Somebody designed this collar. I want to start there, because it is the sort of detail people walk straight past, and I never can. It is a rib-knit collar with a jacquard stripe woven into it — woven, not printed on afterwards — and the ST monogram sits at the back of the neck where nobody but you will ever know it is there.
That is a small, private piece of care, and small private care is the only kind I really believe in.
The rest of it. The Campo Court Polo is built from lightweight, breathable micro pique, which is the fine-gauge version of the textured knit that has dressed tennis since collars first came to the court, and it moves air rather than sitting on the skin.
Vertical side stripes run down the body and give the shirt a longer, cleaner line.
It comes in Ultramarine, that deep sea-blue that Sergio Tacchini keeps returning to, and there is a matching Campo Court short if you want the pair. What it is not is a compression-fit performance jersey.
It is a polo, in the proper sense — a shirt you can play three sets in and then sit down to dinner in, which is exactly the promise the sport used to make and mostly stopped making.
Talao Pali is a lake in the middle of everything with rowing boats on it, and on the water's edge stands Kopineshwar Mandir with a shivalinga five feet across. A few steps behind the temple is the church of St John the Baptist — a temple and a church, that close, sharing a shoreline, and neither of them moved.
Thane is a town built around water it fell for.
Out under the Yeoor hills, Upvan Lake grows lotus across its shallows. A city that keeps arranging itself around whatever it loves.
Somebody wove a stripe into a collar nobody would see. That is the whole romance of this shirt.
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