What Only John Green Can Do
After we had cleared away the last of the dessert, Jo Sudeok looked at me and asked.
"About that edit shop you mentioned, sir. Is there some particular reason it has to go inside that tailor's shop?"
"See it once, and you'll understand at a glance."
"......?"
Perhaps because I so rarely praised anyone, a thin thread of curiosity stirred in Jo Sudeok's eyes.
"Well. Chosen by the British royal family and by you, sir, both at once—his ability is beyond doubt."
He grinned.
"Even so, setting that aside, I can't help thinking he's being rather difficult."
"Difficult how?"
"From what I hear, he wants to confirm your sincerity, sir......"
Ah.
You said you would take up the legacy of traditional dress and prepare for a new age, did you not? I should like to confirm that sincerity.
So he meant the condition Sir Lewis had added. I answered with a small smile.
"If all I'd wanted was something new, I would have gone to America."
The land of opportunity—America, as much a symbol of the new tide as any place on earth. Britain was another matter.
"To build a brand in Britain is to say you're chasing a value beyond novelty."
"Carrying a tradition forward... is that what you mean?"
I nodded. Without inheriting the spirit of Europe, there was no winning the support of the aristocracy—what people called old money. That was why, among the houses spoken of as luxury, an American brand was so hard to find.
"A tailor chosen by the royal household, and an edit shop he acknowledges and takes under his wing. That's the story we need."
"So for the sake of that story, you're planning to run yourself hard again today?"
He grinned once more. Start talking with Jo Sudeok and I could chatter the whole day through. Part of me wanted exactly that, but as he said, I had a rather full day ahead. So what was I to do? I put on a face full of regret.
"I'll book you first class."
"No, you really don't have to......"
"You'll need to be off in a hurry, so the least I can do is see you travel in comfort."
"Pardon?"
At the word hurry, his ears pricked.
"Er, well, the thing is, I only just arrived today."
"Would you like to rest a good month before you go?"
"Ha. A month might be a bit much."
"Shall I make it two, then?"
By that point the answer was more or less settled.
"Sir, if I may be honest, now that it's come to this."
"......?"
"The truth is, the British climate and I don't agree. The weather's so gloomy that the moment I arrive I feel myself wilting."
"And New York?"
"A second hometown. The moment I step off the plane, I couldn't be more at ease."
"Glad to hear it. Oh—you remember the information?"
"Of course. New York, skateboards......"
"Then I'll leave it to you."
"J-just leave it with me, sir."
On that wilted excuse for a farewell, we had to part. While Jo Sudeok made for the airport, I took a taxi toward the most famous shoemaker in London. As Sir Lewis had said, I needed to prove my sincerity.
The place I was bound for was a shoe company called John Green.
There was a reason, of course. On the day I told Tennessee Grosvenor his shoes were handsome, I had asked where one bought such things—whether somewhere like the Harris luxury hall would do.
A craftsman's work isn't displayed in the likes of a department store.
He had answered with a perfectly straight face, and the brand he named was John Green.
Thanks to that, I did a little studying.
The building was not large for the fame it carried. Founded in the middle of the nineteenth century, the house had made shoes for British royalty down the generations, and its creed was absolute: never ready-to-wear, only bespoke. Orders overflowed while the work crawled, so a pair reserved today might not be in hand for three years. That peculiar scarcity kept the shop forever thronged at the door.
Once the name had climbed so high, even Hermès—luxury among luxuries—stepped forward to borrow the John Green trademark. The Hermès shoe line sold as if it were on fire. They were not made by John Green at all; merely bearing the name, they were bought by people standing in line.
By then the house must have known that ready-to-wear would earn them a fortune, and still they gave themselves to bespoke alone. By the logic of the market it was a foolish business. I suppose a stubbornness foolish enough is what makes luxury. If I could bring John Green over to my side, I would be gaining an army. Yes. It has to be this good before the asking even tastes right.
I walked into the building with my head high, bound for the office of John Green's secretary.
"What brings you here?"
"I'd like to see the principal."
The suit was fine enough, but I was a schoolboy at most—and I meant to meet the head of John Green.
"I'd like his counsel on how we ought to keep the dress of the past alive. Would you pass that along?"
Even after the explanation, a thread of doubt remained in the secretary's eyes. The look finished the question for him: And who are you? My answer was simple.
"A new boy who entered the Royal School this year."
The principal of John Green had a very sharp face. The deep crease across his forehead seemed to prove how often the man scowled, and no wonder. In years to come he would wage a lawsuit against Hermès—principled, if one were being kind; thoroughly stiff-necked, if one were being honest.
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes."
Even so, before a boy of seventeen he wore a somewhat gentler expression. At times like this, being young has its uses.
"What is this about?"
"The end of traditional dress is coming, and I wondered what preparations John Green is making."
The principal, who had been sitting with his legs crossed, straightened at once. Then, carving a deep line into his brow, he asked.
"The end of traditional dress? Who says such a thing?"
"I felt it myself."
"Felt it yourself?"
Displeasure and curiosity tangled across his face. Fortunately, for the moment, curiosity seemed to be the one lifting its head.
"And just how did you feel it?"
"Walk the school grounds and it's hard to find a student in leather shoes. Most of them are in trainers."
"Well. At that age shoes are uncomfortable. Of course they are."
"However uncomfortable they are, if wearing them felt stylish, wouldn't everyone put up with it? It's the age when interest in the opposite sex runs hottest."
"So trainers look finer than shoes?"
The principal, though, seemed to think otherwise.
"When they grow older, a day will come when shoes look fine."
"I like shoes even now."
His eyes went, naturally, to my feet.
"Alden, I see."
"They're a little stiff at first, but as time passes the leather adapts to the shape of your foot and makes a handsome crease. By then these heavy shoes become comfortable, as if by a lie."
The principal looked at my shoes once more. Unless they have been tended for a long while with wax meant for leather, a color like that is not easy to keep—and he knew it better than anyone. Perhaps that was why he waited in silence for what I would say next.
"But aside from me, most of them wear trainers. If even the students of the Royal School are like that, what of the boys at other schools?"
"......"
"Do you believe that even a generation like ours will come looking for shoes someday?"
"Which is exactly why it's such a pity."
In a man's suit, black is all but a color that does not exist. Put simply, it is thought of as clothing worn only in a funeral hall.
"......?"
"Day to day, trainers. For an occasion that calls for a little courtesy, sneakers will be the line they won't cross. And leather shoes only on the day they truly can't help it—like a black suit one reaches for only after hearing that someone has died."
The principal looked as if he could not believe me. Sadly, though, human beings are animals that pursue comfort. From the tuxedo all the way down to the T-shirt, who could turn back a manner of dress that grows simpler and simpler?
In any case, it was time for the point.
"Even so, it isn't as if there's no way at all. And above all, it's something only John Green can do."
"I doubt this will be pleasant to hear."
"Of course it won't. A reasonable compromise is required."
I had two requests. First, do not cling to bespoke alone—make a ready-to-wear line for students. Second, there were students who found shoes daunting, so would he consider making sneakers.
As was only natural, another crease carved itself all at once into the principal's face.
"You have picked out precisely the things I hate most."
"Even when the great luxury houses asked, you refused them all. I know."
"Then with what nerve do you make the same demand, knowing full well you'll be refused?"
"Because the purpose is different."
"The purpose is different?"
"They would have come offering to make you a great deal of money. Yes. If profit is the goal, you ought to work with a luxury house. What I can offer you, by contrast, is very humble."
"......?"
"A kind of seed, you might say."
Not a seed I meant to sow and then reap myself. A seed the man I was today would sweat to plant for the generation after. From a businessman's chair it might be, quite literally, a proposal worth no points at all. But if it was John Green—the house that had held to handmade shoes to the very last, in an age of mass production? Leading with honor rather than money would surely be the more effective course.
"It is the work of giving the worth of traditional dress to the generation that will live in the future."
Had that meaning of mine gone across whole? Astonishingly, he swallowed. The principal's Adam's apple rose and fell, larger than I had ever seen it.
"John Green has agreed to make ready-to-wear?"
"Yes."
"Sneakers, at that?"
"That's what I'm telling you."
Sir Lewis looked as though he could not believe it, and no wonder. John Green, packed tight with a craftsman's pride, was taking an entirely different road for my sake. To believe the words too easily would have been the stranger thing.
"My friend would hardly lie."
I nodded.
"What on earth happened?"
"I asked him to become a bridge between tradition and a new generation. Only that."
"And he accepted it on the spot?"
"Thankfully, yes."
For a little while Sir Lewis looked into my eyes. Only after some time had passed did he speak.
"What sort of magic did you work?"
"Magic? The one who made the remarkable decision was the principal of John Green."
When modesty was laid on top of the rest—
"Ha!"
Sir Lewis was beside himself, fit to leap out of his skin.
"Is it a trade secret, by any chance?"
"There really isn't anything you could call a secret."
"......"
In any case.
"Will this do?"
"Will this do? Whatever do you mean by......"
"Sincerity. The sincerity of taking up traditional dress and preparing for a new age."
What more was there to say? Looking thoroughly abashed, Sir Lewis hurried to nod.