GREY FOX COLUMN

Style Column

David Evans celebrates the true sartorial splendour of the British, despite reputations abroad to the contrary

Ihad a crazy Damascene revelation a few months ago, when it occurred to me that, arguably, most of the menswear shapes and styles that we recognise today have their origins in the British Isles. Imagine, if you will, a group of well-dressed men from every corner of the globe having a good grumble. “What have the British ever done for us stylish men?” Asks one of them. “Quite – what have they ever done for us?” they all cry. After a moment’s silence, one of them tentatively raises a hand. “Well, they brought us bespoke tailoring – and the three-piece suit.” There’s a general muttering. “And tweed,” calls out another. “And Yorkshire cloth.” More reluctant agreement. “And Prince of Wales check, Glen check and tartan.” They’re all contributing now: “And waxed cotton jackets.” “And wellington boots.” “And cardigans.” “And Fair Isle, Shetland knitwear and ganseys.” “And Aran jumpers.” “And mass-production off-the-peg clothing.” “And the British Warm, covert coat, trench coat and Ulster.” “And brogues, Chelsea boots and desert boots.”

“The British detectives, Thomson and Thompson in the Tintin books, wear dark suits, toothbrush moustaches and bowler hats. Pierre Daninos’ series about Major Thompson, an Englishman living in France, has his character in tweeds, carrying a tightly furled umbrella and, yes, wearing a bowler hat”

“And Goodyear-welted shoes.” “And khaki.” “And mackintoshes.” “And polo necks, polo shirts and button-down collars…”

And so it goes on until they adjourn, still grumbling about the inadequacies of British style, to the pub for a warm beer (both British inventions of course). At first I wondered if I was getting carried away by unsavoury nationalism – a touch of Flanders and Swann’s The English, The English, The English are best, I wouldn’t give tuppence for all of the rest! But look at the facts. Western tailoring has its roots in London’s tailoring skills, still found on Savile Row. Our cloths are products of an industrial revolution that enabled them to be manufactured in Britain in amounts large enough to be exported around the world. The patterns on those cloths: tweed, tartan, herringbones and checks, have their origins in traditional British weaving. Aran, Fair Isle, Shetland, ganseys are the products of knitters from all over the British Isles. Footwear, hats, leather goods and jewellery were produced in large amounts as the British Isles developed efficient and cheaper ways of making. All these products found their way around the world, where they were eventually copied, manufactured and worn by men of style.

The main factors in the scattering of British products, design and styles around the globe were the complex trading links that originated from the process of colonisation. Britain’s colonies became a vast marketplace into which manufacturers could pour their products. In many cases, British styles became objects of desire; local clothing would, sadly, be rejected in favour of a three-piece suit – and of course that suit would follow the pattern developed in England.

How can we define and recognise British men’s style? For a clue, let’s look at how other countries see the British man – or perhaps more realistically the ‘English man’, because he’s the icon whose clothing styles have been adopted and adapted around the world. Closest to home are the French. Like any neighbours, Britain and France have developed unsophisticated assumptions about each other’s characters, and clichés abound. The French, of course, all wear berets and blue workwear jackets, drive corrugated metal vans, drink Pernod, smoke too much, lounge around in Parisian cafés and conduct extra-marital affairs. The English eat appalling food, have bad teeth, hate sex, can’t hold their drink, imbibe too much horrid English beer when on holiday abroad and all wear bowler hats.

The French have three fictional characters that reinforce their views of British men’s style. The British detectives, Thomson and Thompson in the Tintin books, wear dark suits, toothbrush moustaches and bowler hats. Pierre Daninos’ series about Major Thompson, an Englishman living in France, has his character in tweeds, carrying a tightly furled umbrella and, yes, wearing a bowler hat.

This French view of British menswear style has been repeated around the world; from the USA to Asia, the Englishman wears dapper suits, tweed or pinstripe, good shoes, a bowler hat and, usually an umbrella (after all, it does rain continuously in the UK). Such clichés naturally have their origins in reality and we do sometimes play up to these preconceptions. The English cyclist, Tommy Simpson, who tragically died on the Col du Tourmalet stage of the Tour de France in 1967 (see CHAP Autumn 20), wore sharp suits and wasn’t averse to donning a bowler hat to help seal his hosts’ prejudices about what Englishmen should wear.

Men are very conservative in their styling; it’s only in the last couple of decades that most of us have dared to start wearing brightly coloured shirts. Until the late 18th century, men wore colourful and highly decorated clothing (or at least the rich did). Towards the end of that century, these styles reached an extreme with the ‘macaroni’ – an effete man who, adopting continental menswear styles, wore tall, curled and powdered wigs, dressed in the extremes of fashion and behaved somewhat effeminately. This all changed with the Regency

dandy Beau Brummell, who emphasised beautifully tailored but sober clothing in monochrome colours.

Brummell’s use of high quality, perfectly fitting and understated shapes influenced menswear to this day. Throughout Victorian times, and into the last century, men’s clothes remained largely monochromatic, reinforced by sober religious thinking and a view that business-like attire should be essentially dark and conservative. Individualism could be expressed through sharp cuts, showy accessories like walking canes, silk cravats and ties, colourful waistcoats and patent leather shoes, but business clothing remained unshowy. Only now are things changing, as dress-down Fridays and the rigours of a year’s lockdown have contributed to a move away from the suit and formal clothing for work, bringing with it colour and more relaxed shapes.

While the British gentleman prefers to dress soberly for work and for town (remember ‘no brown in town’) he tends to shed this monochrome image when it comes to weekends and country wear. His natural reticence, and years of postBrummell, Wesleyan and Victorian sobriety are thrown to the winds with a whiff of country air. He still shuns bright colours, on the whole, but striking checks become part of his wardrobe.

The British man’s style owes a large element to camouflage. When in town, his reticence encourages him to fit in with his surroundings – and what better enables him to fade into brickwork, concrete and urban angularity than grey flannel, dark pinstripes and black leather shoes? It’s a different story in the country, where the variety of colour, form and texture encourage more adventurous hues and patterns, which offer the otherwise conservative dresser the chance to brighten up without feeling too dandy. Country sports clothes: breeches, stockings, big leather boots and fancy bags enable the grey city gent to transform into a rural peacock.

So within the restrained structure of British menswear a man (or woman) can become a bit of a swell. Daninos’ Major Thompson may have been soberly dressed in a dark suit, but look at its slim, sharp cut – Edwardian revival style – and his tightly rolled umbrella and highly polished oxfords. No doubt a striped regimental tie, shiny cufflinks and a tiepin would be added to brighten up this otherwise restrained image. But, when in the country, he’d dress in a brightly checked tweed suit, mirror-like chestnut brogues, a Tattersall shirt and colourful silk tie or cravat – adding an extra almost foppish dimension.

To summarise, while at first sight the British gentleman is a quiet soul, on closer inspection it’s the details that make him a dandy and a celebratory figure – and isn’t now the time to have some sartorial fun, after a year of lockdown? Wearing very traditional clothes doesn’t necessarily label you as a boring and conservative dresser. Select bright colours, checks and colourful but refined accessories, wear them with confidence and panache and you move into the territory of the rake, the dandy, the swell or the fop.

Finally, here are my suggestions for a few brands to enable you to acquire that stealthy dandy look of the gentleman who, under his calm Savile Row exterior, is actually a Latin extrovert bursting out of his restraints.

Cordings of Piccadilly: the first place to go for the authentic brightly coloured check tweed country look. Try their orange needlecord trousers or a Skipton tweed suit for that cheery country look. New & Lingwood: the school clothing store for the grown-up schoolboy. Slightly less heritage than Cordings, but try their magenta linen shirt or multi-check deconstructed linen suit, to counter the grey of the city or to cheer up your next visit to the beach. Harvie & Hudson: their blue and white striped linen jacket will brighten your post-lockdown holiday. Budd Shirtmakers: off the peg and bespoke shirts to brighten your day. Geoff Stocker: his silk dressing gowns, squares and scarves are the perfect cheery accessories that will dandify any outfit. Dashing Tweeds: their reconstructed traditional tweeds will make you a gentleman or woman of the town or country sans pareil. Cravat Club: British-made silk cravats and scarves.

Vintage, to add that dash of elegance: Hornets of Kensington, Victory Vintage or Savvy Row. n

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