To uniform or not to uniform? That is (one of) the question(s)
The soft power of wearing the same clothes every day, 80s-inspired spring shirts, skirts, and why hoodies are forever in the bin
This week, something of a mish-mash - a jumble sale of sartorial delights, if you like - touching on everything from the soft power of uniforms, the perfect shirts and skirts, to the scourge of flip flops and hoodies. LEAN IN.
On Uniforms
I’ve long been dubious about the value of wearing a uniform. For some, it’s a sartorial trick which works wonders - Anna Wintour has her drop-hem florals and bug-like shades, Steve Jobs had his black Issey Miyake mock necks, and Napoleon owned tricorn hats. “A man becomes the creature of his uniform”, the pocket demagogue famously declared. But for me, the idea of sporting the same clothes day-in-day-out has always felt a bit limiting: self-granted absolution from the joyful challenge of sartorial choice.
And yet, I’m starting to reconsider my position on uniforms. Not least because, through a variety of spectacularly bad fashion choices, I’ve come to realise that knowing what works - and, importantly, sticking to it - speaks of a level of maturity and self-possession which we would all do well to aim for (me, most of all).
Earlier this week, I sold one of said bad fashion choices on Vinted. Urinal cake blue, the size of icebergs and designed to look pre-worn, I originally bought my Balenciaga Track 3 dad trainers in the spring of 2022. It was a challenging time. I was feeling lost in my career, post-pandemic, and I was mid the arduous process of selling my flat.
In a bid to tackle the stress I did what I often do when faced with major life challenges - I attempted to ground myself by buying clothes I couldn’t afford. I bought a tracksuit top from Gucci and some bonkers pleather track pants from Nanushka. I purchased a plaid bomber from Supreme and a pair of canary yellow chenille trainers from Bottega Veneta, which made me look like Big Bird. And then, in one final insecure flourish, I bought the Balenciagas.
My sister told me she “hated” the trainers when I wore them for the first time, I felt edgy in them, but ultimately I only sported them on a handful of occasions before they went straight to the back of my wardrobe.
Not only did the Tracks make my body look proportionally strange (I have relatively narrow shoulders so the extra weight on my feet did nothing to redress the balance), but they also rendered me with the pathetic pall of a fashion victim. A person who had no idea who he was or what suited him.
So, as I shipped the trainers off earlier this week, I experienced an inordinate sense of relief. Relief to have made a bit of extra cash, relief to make more space for the shoes I actually wear, and relief to return to the slightly fussy, trussed up uniform which I’d subconsciously spent a decade cultivating prior to my sartorial crisis. A uniform dominated by tailoring, white jeans, and shades of blue (urinal cake, notwithstanding).
In the two years which have passed since I first bought the Tracks, I’ve come to realise that wearing a uniform wields a certain soft power. How better to present a clear image of who you are and what you stand for than by sporting the same thing all the time? And in an age of endless choice - which can be both crippling and environmentally destructive - the donning of a uniform removes that burden, which is liberating. As Yves Saint Laurent (who had his own uniform of kaftans, safari suits and perfectly-cut trousers) once said, “fashions fade, but style is eternal."
Another way of thinking about uniforms is that they provide armour against the outside world - a fabric and thread route to inscrutability and mysteriousness (who doesn’t want to be mysterious?). “I love uniforms because they allow you to hide.” Says sartorial sage Miuccia Prada, whose day-to-day uniform is a grey crew neck sweater with a tonal pinafore skirt. “No one knows what you are thinking, so it's a very appropriate and correct way to be yourself.”
When it comes to building your own uniform - which may or may not include dad trainers - my advice is to examine the stylish people you admire, and follow suit. For me, there’s Wintour, Jobs and Bonaparte, but plenty of other style leaders have rocked subtle takes on a uniform, too.
Rei Kawakubo of Comme des Garçons wears only black. Bill Nighy invariably teams properly-cut navy and charcoal tailoring with smart shoes. Jonathan Anderson is rarely seen out of jeans and a sweatshirt - a smart contrast to the weird and wonderful creations which walk his runways - Coco Chanel was a bouclé twin set and pearls kind of girl and Andy Warhol always wore black. The common thread? Simplicity and focus. Because if you want to make a true statement of self - less is nearly always more.
The good news is that building a uniform doesn’t mean you need to stop shopping altogether. Rather, choosing to furrow a single sartorial trough will afford you the freedom to buy multiple variations of things which you know look good on you already.
For me, that means stocking up on black cashmere crew neck jumpers from Begg & Co, high rise white jeans from L.E.J., oversized double breasted blazers from Brunello Cucinelli, serviceable loafers from Gucci, a shedload of maturity and self possession (fingers crossed), and not a needy trainer in sight.
(I hope you enjoy your Track 3s, @fashlover7693. Do shop by again soon.)
On Spring Shirts
I was recently asked by @brammstagram on Instagram about where to find the best 80s-style shirts - the kind Alain Delon or Richard Gere wore in their floaty, sexy, respective heydays. Said shirts featured ample collars, soft handles and weighty fabrications, designed to fall across the body like oil, rather than crinkle against it like greaseproof paper (as poplin has a naughty habit of doing).
I found this a difficult question to answer, not least because these days good shirts tend to be in very short supply. A few weeks ago I went to Margate and found an excellent moss green striped viscose number by Boss from the early 90s. It hangs like a dream and has the handle of an alpaca sweater dipped in honey. I can’t stop wearing it, and I’ve found nothing like it on any of the higher or lower end fashion retail sites.
For new shirts, therefore, you’d do well to head to a seasoned shirtmaker that really knows what they’re doing. Both Charvet and Turnbull & Asser make an excellent line in heavy cotton and cashmere-mix shirts which tumble down the torso and look ace layered with tailoring and Tees.
Elsewhere, Dries Van Noten makes interesting shirts which aren’t always cut from cotton or poplin, whilst the twill shirts available from Studio Nicholson and Tiger of Sweden are great for something with a heavier, seventies-inspired handle. Bottega Veneta’s crisp wool over shirts in tertiary shades are also beautiful, but you’ll need to sell a minor organ to afford one.
Whichever shirt you choose to buy, my advice - assuming you’re not wearing it with a tautly-tailored work suit and tie - is to go at least one size (preferably two) up from your usual. This will mean that your shirt will fit comfortably once you’ve given it a wash, and feel ultra easy on as a consequence.
The key to the success of Gere’s and Delon’s looks, back in the day, was that both men always seemed extraordinarily comfortable in the shirts they chose to wear - soak up those laid back lines! And to misquote that other style leader, Ms Moss, “nothing looks as good as comfortable feels.”
On Pet Style Peeves
I recently had lunch with a couple of old friends from the menswear firmament - esteemed luxury PR James Massey and style director of Esquire, Johnny Davis. We went to Chiltern Street and ate crab linguine and chips. It was delicious.
Over the course of the lunch, our conversation wandered onto the subject of our menswear pet peeves. Johnny Davis hates polo shirts, calling them “neither shirt nor t-shirt, with dumb floppy little collars and shit buttons. Mod cosplay”. Massey, on the other hand, despises flip flops, branding them, “second-tier-public-school-boy-hanging-out-on-Clapham-Common-or-Parson’s-Green gear. Hateful.”
Personally speaking, I’ve got a thing against hoodies. I’ve only ever intentionally owned one hoodie in my life - a grey marl H&M number with preppy forest green writing emblazoned on the front of it. I bought it at the age of 16, at the start of year 12. I wore it twice.
I think my problem with hoodies arises from the fact that they read to me as big, invariably cheaply made, fabric semaphores for laziness. Men love clothes which function - safari jackets and trench coats and pea coats, step forward - but what function does a hoodie serve, other than to hide your face when you’re robbing a shop or can’t be arsed to give up your seat for a pregnant woman on the tube?
It doesn’t matter how much money you spend on your hoodie, either - one cut from sweatshirt fabric certainly won’t keep out the rain, whilst a so-called “stealth wealth'' cashmere hoodie will simply sag with unsightly indolence at the back of your neck and make you look like a trust fund kid with phone hump (aka, not good). .
If you’re in the market for something comfortable why not choose an oversized cashmere sweater instead? You can pick one up for £99 in Uniqlo. Soft, cheap, not designed to make you look like an overgrown toddler - you’ll also avoid the risk of being garrotted by your hood becoming caught in an air conditioning vent. Though if you’re down on life enough to give into a hoodie, that might be what you’d like.
On polo shirts - unless they’re knitted, they’re not coming in. And as for flip flops, let’s just say you’ll never catch me dead in a pair (that is unless I kick the bucket in the shower of a public swimming pool, which is the only place to be seen in them).
Rant over. Next!
On Skirts
Last week on Instagram, @tom_chand asked me for my thoughts on skirts and how to style them.
Men wearing skirts is nothing new. The Scots have been doing the kilt thing for centuries, Arabic men have worn breezy kameez tunics as an antidote to the heat for millennia, and airy dhotis and lungis are worn by men across the subcontinent each and every day.
Men don’t wear skirts in the West for a multitude of reasons. The prime one, I think, is misogyny. According to patriarchal wisdom, women are less; meaning that to wear garments typically worn by women will make men less, by proxy. Logic? None. Bollocks? Total.
In my opinion there’s absolutely no legitimate reason – practical, social or otherwise – why men should not wear skirts on a regular basis. Because wouldn’t it be nice to be reprieved from the tyranny of trousers, and to feel the breeze around your legs in a maxi, midi or Miu Miu miniskirt, once in a while? Personally, I can’t think of anything better.
Plenty of interesting Western men wear skirts. Kid Cudi wore a party frock on SNL and has since worn multiple skirted garments in public. while Harry Styles was pictured wearing a Gucci dress on the cover of Vogue. A$AP Rocky sported a tartan kilt by Vivienne Westwood for a shoot with GQ, while a host of non-binary trailblazers, including Harris Reed, Tommy Dorfman and Sam Smith, have been flying the skirt flag for years.
When it comes to wearing your own skirt, I’d break yourself in gently and emulate one of my personal style heroes (and arguably the most attractive man working in Hollywood today) Oscar Isaac, who wore a Thom Brown kilt and matching suit jacket to the Soho House awards in New York last year.
Teaming your skirt or kilt with more traditional items from the menswear world - such as brogues, blazers and ties - will allow you to embark on your skirt journey on an easier footing, and after that? The thigh’s the limit!
Here are a few to get you started:
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Haha the hoodie section is hilarious. I would only add how strange the kangaroo pocket is on them 🤪 my kids love it though and keep adding toys to carry on my hoodies.
I LOVE men in skirts.