The Guys Have It

"I don't kid myself thinking everyone loves it," says designer Thom Browne of his signature slim-fitted silhouette. (Helayne Seidman for The Washington Post)

The timing was perfect for the emergence of designers Thom Browne and Alexandre Plokhov.

Browne is a former actor who once worked for Lauren. He won the 2006 CFDA award for menswear designer of the year and accepted his trophy dressed in one of his signature suits. His jacket barely reached to his hips. The sleeves were eccentrically short, revealing more than a few inches of his white French-cuffed shirt. And his trousers, with their flat front and slim cut, ended high above his black dress shoes, revealing the full expanse of his naked ankle.

His sensibility represents the most significant shift in the proportions of American men's tailored apparel in more than a decade. In an industry where change is an evolution -- rather than a revolution -- and where those transformations are measured in millimeters, Browne struck at the very core of menswear.

"A suit is a suit is a suit, whether it has a notched lapel, a peak lapel, two buttons or double-breasted," Herman says. "The only thing that distinguishes them is fit."

Browne -- medium height, slim, with a buzz cut and a television face that is all sharp angles and high planes -- is tucked into a corner at the restaurant Pastis in the city's Meatpacking District. It's easier for him to settle into a conversation here, despite the din of a lunch crowd that never thins. His studio, just around the corner, is small and already crowded with the three members of his staff.

The two men who work with him dress in the designer's signature flat front gray trousers with white shirts. They just as easily evoke the image of a 1950s door-to-door salesman as a debate team captain or a Sinatra enthusiast. (The lone woman wears an extremely skinny white pantsuit.)

"I don't kid myself thinking everyone loves it. But I'd rather have people either love it or hate it," Browne says. "I'd rather not please everyone."

None of it, of course, comes cheap. His ready-to-wear suits start at $3,200. For bespoke, which is a significant part of his business, a man should expect to pay at least $3,800. Never mind the price, many men will have a hard time getting past those Pee-wee Herman pants.

"They do get hung up on them," he says. "But I love the proportion. It shows a guy something he's so familiar with. His father wore a suit. His grandfather wore a suit. It provokes something. And he thinks about it."

Instead of a runway presentation, Browne creates vignettes that evoke a mood and a moment in time. For his fall collection, he had models, in his shrunken jackets and short pants, ice-skating around a makeshift rink in an exhibition space. Many designers will present garments in an extreme manner only to offer more restrained versions for sale. Not Browne. If a man likes the idea of a Thom Browne suit -- the fabric, the construction, and the narrow silhouette -- but is uncomfortable showing off his ankles, the designer would not be inclined to placate him.

"He shouldn't be coming to me," Browne says, "if he doesn't want these proportions."

Plokhov's work is more reassuring. He has a shop in SoHo filled with substantial wooden tables, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a custom-made leather sofa reminiscent of something that might be found in an old-fashioned gentleman's club. There is nothing flashy or off-putting about the surroundings or the clothes that fill the racks. Plokhov creates fashion that sneaks up on a man.