An absent minded glance at the stationery pot on my desk while rubbing my sore ankle has helped me develop a theory.

Since the sliding ruler of the footstalls at Startrite in the 1980s, I have focused on measuring my feet to get comfortable shoes. I have never measured the shoes themselves.

Naturally, I am not belittling the importance of measuring feet, but for a while now I have wondered why one pair of my shoes always hurt. Whenever I wear them, my lower leg aches and my ankle always swells. Admittedly, I am an extreme example. In late 2008 I fractured far too many bones in that area, so I occasionally get twinges, aches and pains.

But these shoes always kill me. At the end of the day my ankle balloons and my metal plate feels like it is on fire. Why don’t my other shoes do that?

So I compared them to my most comfortable shoe. My initial thought was that the bevelled waist on the comfortable shoes was the reason, but cross comparison with another pair of comfortable shoes ruled this out.

The ruler did not uncover any discernible differences in the length or width of the shoe or the heel stack either. But the height of the heel stack – that was a different story.

The uncomfortable shoes had a heel stack that was a level 1.7 cm under the shoe. In comparison, the comfortable shoes had a heel stack that tapered from 2 cm at the back of the shoe down to 1.5 cm at the front. When I leant back and looked at both shoes from the side, the angle of the shoe from heel counters to the other end of the heel stack was noticeably different.

My theory was born. My shoes kill my feet because the heel stacks do not taper down. This makes the angle too sharp at the point where the heel lifts end and the waist of the shoe starts. I can’t prove the theory, but it is something that I definitely going to look out for when purchasing shoes in the future.

So, if you’ve ever wondered why a certain pair of shoes hurts, get the ruler out. It’s not all about the inside of the shoe or the size of your foot when it comes to comfort.

If you’re around town next week Thursday (and even if you’re not) you’ll be glad to know that we’re holding a size 8 sample sale preview to coincide with our next first Thursday.

My tailor, Russell, recently lent me the tailoring book he was passed by his old boss at Kashket’s, the military tailors, when he retired. Dan and Russell still use it for reference on particularly unusual jobs like riding britches or certain coats.

The book has no cover. Its front is merely the beginning of Chapter 1 – Some Problems of the Tailoring Trade, by F. Chitham (Director, Harrods, Ltd.). Through good fortune and no doubt some decent treatment, this front page has survived without mark, despite the lack of a cover. And the back of the book is merely page 274 – the end of detailed descriptions on how to cut a West End Morning Coat.

The book therefore has no title. But through a little research, I have discovered that this is volume one of The Modern Tailor, Outfitter and Clothier, by A A Whife. Whife was the technical editor of The Tailor and Cutter, a trade magazine that was published from the 1850s until the 1960s. Volumes two and three apparently go into clerical dress, court dress and women’s wear. Which is probably why Russell only kept volume one.

The fact that this is only the first volume also explains why there is no index. A reference system would seem to be indispensable for a guide like this, which aims to teach cutting in no small detail.

On page 162 one can follow the instructions for a pattern of the ‘coat-frock’, which though full in the back as we consider a frock coat to be, has a belt that cinches in the waist. There is one alternative pattern, on the following page, but this is for a coat-frock with “Magyar shoulders; short sleeves; square neck; gathers on hips.”

As I read my way through this guide, expect occasional blog posts on interesting patterns and points. To start with, though, Mr Chitham’s introduction. It begins with the cheery note that “the Growing Competition to which the trade has been subjected … is the greatest problem of all, and is peculiar to the bespoke tailoring trade, in that it is a competition which threatens the very existence of many hundreds of persons engaged in the business.” The decline hasn’t stopped, really, since he wrote that a century ago. Though there are fewer hundreds threatened today.

He goes on to recommend that tailors should not become too specialist, yet should concentrate on one ‘class’ of trade: “it is impossible to make a ‘cheap’ suit today and a ‘good’ suit tomorrow.” Some houses that have pulled back from ready-to-wear should perhaps have learned their lesson here.

And finally, Chitham thinks it absolutely necessary for salesmanship that “every tailor should be extremely particular about his personal appearance, in order to create a favourable impression. He must also cultivate a pleasing manner.” I’ll have to show Russell that bit…

The heritage boom has led several brands down a difficult path. Do they reproduce things they made previously or remake them with the modern customer in mind? Companies who chose the latter have fared better. Most consumers like the idea of heritage (hard wearing, durable clothing) over the reality (hard wearing, ill fitting clothing). One of the best companies at understanding this subtle difference is Gitman Vintage.

Based in Ashland, Pennsylvania since 1948, Gitman Brothers was originally named the Ashland Shirt Corporation. It wasn’t until 1978, when Max Gitman’s sons took over, that it became Gitman Brothers. This is also the reason why you’ll see mags and blogs refer to Gitman as having started in the 70’s, despite having actually been originated in the 40’s.

The companies had been making shirts for designers quietly for a number of years, but their popularity underwent a massive spike when word slipped out that Thom Browne made his shirts there. Their entire operation is still made in the US - no mean feat at a time when even APC’s Jean Touitou denounced US manufacture as ‘only theoretical’. Aside from their manufacturing methods, what makes Gitman vintage stand out is their focus on updating, rather than replicating, their heritage.

Gitman Vintage is headed by Chris Olberding, their one man machine who’s solely responsible for all aspects of the spin off brand. Each season Olberding chooses an archive year and chooses a set amount of fabrics from that particular year. For example, spring/summer 2010 uses fabrics from 1984. The cuts are changed for a contemporary feel, which means that the body is slimmed and the armholes raised to keep in line with today’s trimmed fit.

Evoking the feel of the old has been Gitman Vintage’s greatest success and, unsurprisingly, it’s what Olberding loves most about his role. “[I like] seeing how the old fits in with the new. After all, what is the new but the good forgotten old.”

Last month I went to the opera for the first time. After the crashing waves of the storm at the start of Verdi’s Otello rained down from the stage at the Barbican, I was overwhelmed. The London Symphony Orchestra, supported by the London Symphony Chorus, unleashed powerful emotions in the auditorium.

However, I was soon underwhelmed. Severely underwhelmed. My girlfriend and I had both dressed up and I was looking forward to doing some serious shoe spotting. Since starting this column, I have found myself doing that more and more.

Where better than the opera to spot elegant dress shoes? My next purchase is likely to be a black shoe suitable for evening wear. In March I will have to present an awards ceremony in front of a sizeable audience, so I was looking for some inspiration.

In particular, I was looking to see if I would prefer wholecuts to an Oxford with a toe cap, which I could polish to a glassy sheen. Despite bobbing and weaving as the audience entering the auditorium, I saw very few men in black tie.

“Ah well,” I said to my girlfriend. “I can look forward to the principals coming out.”

I ignored her rolling eyes and we found our seats. The previously mentioned storm subsided and out came the principals. Oh dear. Not a dress shoe in sight. Plenty of well-worn loafers for me to yawn at, but nothing inspirational. Nothing aspirational.

It wasn’t as if I was too far away to see either. We were so close that we could hear the pages of the music being turned.

Later the same week I was on the 21 bus home late at night. I considered moving seats as I spied the drunk guy with the kebab approaching the seat opposite me, but I was too tired to get up. Five minutes later and I spied his surprisingly smart, pressed black trousers. My eye switched to his shoes and my mind was made up. Black wholecuts it is.