And here, the discriminating have the chance to buy handmade clothes in vintage "dead stock" fabrics that are nearly extinct. There are even suits from obscure Savile Row tailors who have gone out of business years ago (Daniel W. Jupp, you are not forgotten), whose custom labels tell you the year they were made.
The highest prices rarely surpass €250 and are reserved for elaborate rarities: a pair of mahogany Lobb cap-toed Oxfords, for instance, or a handmade crimson smoking jacket. The prices seem exceedingly fair—€75, typically, for a sport coat, €200 or so for a suit—especially considering that these clothes couldn't be reproduced at any price.
