A HERMÈS PARIS pigskin leather hunting jacket, thought to date from around the 1990s.
A special piece has come in.
We have handled Hermès before, but leather outerwear is another matter entirely, and it very rarely reaches our hands like this.
HERMÈS is, as everyone knows, the foremost of French houses, founded in Paris in 1837.
That its beginnings lay neither in clothing nor in bags, but in a harness workshop, is something that seems to come up surprisingly seldom.
The founder, "Thierry Hermès", was a craftsman making saddlery in Paris — harness, above all.
He was decorated at the Paris Exposition Universelle of 1867, and the workshop's name rose as one that furnished the carriages of the aristocracy and the wealthy.
In 1880 his son Charles-Émile moved the shop to 24 rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.
That is precisely the address at which the Hermès flagship still stands today.
The turning point arrived at the beginning of the twentieth century, as the carriage gave way to the motor car.
"Émile-Maurice", the third generation, judged that they could not remain merely a saddler, and carried the craft of leather across into travelling trunks and clothing.
It was in the course of this that he brought the zip back from Canada and spread its use in France.
In the France of the day it was known as "the Hermès fastening", and the story of the zipped leather jacket made for the future Edward VIII of Britain is still told.
A harness workshop, armed with its command of leather and metal fittings, going out into the world of dress.
Take it that way, and what makes this piece interesting comes more easily into view.
Now, what has reached us from that house is a hunting jacket with the length of something close to a half coat.
The first thing to seize the eye is the generous flap pocket set at the left breast.
This pocket — remarkably — detaches by means of its fittings.
A hook fitted to the pocket engages a D-ring on the body, and taking it off returns the front to a single clean plane.
These fittings are precisely the clasps used in saddlery to join a lead or a harness.
The apparatus of the house's founding has been brought straight over onto a jacket.
To do such a thing so lightly is, I must say, thoroughly Hermès.
What is more, the same mechanism is provided once again on the inside.
Over the lining, a pocket in the same pigskin is suspended by the same fittings.
One of the two sides no longer survives, so whether it was specified for one side alone from the beginning, or whether a single pocket was meant to be moved between inside and out, is not something I can determine with any accuracy.
Either way, it remains an interesting garment.
Beyond that, the construction is astonishingly plain.
A flapped pocket to each side at the waist.
One seam across the chest at the yoke, and otherwise simply a zip running up the front.
It is precisely because of this quietness, I think, that the breast pocket and its fittings stand out as they do.
The cuffs carry tabs, fastened with Hermès sellier buttons.
Sellier is the French word for a saddler, and refers to the round snap fasteners long used in harness work.
The presence of the horse lingers here as well.
And what appears the moment you put it on is a salmon pink lining.
The "HERMÈS PARIS" logo is woven all over a lustrous cloth, in vivid contrast to the restrained camel outside.
Thoroughly quiet without; brilliant only within.
This practice is, I think, a refined game common to Hermès outerwear.
The leather is pigskin, exactly as the tag records with "PEAU PORC".
Look closely at the surface and you will find small follicles arranged regularly in groups of three.
This is a characteristic of pigskin alone; because the follicles pass right through the hide it breathes exceptionally well, and being light and resistant to abrasion besides, it is a genuinely superior leather in practical terms too.
Stroke it with the palm and the nap lies softly down, the colour shifting at once.
Substantial in thickness yet without hardness, it does not cling to the shoulders when worn.
This lightness is, I think, the sort of thing one only understands by putting it on.
Pigskin suede develops a lustre as the nap lies down with use.
The colour deepens first at the cuffs, the hem and around the pockets, so that in a few years it should read closer to honey than to camel.
The colour is a bright camel beige.
The surfaces catching the light have gone pale and dry while the shadowed parts sink towards honey, producing a considerable range of expression within a single garment.
As for pairing, bringing in a darker colour pulls the whole together.
A navy knit with deep indigo denim, or grey flannel.
With the top this light, simply letting the bottom sink will settle the centre of gravity.
Given the length, it can be worn alone in place of a coat in the cold months.
Thrown over a fine knit, it should serve equally well in early spring and early autumn.
The size is marked "52".
In Japanese sizing this corresponds roughly to "L ~ XL".
The length approaches that of a half coat, and it is built with room through both the body and the armholes.
A heavy knit underneath will not make it feel confined, so it will serve as the lead piece through winter.
There is wear — soiling, fading, and a missing pocket — but no significant damage that would affect wearing it, so there is a great deal of life in it yet.
As mentioned above, the detachable pocket inside is present on one side only.
There is also soiling here and there across the suede, but I consider this the natural appearance of a garment that has been worn for a long time.
Hermès remains on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré, unchanged.
Yet the house as it stands today will surely never again play at making a pocket detach by means of saddlery hardware.
A shop that began as a saddler, still playing with leather and metal fittings nearly two centuries on.
Take the breast pocket off, and wear it as a single plane of hide with nothing on it at all.
That is the luxury I should like you to taste in this piece.