Once Stitched Into Memory, Now Forgotten: Hillhouse, Harvey, and the Fabric of Bruonian Identity
Peter Mora
On a brisk September morning on College Hill, you could once find rows of oxford shirts, rep-ties and tweeds while on a leisurely walk down Thayer Street. Hillhouse Ltd. and Harvey Ltd. weren’t merely clothing shops — they were the sartorial heartbeat of Brown. They shaped how generations of Brunonians dressed, how freshmen established their identity, and how the brown-and-white identity read on the street. Recovering their story is about more than nostalgia: it’s about restoring a communal wardrobe and bespoke sense of belonging.
Hillhouse Ltd. and Harvey Ltd. operated as Brown’s campus haberdashers — independent shops that stocked the “Ivy” wardrobe. Harvey in particular was run by Brown students and alumni and explicitly marketed itself as Brown’s Ivy store; longtime proprietor Harvey Lapides later described the shop as “like a club” centered on the Ivy look. Harvey Lapides ’50 was a World War II Navy veteran and professional baseball player from Barrington, RI. He co-founded Harvey Ltd. with his brother Philip. Strasmich, a sports editor, described Lapides as the greatest athlete of the class in his column from October 1945. “[Harvey] Lapides was a third baseman and captain of the team in 1943 and 1944,” Matthew Longcore wrote in a blog post published on Ivy Style. He would play in the 1943, 1944 and 1947 seasons, and his college batting average of .347 would make him a record holding hitter for over 50 years. Upon graduation, he signed with the Yankees. Philip Lapides played for the Bristol Owls, a Class B team in the short-lived Colonial league. He played 51 games and batted .301 for the pennant and championship-winning 1949 Owls before a back injury forced a career change.” While at Brown, Harvey even played against former President George H.W. Bush when he was at Yale.
In January 1950, Harvey Ltd was born at 108 Waterman Street, and flyers were distributed targeting freshmen first. It had a motto, voici le meilleur (the best is here), and had no shortage of demand. Alongside the usual holidays, students established a tradition of shopping at Harveys at the start of their freshman year and during rush week. It became an integral step towards initiation into the Brunonian identity.
Hillhouse was founded by Marty Roses in Providence, 1939, and closed its doors in 1996. Roses was a traveling salesman for Rogers Peet of New York, but had a special fondness for Providence. He set up shop originally at the corner of Brook and Waterman before moving to 135 Thayer Street. A 1996 issue of the Brown Alumni Magazine fondly recalled its aesthetic: “The shop was a study in understated elegance: brass chandeliers, a spinning wheel, and, beneath an upstairs balcony, a papier-mache ceiling imported from France.” Former owner Bob Singer emphasized the shop’s timelessness amidst lots of changes on College Hill. “Returning alumni thought we were the one constant at Brown,” he said. They used to sell handwoven ties with the crest or Bruno the bear embroidered upon it.
I was lucky enough to acquire one secondhand for a mere $10. Around 1200 ties total were sold over the several decades that it was open, and it became a staple for seniors assembling an attire for job interviews post-graduation. Singer also recalled the dedication and loyalty of Hillhouse’s customers. “[A 1969 alumnus] continued to shop here at least once a year,” he said. “He would fly in on a Saturday using his frequent-flyer miles and fly home that night. All for a nice new suit.”
Some have attempted to replicate Hillhouse’s specialty. In recent memory, Drake’s of London ties were sold with a crest pattern, but the bookstore has ceased the sale of them. Now they offer Timeless Tartans, which uses a “patented algorithm that combines the defining characteristics of [Brown] including the time and place it was founded with primary colors that represent it,” according to [ ]. This creates an abstract pattern, but it feels disconnected from our history; it is like looking at ChatGPT written poetry. It may be prompted to incite an emotional connection, but knowledge of the automata behind it breaks the illusion.
These shops were not ordinary retailers. They defined what a Brown student looked like, taught students how to wear the items (fit, knots, layering), and built longstanding traditions. Their proximity to campus and close relationships with students made fashion part of Brown rituals — buying a jacket or tie often marked initiation into clubs, teams, and friend groups. The result was an embodied, replicable identity: not just clothing but campus citizenship. Harvey also believed that fashion could establish an atmosphere of respectability. “I bemoan the way people dress so casually now,” he told the Brown Alumni Magazine in 2003 when the closing of his shop was announced.“You go into a bank or law firm and people are in jeans. There’s a loss of dignity because of it.” Unfortunately, Harvey Ltd. became the victim of business casual, 90s grunge, and Y2K.
To call for a return to the decorum and style expressed by Harvey Ltd. and Hillhouse Ltd. does not demand conformity. I am not arguing for a uniform, nor for the suppression of creativity. We are not cut from the same cloth, but we can form a complementary ensemble — like burgundy and blue or brown and grey. Reviving their spirit, whether through a student-run haberdashery, alumni collaborations, or even symbolic capsule collections, could restore not just a look, but a sense of continuity with Brown’s legacy. A Bruonian is more than an academic; they are a steward of dignity and meet thought with form. It’s time we dressed like it.
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