International architect Paul Tange’s deliberate and meticulous wardrobe-building is an enterprise that is partly sentimental, partly intellectual and wholly professional.
Paul Tange picks his way through a somberly suited crowd like a rare bird heralding spring. He is decked out in a mélange of colours that would make better sense in a meadow than in downtown Singapore where he is attending a battery of meetings. The faultless construction of his midnight blue wool jacket is compromised by a jaunty red silk pochette and the white accent stitching that outlines its lapel and breast pocket; some of the jacket’s buttonholes, one finds on closer inspection, are traced in periwinkle and aubergine threads.
His golden brown pleated trousers are cinched high on his waist by a brown Hermes belt with a worked silver buckle, while their cuffs rest lightly on a pair of bespoke Ferragamo saddle oxfords in inky blue calf leather and bright mustard yellow ostrich skin. When he raises his hand to keep his rakishly long hair in place, his jacket momentarily exposes its lining: Blue and pink on the right-hand panel and ochre and fuchsia on the other. From time to time he absently adjusts his tie, a knitted number in buttercup yellow.
Just as Paul learned the rudiments of his profession from his father, the late great Kenzo Tange, before coming into his own as an architect, he received his first sartorial lessons from him as well. “My father took me to his tailor at Ichiban Kan in Tokyo’s Ginza district when I was about 15 to have a raincoat made,” the 52-year-old scion fondly recalls. It was a classic in beige with the collar lined in fur and the rest in camouflage print fabric. Its collar was hand-stitched with a technique that has since become arcane, turning the garment into a veritable collectible. For years Ichiban Kan has attempted to acquire the piece for its archive, but Paul has so far resisted successfully. He continues to return to the same shop, however, now run by second-generation tailor Shing Watanabe with whom he hatches elaborate sartorial projects.
Men of means and propensity for luxury will always demand the best, but few of them will go the lengths that Paul has—from long-drawn search for fabrics to fevered discussion on buttons. The results are now part of the growing Tange-Watanabe sartorial lore of antique obis and aloha shirts ending up as jacket lining and exotic hardwoods as buttons.
Friendships inspire Paul’s imaginative dressing. “I have many friends who are in the design and creative fields—watchmakers, tailors, designers,” Paul admits, “but I find a special connection with watchmakers because we share similar challenges. We work within a defined, often limited space, where we have to put in everything. Watches, like architecture, are ubiquitous; they’re comprehensive and functional, and I think they rely on the same creative thinking.”
With wardrobes groaning under the weight of mostly bespoke garments—he places it at about 80 percent of what he wears—globetrotting Paul is expectedly well turned-out wherever he lands. “My wife says that I would probably be a much better architect if I spent less time packing,” he says in jest. In truth, however, he keeps clothes wherever his practice has an office—Vancouver, London, Shanghai, Taipei and Singapore—ensuring that he has something appropriate to wear from a blustery London to a blistering Singapore.
Jackets and ties comprise Paul’s work uniform. “I always put on a jacket and a tie out of respect for my clients and the people I work with,” he declares. “Dressing up well is an extension of what I do. Someone once said that I’m a walking showcase of my practice and I think that was fairly accurate.” It means, Paul explains, that he, and by extension his company, is progressive, creative, meticulous and thoughtful, that he pays attention to details as much as the general picture. “Architecture is a service industry. Clients give us jobs and dressing up for meetings is a way of acknowledging them. But I don’t dress up for anyone but myself,” he says by way of emphasizing the vintage Paul flourishes that distinguish his style.
Paul’s affinity for colours does not extend literally to his works. “I’m colourful in the sense that I am expressive,” he clarifies. That he pays attention to details, that he is deliberate and possessed of personal style that he is thoroughly comfortable with. Indeed, in the hands of lesser mortals, Paul’s fearless approach to colour will easily lapse into the ludicrous, but given his trained eye it becomes a great asset. Canary-yellow socks, anyone?
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