A friend recently put me in touch with the German brand Stefan Brandt, which makes clothes out of an exclusive, extra-fine cotton jersey, as well as supplying it to fashion brands.

The founder, Stefan, is obsessive when it comes to quality. He set up his own production in Ecuador in 1994, in order to grow his own Sea Island cotton there and create processes to best develop its attributes. These include all-natural techniques for removing pigments and pollutants from the fabric, as well as making the material stronger and more naturally elastic. The fabrics are particularly good for those with allergies or sensitive skin. 

Only the truly obsessive do something like this. Going back to the raw material is the best way to control the process and produce something truly unique, but it’s really hard. It reminds me of stories Graham at Optimo tells about slogging round Europe trying to find old hatmaking machinery, or of the way the Japanese started making denim in the last century. Except Stefan has gone all the way upstream.

Stefan and I have talked a fair bit in recent months, and he comes across as more of a scientist than a fashion guy, sprinkling in terms like dimensional stability and localised stress fields. He has also had a clear aim to disrupt the market and make a cotton jersey that is really different, that feels like silk. 

Stefan sent me a few things to try on, so I could see the products in person: a T-shirt, some boxer-briefs, a shirt and a polo shirt.

They really do feel beautiful. I’ve tried high-end jersey quite a bit over the years, primarily from the Austrian company Hanro and Swiss maker Zimmerli. I visited the Zimmerli manufacture in Aarburg, Switzerland for the book The Finest Menswear in the World. We were put up in a freezing cold village in the mountains, dusted with snow.

Anyway, I’ve worn Zimmerli underwear over the years since that trip as well, so I’m fairly familiar with the competition. And I do notice a difference with the Stefan Brandt jersey – it’s lighter, silkier and smoother. 

I’ve been wearing Stefan’s pieces on and off for a few weeks, and I’m impressed by what he has produced, as well as respectful of everything he’s put into it. But I have to say the product isn’t really for me. 

Silkiness can be great in many things, most obviously a silk shirt. It’s a lovely and probably under-appreciated menswear option with tailoring, and often for summer clothes too – rayon being the less natural option that often gets used. 

But a silky, stretchy polo shirt is not something I enjoy. It clings a little, and looks rather luxe for that style of clothing. If I was going to wear a smart polo I’d rather it in a fine merino, as that’s usually more matte and to me has a cleaner look. 

T-shirts make more sense, and the pieces from Stefan that I’ve worn consistently since getting them are the T-shirts, as undershirts. They feel lovely against the skin and perform very well. 

But even brands who have more of a luxe look – such as Saman Amel, above – usually wear knitted T-shirts with their tailored trousers and cashmere overshirts, rather than jersey. They might be in cotton, merino or cashmere/silk, but knits are generally preferred for their body and the way they drape.

I had a similar feeling to the boxer-briefs from Stefan Brandt, though there I also had a personal preference: the Brandt model uses a cotton layer on the outside of the waistband and stretch one on the inside, whereas I find it more comfortable to have a single material. 

Mine are mostly from Sunspel these days, by the way, given Zimmerli is £99 a pair. Although to be fair Stefan Brandt underwear does very well from a value point of view, being half that at £49 a pair (Sunspel is £37).

I think this experience is a useful one to bring up on PS, because it also raises a broader point about luxury. 

There is a tendency among those that seek the finer things in life to assume that things that are literally finer are better. It’s part of the reason superfine wools were such a trend in suits for years, with everyone competing to make finer and finer product. The same happened with superfine shirtings too, despite them being an absolute bastard to look after. People just love a numerical system; it means they don’t have to think. 

Thankfully we’ve come through the worst of that, and luxury consumers (or at least PS readers) appreciate that a hairy Harris Tweed has its own, entirely separate appeal. That goes for heavy flannel too, or cordovan.

And in fact for cheaper materials. Good flannel and cordovan are expensive, but the kind of coarse cotton you find in workwear chinos doesn’t have to be, and a baseball cap should be made out of a cheap cotton. Because its appeal is the way it fades and frays – that’s the aesthetic. A luxury baseball cap makes no sense.

I guess there’s also a point here about ostentatious luxury – about people that want materials that look expensive to show they’re wealthy. After all, if the rich don’t wear logos anymore, they’ve got to do something right? 

Superfine materials can be great, but they should be considered on their style merits as much as their luxuriousness. 

I find superfine merino useful for a particular type of knit, for example, often as a layering piece. But if breathability is the priority, something high-twist but not necessarily as fine is better. 

Superfine jersey is a material I don’t have much use for in my mode of dressing. But I’m sure there are readers out there who love that silky touch, even if it’s just in a base-layer T-shirt. To them, I would certainly recommend Stefan Brandt, on quality and on value.