I remember when I was editing magazines in the ‘90s hearing that American Vogue was coming to London’s East End to do a shoot. I think it was Steven Meisel who was crossing the pond, and I was probably at Arena at the time. The news triggered a kind of epiphany. While we loved the idea of taking fashion shots in California or New York, here was someone using our own back yard for inspiration. Why on earth weren’t we just hopping on the tube, as it were, and using the same location – cheaper, local and a celebration of our own culture, not an appropriation of someone else’s?
The answer, of course, is that there is appeal to the exotic – the unfamiliar, the other. If your idea of a good time is watching Scorsese movies or listening to Chet Baker & Crew, and if you aspire to be like Steve McQueen on his motorbike under the Hollywood sun (guilty), then of course you’ll be inspired by the sheer romantic otherness of it all.
This is no bad thing. It can lead to great ideas. Tobias Cox, founder, with his partner Ingrid, of Mulo shoes, was between jobs when a friend suggested he buy a one-way ticket to Argentina to spark inspiration. A few months later, with money running low, he realised he’d have to come home and so bagged a passage crewing a sailing boat. But the experience in Buenos Aires planted a seed. He’d noticed that literally everyone was wearing espadrilles – what over there are called alpagartas.
He’d always liked the French/Spanish espadrille, he explains, and now exposure to the Argentine version got him thinking. ‘I’d actually already had an idea about the shoe – the espadrille – and my time in Buenos Aires rekindled it. I’d wondered whether it would be possible to make a better version, something that could last longer and be more durable? But still be sustainable, like the original, traditional design.’
And so, while crossing the seas, a plan started to form. ‘I thought about it a lot; an idea developed. It seemed to me that while the espadrille is a great, versatile shoe for summer – lightweight and breathable – the simplicity of how it’s made and the materials used mean it won’t last much more than a week of a holiday.’
What was needed, he felt, was to apply British shoe-making principles to the idea, to create something new. ‘It became a bit of an obsession,’ he confesses. ‘Here was an opportunity to build on more than 500 years of heritage to create a new, modern version of this great shoe that would be fit for contemporary use.’
On returning home after the Atlantic crossing he set off immediately again and crewed a super yacht for two months based out of Antibes, and absorbed all things Côte d’Azur. In particular, he turned his attention to studying espadrilles. It would then be several years of day jobs and research and development on the side before he and Ingrid would finally launch Mulo, using an Oxford last as the basis for their new design.
Today Mulo is a tidy little enterprise and Cox is expanding the product range to take in loafers and slides. But his British espadrille remains the hero piece and best-seller. And with online sales coming from all over the world, it seems that the relaxed lifestyle that this simple shoe represents has a wide appeal. I have no idea of the truth of this, but I’ll hazard a guess that most of those who come to Mulo do not live by the beach. They’ll be metropolitan city dwellers, buying a piece of beachwear to either take on holiday or sport around the house and town to make them feel that there’s sand and not concrete beneath their feet. I doubt, though, that many appreciate that far from being a replica of a Mediterranean or South American piece of footwear, what they are wearing is actually the result of the realisation that looking closer to home was what provided the key for Cox’s success.
I thought of Tobias Cox when I bumped into Alan Schaller, a British photographer, at the opening of his exhibition at the Leica Gallery London, in Mayfair. If you get a chance, pop in to see Life Goes On. Schaller shoots black-and-white images on a Leica M10 Monochrom, a digital machine that only takes pictures in black-and-white, and as such produces photographs rich in shades of black, white and everything in-between. His new show is of his lockdown images of London; they have a haunting melancholy that perfectly captures the mood of the past year and a half, but are beautiful and not without humour too. What makes them fascinating, though, is that they explore the familiar with a fresh eye.Before the pandemic, Schaller says, he was constantly on the move. ‘Every other week I was in a different country, on jobs or whatever.’ This meant that London was not his chosen subject, but was instead the place he’d return to from a trip to rest and edit the shots he’d captured in more exotic locations. ‘Exoticism is a thing – not knowing what’s round the corner can make you curious. And I had lost that curiosity in London, even though I started my career shooting in London, so I knew I once had it here.’ Forced to stay at home, Schaller bought a bicycle, a map, and started travelling to different parts of the city he’d never been to. ‘I found that I’d basically hung out in the same bits of London all the time, so I treated myself as a tourist in the city again and discovered it.’
All the shots in the exhibition were taken in London. And even familiar places took on new meaning. Close to where he lives he was carrying his shopping home one day when it started to snow and he spotted a cyclist outside a cinema in Fulham. The resulting shot of the rider in the flurry has all the metropolitan romance of a snowy street scene in Manhattan. Indeed, Schaller says he has taken pictures like that in New York. Another, of a lone walker on Putney Bridge could be Prague or Budapest – ‘I never would have gone there to take a picture before,’ confesses Schaller. For four months he cycled to Richmond Park every Sunday. ‘I don’t know if you’ve been to Richmond?’ he asks. ‘But it’s so beautiful.’ The visits are commemorated in an image of a heron taking off from a lake. ‘There’s no reason why this couldn’t be a place in Paris,’ he says.
The experience has changed him, says Schaller. ‘I found it’s sharpened me. If you’re in Havana, you see a hundred things in a day that you might want to photograph. In London I’m finding maybe one or two in a few days. It makes you more urgent. It’s made me more focused.’ In short, the project has been something of a revelation: ‘It’s made me appreciate photography in a new way.’
The fact is, one person’s ordinary is another’s extraordinary. It all depends on your viewpoint.
Which brings us to Walpole. For its members may not always be aware of the importance of their Britishness as a major driver of interest. And sales.
One man who understands this intimately is Toshiyasu Takubo, the former owner for some two decades of British luxury luggage brand Globe-Trotter. Since last year, Takubo has remained a shareholder in Globe-Trotter, having sold the controlling share of the business, and knowing him to have an astute appreciation of the appeal of Britishness in the luxury market, I caught up with him by video call to see what he is up to now.
I have known Toshiyasu for several years, and he has always struck me as someone who seems to instinctively grasp the peculiar alchemy that makes up what fascinates people not from our shores about the character of those who live here, and by extension, the products we conceive and design here, which are imbued, in their eyes, with that character.
The story goes that Takubo – back then, working as head of marketing for Richard Branson’s Virgin in Japan – found his way to Globe-Trotter in the late ‘90s when he saw one of its distinctive cases, with its leather straps, and thought it would look good with his burgeoning collection of Lotus cars, which included a I952 Lotus 11. He bought the company, then nearing its first centenary, and kept production in the UK. Today, he may have divested himself of the responsibility of making the cases, but the Lotus addiction has persisted – he’s up to seven, mostly vintage, though he tells me he now also owns a 2019 racing model.
‘My first touch in my relationship with the UK was through Lotus,’ he explains. ‘I’m still crazy about them.’ But what is it about Britishness, with Lotus or otherwise, that appeals to him, I want to know. ‘It’s difficult to say,’ he explains. ‘It’s like a gut feeling. I like the people and the products, and I believe we can find similarities between the Japanese and the British.’ In what sense? ‘We both value individualism in character, and there is an understated modesty and reserve that we share too.’
So does he think that the Japanese like British products because of these similarities. ‘We can appreciate Britishness. But it is also exotic for us. These products are like a cult. It is like Japanese denim, which has become a cult in the West.
British brands like Globe-Trotter are cult brands over here – niche brands. They appear to be hidden, not like the big Italian and French brands like Louis Vuitton and Prada. UK brands are much more subtle, understated. That is their appeal.’
The Japanese, then, according to Takubo, feel like they can discover British luxury brands in a way they cannot Italian and French and, we assume, American ones, as these have had greater exposure and are considered already known.
Takubo took ownership of Globe-Trotter when it was not in a good way. ‘Twenty years ago Globe-Trotter was nothing, it was like building something from ash. I did that for the brand, and now I want to help British brands come to Japan and build their profiles over here.’
His new venture is a fascinating take on the power of the exotic within a market, and also a study in how retail is evolving. For some two decades Takubo has run a parallel operation to Globe-Trotter called Vulcanize London – a series of stores that imported British products to Japan and sold them under one roof (the name Vulcanize comes from the fact that Globe-Trotter cases are made from vulcanized fibreboard – which is actually now made for the cases in Japan). Last year he took one of these stores, a large three-storey 10,000 square-foot affair in Tokyo’s Aoyama district, remodelled it, and turned it into a celebration of British brands and Britishness.
Called The Playhouse at Vulcanize London, what makes this different to his previous retail venture is the determination to curate Britishness in a broad and contemporary way. So as well as what you might expect to find here, like Hackett, for example, or Turnbull & Asser, Gieves & Hawkes and Smythson, there is a Triumph motorbike, Hornby train sets, Dashel cycle helmets, as supplied to Team GB for riding around the Olympic Village in Tokyo, Linn audio products, Tom Dixon lights and a host of British sparkling wines like Nyetimber and Gusbourne. It is, says Takubo, all about curation. ‘I am happy to work with Mayfair brands and Shoreditch brands,’ he explains, and says he is particularly keen on finding small-scale enterprises that have no other means of getting exposure in Japan.
‘I have 20 years’ experience of the Japanese market. Normally, if you are a British brand and you want to sell here you have to work with a partner – a distributor or an agent. But I can get you on sale and help with the exposure, help with the PR and marketing. And I am even willing to showcase samples here so that customers can see them at The Playhouse and then order online.’
The building is also not just about retail. The ground floor is an exhibition space where Takubo, with his love of cars, is intending to launch new Aston Martins and McLarens. It will shortly display an exhibition of 007 costumes and gadgets for the release of No Time To Die. There is also a fully kitted-out restaurant where he will be hosting an event called “The Spy Who Loved Breakfast”, again for the launch of the new Bond film. ‘From Ian Fleming’s novels we know a lot about what James Bond eats for breakfast,’ he explains, ‘especially his passion for eggs.’
As we talk, I realise that what Takubo has grasped is the appeal of a much more nuanced type of Britishness than you often see exported. We are used to being told that what resonates with customers from abroad are the obvious tropes of red buses, Union Jacks, black cabs, Big Ben, Grenadier Guards and the luxury goods equivalent of theme-park Britain. But Takubo is showcasing a richer mix, where contemporary meets tradition, and it’s all promoted with a sidelong glance at British humour: take his ‘Nyetimber on the Nineteenth’ drinks party that happens on the 19th of every month, or the fact that back in April he hosted a replica Royal breakfast (he’s obviously got a thing about British breakfasts!). He’s currently exploring whether he can set up a glamping site on his roof.
The 40-odd brands Takubo has brought in since opening The Playhouse last October are a good representation of the types of things that we do well over here, but also of the eclectic national character that produces them: from Brooks bicycle saddles and a bicycle made by Morgan cars to Backes & Strauss watches and jewellery, N. Peal cashmere, Orlebar Brown swimwear and Billy Tannery bags made from goat leather. There’s even a market that sells British foods, including British-grown vegetables.
‘This is a new platform – and an incubator – for British luxury brands,’ explains Takubo. ‘And it is important to realise that “luxury” does not only mean “expensive”. The products at The Playhouse have luxury in the heart.’
If Toshiyasu Takubo can so thoroughly harness the power of Britishness, then why not take a leaf out of Alan Shaller’s book and re-examine the familiar with new eyes? And ask the question: what does Britishness mean for my brand at the moment? And what could it mean in the future?
Alan Schaller’s Life Goes On exhibition is at the Leica Gallery London, 64-66 Duke St, London W1K 6JD, until 22nd August; alanschaller.com; en.leica-camera.com; muloshoes.com
Peter Howarth is the founder of creative agency Show Media and former editor of Esquire and Arena, and Style Director of GQ. Click below to read in full.
