An argument for artisanal umbrellas
While visiting the Art Institute of Chicago with any regularity, there’s a good chance you’ve seen the Gustave Caillebotte painting, “Paris Street; Rainy Day” multiple times. It’s given prominent placement and I’ve always enjoyed the simplicity of the scene. And because I’m obsessed with clothing, I can’t help but notice not just the wardrobe on the couple in the foreground, but also their umbrellas.
You might mistake the simple brown lines depicting the umbrella shaft as an artistic choice for simplicity, but it’s actually an accurate representation of how umbrellas were made at the time of this painting (1877). The problem with almost any umbrella you buy today is that none of them are made as they were 143 years ago.
Back in 2011, I bought one of my most-cherished possessions at a now-defunct haberdashery in Chicago. The store had a wide selection of some of the best furnishings a man could want. Among the inventory of the Oak Street shop included neckties from Drake’s of London, an insane amount of bow ties, and a selection of Italian umbrellas. Unlike what you’d pick up for a few bucks at a drug store, this umbrella is a work of art.
The construction is on an entirely different level and the core design element is a solid, wooden shaft. The shaft is a solid piece of wood, with the handle gently formed over half a year with steam and pressure.
The canopy features a bold triple-striped navy and blue pattern that reminds me of a Brooks Brothers #1 rep stripe. The canopy fabric is hand-cut and then hand-sewn to the spokes with extra fabric reinforcing the where the canopy and spokes intersect and covers the slider along the shaft.
Custom brass pieces milled by the company also accent the umbrella at the tip, slider and grip. Where most umbrellas would use a velcro or pearl snap and strap to keep it rolled closed, mother-of-pearl button and O-ring are used — two of them!
While umbrella canopies used to be made from coated silk rather than Teflon-coated nylon twill, not much else has changed for the makers at Francesco Maglia, who started the company in 1853. It’s a truly artisanal — but functional — piece that I’ve somehow managed to not lose after nearly 9 years. It’s been with me through some nasty storms and I’ve lamented days when I left it at home. I’ve never feared it breaking on me while battling wind gusts.
It’s hard to appreciate the argument for an expensive umbrella until you’ve used one for a while and then had to revert back to using a mass-produced one. You begin to think, “Why did I ever accept this mediocrity for so long?!”
And before someone sends me a note about how much they love their giant umbrella or sends me a video about an umbrella that can aerodynamically withstand hurricane winds, let me assure you I’m aware of those. According to The New Yorker, the United States Patent and Trademark office employs four, full-time examiners just to look at umbrella-related patents. Clearly, so many people are trying to “build a better mousetrap”, but I think they’re missing the point.
Thinking back to Caillebotte’s painting, I imagine what it would look like if painted today with the pedestrians walking with a golf umbrella adorned with a car dealership logo.
If you’re going to carry something with you all day, have it in your home, and walk with it in public, then why wouldn’t you want it to look beautiful?