The timeless fashion you're sold doesn't exist. And that's good news.

For most people, classic men's fashion means a suit, shirt, and tie. These and other staple pieces (trench coat, chinos, etc.) are often considered timeless. Style guides and advertising brochures suggest that a good suit "never" changes and outlasts trends.

The word "timeless" is used so excessively by so many creators and advertisers that I regularly wonder when it will finally stop. Because a glance at old photographs or fashion drawings is enough: The "timeless" suit of the 1920s did not look like that of the 2020s. Proportions and ideals of beauty have changed significantly from 1920 to today. Nevertheless, the myth of the imperishable persists, and it is kept alive, consciously or unconsciously, as a sales argument.

For example, Derek Guy notes: "I tend to roll my eyes nowadays whenever someone writes about 'timeless style'" (dieworkwear.com).

In this article, I'll show why the touted timelessness is an illusion, what has actually changed decade by decade, and how to recognize the pieces that still work across decades.

The Myth of Timeless Elegance: Claim vs. Reality

In men's fashion, the myth has circulated for generations that certain garments are "classic" and thus immune to time. A dark blue Brooks Brothers blazer or the grey three-piece suit in an English cut are considered wardrobe evergreens. Fashion experts like Alan Flusser or Simon Crompton often propagate principles of permanent elegance in their books and blogs.

Flusser, for example, emphasizes that one should avoid extremes: overly fashionable cuts quickly become outdated, while moderate proportions remain valid longer. He praises Ralph Lauren's success precisely for designing classics instead of trends, i.e., fashion that does not "become prematurely obsolete" (permanentstyle.com). In the same interview, he dryly states that "most of the fashion fads of the seventies, eighties, and nineties are obsolete today," despite all the promises of timeless class made back then.

Here, claim and reality clash. On the one hand, many long for clothes that never look unfashionable. On the other hand, reality shows that classic men's fashion also has and is subject to trends. Even advocates of permanent style like Crompton admit that no style is absolutely timeless. At most, it is constantly reinterpreted.

To outsiders, the canon of classic men's fashion therefore appears unchanged, but insiders recognize subtle differences. Ethan M. Wong aptly puts it: "Menswear appears to be a monolith, but only those who know can see the nuance" (alittlebitofrest.com).

Proportions Through the Ages: Men's Fashion from 1920 to Today

A historical journey through the last hundred years exposes the supposed constancy of suit fashion as a continuous story of change.

In the late 1920s and 1930s, the Drape Cut dominated: wide shoulders, a strong chest, high-waisted trousers with pleats (high rise), and richly rolled lapels characterized the silhouette. This "Golden Age" proportion was long considered the ideal of classic elegance, and many enthusiasts today, such as the makers of Bryceland's and, of course, Alex from @freivontrends, still rave about the suits of a Duke of Windsor or Cary Grant.

But already the post-war period set different accents. In the conservative 1950s, Brooks Brothers shaped the Ivy League style: the Sack Suit with natural shoulders, 3/2-roll lapel (pronounced: three roll two), and a straight silhouette, a conscious anti-fashion trend of that time, marketed as "timeless American." The 1960s reversed the image: The Mod era in London focused on short jackets, narrow lapels, and hip-hugging trousers, youthfully rebellious and the opposite of the wide suits of the fathers' generation. At this point at the latest, it becomes clear: what is classic for some, appears old-fashioned for others.

The cycle reached another extreme in the 1970s and 1980s: suddenly, super-wide ties and huge shoulder pads were in vogue, think of the power suits of the Wall Street era. In the 80s, Giorgio Armani designed soft and oversized blazers, with a low button stance and wide lapels. A look that already seemed hopelessly outdated in the next decade. Flusser comments: "One year you had low gorge, wide shoulder clothing… All of the previous ones were obsolescent" (permanentstyle.com).

With the 1990s and 2000s, men's fashion first became more moderate and then radically narrow again. Let's remember the extremely tight-fitting suits of the early 2010s (keyword Hedi Slimane or the "Mad Men" retro wave), which propagated a youthful ideal with ultra-low-rise trousers and short jackets, often at the expense of comfort and classic proportions, with stretch percentages that would make insider traders jealous. Around 2020, the pendulum swung back again: Higher waistlines, wider trousers, and fuller cuts are making a comeback, driven by both high fashion and retro-affine brands like Drake's or Bryceland's, which consciously incorporate elements of the 30s to 50s.

Of course, this change did not happen in a vacuum. Fabric rationing in World War II forced narrower suits, the youth culture of the 60s and women in professional life influenced the power suit of the 80s, plus movies, musicians, icons: All of this repeatedly reshaped the image of the well-dressed man. The common thread: Nothing is absolute. Each generation redefines what "classic" means.

Design Details: From Lapel Roll to Waist Height

Not only the overall silhouette, but also the details show the change in ideals. It is precisely the subtleties, for which one first has to develop an eye, that are the clearest time markers.

A few examples: In the 1930s, the blazer lapel was often wide and softly rolled over the top button (lapel roll), whereas in the early 2000s, ultra-thin, stiffly pressed lapels were fashionable. The buttoning point shifted over the decades, sometimes upwards, for example with the 3-button jackets of the 60s, sometimes downwards, typical of the 80s double-breasted suit with a deep V-neck. The trouser waist height (the rise) dropped during the 20th century from directly below the ribs to the hip; in the late 1990s, suit trousers were sometimes cut as low as jeans, and are currently moving significantly upwards again. The same applies to trouser width: from the wide Oxford Bags of the 1920s to the narrow skinny trousers of the 2010s and now back again. In addition, there is the shoulder construction, naturally soft for the Ivy blazer, heavily padded for the 80s blazer, and the gorge, i.e., the height at which the lapel meets the collar.

Classic men's fashion is therefore not a rigid set of rules, but a modular system whose elements are assembled differently depending on the taste of the times. What is considered the "right" jacket length or "correct" tie width has always been in flux.

In other words: every piece is coded by the decade from which it originates. Lapel roll, buttoning point, gorge, rise, lapel width, that's the code. Anyone who can read it can assign a jacket to a decade in seconds.

So, is timeless men's fashion just an illusion?

The marketed one is, yes. Anyone who scrolls through old suit photos for an hour will see for themselves: What passed as classic in 1985 was unbearable ten years later. And the 2010 suit, which was sold as a timeless investment back then, hangs unworn in the wardrobe today because everyone can see at first glance what year it comes from.

But brands continue to use the word because it sells well. "Buy right once, and you'll be set" is too beautiful a promise to let die.

However: there are indeed pieces that work across decades. I myself sell vintage ties from several decades and have jackets from the 80s and 90s in my wardrobe that I wear regularly. But these pieces don't work because they are "timeless." They work because they are not heavily coded by the trends of their time: proportions that were never at an extreme, and design decisions that didn't follow the mainstream of the era. Recognizing such pieces, that's the real lesson. And if you've found one that works for you: double down.

Basic Form and Proportion: where the decade really sits

To make this practical, you need to separate two levels that almost everyone lumps together.

The basic form is what the piece is. An Oxford is an Oxford, a hundred years ago as today. A rep stripe is a rep stripe. Garza grossa is garza grossa. The basic form is stable, you can hold on to it. Real timelessness exists almost only at this level, for shoes and some tie designs.

The proportion is how the piece was executed. Lapel width, buttoning point, gorge, rise, tie width. This is where the decade code sits, and this is where pieces whose basic form is actually excellent disqualify themselves.

Two examples, both from exactly the stuff I usually spend money on. A tie made of garza grossa, a coarsely woven tie fabric that has been good for decades and remains good. Fabric excellent, design excellent. But 6.5 centimeters wide, and thus garbage, even if it's cool garza grossa. Or a camel Loro Piana cashmere blazer, wide lapels, material most people dream of. And then the buttoning point is below the crotch. A single proportion from the wrong era, and all the other beautiful details can't save it.

The layman judges by the basic form: Rep stripe, therefore classic, therefore timeless, check. And overlooks the proportion that overturns the judgment. That's precisely why "Is it timeless?" doesn't help you when buying.

Where you need to be careful: a hierarchy by category

How delicate a category is depends on how many things have to be right simultaneously.

Shoes. The most relaxed case. The shape is stable, an Oxford remains an Oxford. There are more beautiful and less beautiful shoes, but hardly any decade traps.

Trousers. Surprisingly forgiving. High, medium, or low waist, with or without pleats, straight, tapered, or wide: almost all of this still works today. You only fall out of time with slim and super-slim.

Ties. More than just the width. The width can kill a piece, sure. But the shape of the blade, along with the outer fabric and interlining, also determines whether the knot ends up thin or chunky. And extreme disproportions, very narrow at the top and bulky at the bottom, immediately place a piece in the 80s.

Shirts. Fabric, pattern, collar, and fit can become a problem. For the fit, find the middle ground: wider than 2010, narrower than the 90s.

Jackets. The most delicate category, because everything has to be right at once: silhouette, gorge, buttoning point, waist. No coincidence, the jacket is the most complex piece in your wardrobe and the outermost layer that first catches the eye. That's why it forgives the least, and that's why it's the most common mispurchase in vintage.

Evidence from the wardrobe: what works, what doesn't

Two Burberrys blazers from the 90s. Wide lapels, relatively low gorge and low buttoning point, markers that, considered individually, would be deemed "dated." Nevertheless, the pieces work. The overall length is generous, the waist is well-tailored, the gorge is slightly lower than is common today, but not extreme. None of the proportions were ever at an extreme, and together they balance each other out.

A Ralph Lauren blazer from the 80s, Made in USA. For the time, an unusually high gorge, wide lapels, medium buttoning point, again a clean waist. The piece fits and works. This, by the way, is exactly Flusser's point: Ralph Lauren designed classics instead of trends in the 80s, which is why the pieces survive their decade.

And what never works: Department store suits from older years. No matter the decade. They were always a bit trendy, but never really cool. They lack the anchor, the real hand in the pattern, the design decision that still turns heads thirty years later, but in a positive sense. You can blindly sort out older department store items.

The lesson learned: Lean Into It works when the piece brings its own good design decision. It doesn't work when the piece simply went with the mainstream of its time.

Look for the weakly coded pieces, then double down

Being able to truly read the decade code is practice, not a memorized phrase. I can tell you to look at the lapel width, the buttoning point, the gorge, the rise. But whether 6.5 centimeters is too narrow or just acceptable, whether a button is too low or within limits, you only see that once you've held a hundred jackets in your hand. I'm not pretending I can teach you that in five lines.

But what you can do starting today: Stop believing the "timeless" label. It's a sales argument, not a characteristic. Instead, ask how strongly a piece is coded by the trend of its time. Everyone will recognize the strongly coded pieces at first glance in ten years. The weakly coded ones, those with moderate proportions and their own design decision, will continue to work. If you've found such a piece and it works for you, then buy more of it, not the next trend experiment.

And if you don't want to put in the effort, find someone who pre-sorts: houses with a real house style, dealers who only buy what works for them. That's not a weakness, that's division of labor.

Or, to quote Derek Guy one last time: "what's wrong babe, you hardly touched the classic, timeless clothing you thought would transform your life" (x.com).

You can find more fashion discussions beyond guide clichés on nielsklasing.com or on Instagram.