Style Icon: Michael Jackson

In the last few weeks, about one particular person, there have been written such headlines, obituaries, paragraphs, bloglines, Tweets and tributes that, if piled all together in some mausoleum of dedication, would surely be visible from space. Superlatives have been exhausted; the end of an era has been marked. Michael Jackson’s passing has dominated the thoughts of all from the breakfast to the boardroom table. Of his status as an entertainer, much has been said. Of his unconventional childhood, much has been lamented. He has been praised and pitied; scorned and celebrated. An awesome showman, he could write and produce his own music; he danced like no other, inspiring a generation of Jackson-lite dancers. He was equipped with a unique voice, a taste for fantasy and an enduring Peter Pan personality.

What has received less mention is Jackson’s very evident, somewhat controversial, taste in clothing. By some he is cited as the last example of extrovert dandyism; in whatever theme of clothing he currently favoured whether it be creamy fedoras, glittering socks, diamante gloves, Napoleonic tunics, wing collars or sequinned blazers. Jackson dressed like no one else. In many ways his extravagance was a renaissance of fashion showmanship unseen in centuries. For while it was undoubtedly idiosyncratic, it was actually well conceived. To some it was predictably vulgar, but to many it was an appealing extension of the Jackson aesthetic; a taste that embraced antiques, classic cinema, exotic animal pets, theme parks and history. He was evidently a curious and eager materialist who found delight in the sort of bauble and bangle that the most outrageous fop would question. But it was not only a willingness to wear what others might not wear; Jackson’s wardrobe was a premier example of personal couture. If Mr Jackson had the taste for a suit of armour, Mr Jackson would get a suit of armour. Indeed, when interviewed, Jackson’s costume designers, in acknowledging that Jackson never wore the same thing twice, indicated that Jackson was always the final arbiter on his clothing choices. But he was not simply an isolated fantasist. Jackson even had method to his adoption of faux-regimental clothing, considering that they ‘demanded attention’ had ‘clean lines’ and ‘fit…almost like dance clothes.’

It was not only that Jackson created his own unique wardrobe. He also, due to his magnificent fame, manipulated the mindset of a generation. I remember adopting some of Jackson’s milder clothing curiosities, a small trilby or penny loafer, and receiving my fair share of the humdrum commentary; “Look, it’s Jacko”, “Hey, MJ!”, “Ow!” For as much as penny loafers belong to a generation of Ivy Leaguers, for many younger people they are the stage-shoe of the King of Pop, and try as contemporary celebrities might to consistently adopt fedoras into their everyday headgear, they cannot shake off the glitter of mid-career Michael.

Some outfits of his in particular stand strong in the memory. The Billie Jean outfit, throughout the years of stage performance, remained roughly the same; a simple white t-shirt, skinny black trousers, a black trilby, black loafers and importantly, white diamante socks and a black sequinned jacket. A stage look, no doubt but wonderfully effective; the eye followed the gleaming socks in the moonwalk, the trilby was a clever prop. And as stagey as it appears, Jackson actually adopted more outrageous ensembles.

On a visit to the Reagan White House, Jackson was auspiciously centre stage. With a white wing collar shirt, black trousers, trademark white socks and opera pumps Jackson wore a museum-worthy creation half cartoon, half regimental elegance; a glittering blue mess jacket with light blue-edged lapels, dazzling gold epaulettes, gold sash and gold buttons – on his right hand he wore the legendary white sequinned glove. Such brazen pomp had probably never before been seen at the White House. As bizarre as the costume sounds, Jackson cut a marvellous, and extraordinarily gilded, figure; striding out onto the lawn between Reagan and his wife. For others, it would be impossible to imitate – for Jackson it was natural.

The one outfit that I remember, as a child, I ached to imitate was the creamy, faintly pin-striped suit from ‘Smooth Criminal.’ With a blue satin silk shirt, cream knit tie, spats and white fedora it was practically a parody of the gangster element which Jackson’s video highlighted. And yet it was simply the most wonderful thing I had seen. It wasn’t the white knight poetry of it, the obsession with Jackson himself or even the fact that I adored the song; Jackson simply dazzled.

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The Incredible Influence Of The Teds

I’ve been learning about the Teddy Boys. Most interestingly, about how they were the first working-class movement to alter the course of men’s style. And gave formal tailoring a much-needed kick up the arse.

After the second-world war a generation of youngsters in Britain wanted to cut free and express themselves – and by the fifties, had the money to do it. Their look was taken from a failed trend that was launched by Savile Row: the Edwardian look. The Row had aimed the look at upper-class gentlemen; but the youngsters subverted it, keeping the long jacket and waistcoat but exaggerating the proportions of the collar and narrowing the trousers.

They added short, cutaway collars, bootlace ties and chunky shoes. Their hair was greased and coiffed – most importantly, they were neat. They were smart and took real pride in their appearance. When one set appeared in court, the judge remarked almost with indignation that “this working class group would wear suits and show off”.

It was just such a court case that gave the group its name. When a gang was caught up in a murder, one newspaper cut the headline describing the event from Edward to Teddy, and the name was born.

In case you haven’t guessed, I’ve been listening to ‘Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen’s Men of Fashion’ again on Radio 4, as I mentioned in a previous post. We’ve skipped four centuries since then, from the 1600s to the 1900s.

What was so incredible about the Teddy Boys was that they were such a small, underground group to start with and yet so original and influential. They were the first fashion group to identify with a trend in music (American rock and roll); the first youth group in England to identify themselves as teenagers; the first working-class style trend; and the first time youth took hold of the suit and made it their own. One tailor comments on the programme that the Teds “put more life and energy into tailoring than it had had for 100 years”.

Today, the influence of the Teds is in every youth trend that emphasises the dapper, the neat and the smart. It is in the fun, colourful and adventurous approach to suiting in modern tailors like Ozwald Boateng and Richard James.

And for me it is very English in its restrained style. It is unlike the revival Teds of the seventies, with outlandish proportions and gaudy colours, or the Zoot suit crowd in California, which was much more about ostentation and excess. (The influence of the Zoot’s style is the ego-driven rappers of today, for it was the Zoots that first started wearing oversized hats, big-shouldered suits and jewellery).

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Style Icon: Thomas Crown

I was written to recently by a young man who had become interested in my blog but, due to his own admittance of his naivety and insecurity, was unsure that he would represent himself well in, as he put it, such ‘frilly, theatrical garb.’ He was, he wrote, ‘more concerned about what people think…’ Instead of providing what would have been a knee jerk response, damning his insecurity, slapping his proverbial back and sending him off in the direction of ‘frilly’ retailers, I considered his position from his point of view; a young man tired of the graffiti-trends of his peers, hateful of hoodies, tired of trainers he is evidently trying to mature his wardrobe. The difficulty being that many bloggers tend to be altogether too affected, too dandy or absurdly avant-garde – he cited one who chose to wear women’s heels and handbags – to inspire such a cautious self-improver.

Fortunately there are, I informed him, more influences than self-photographing self-promoters. Of course, for such a youthful, inexperienced upgrader, some alternative sources of influence will doubtless prove too far fetched – pointing him in the way of flower beds for colour coordination, though valid, is likely to perplex rather than enthuse. Seeking heroes of style in popular culture is a common refuge for the uncertain and cinema is a glorious medium; beginners and sartorial ‘professors’ alike gaze at the screen, following attractively dressed characters, storing imagery in their minds and pondering a little plagiarism.

Thomas Crown, a character originally brought to the screen by Steve McQueen, is considered something of a style icon, as much for his adaptability and ‘Modern man’ mantle as his sharp tailoring. Even the Crown in the Pierce Brosnan remake is applauded for exuding a deep, Everyman quality – Brosnan is as at ease in the air-conditioned boardroom in tailored wool as he is, linen shirted, watching the sunset from his Caribbean hideaway. He carries the viewer through Bond-like fantasies of tailoring, the cameras gorging on Turnbull & Asser shirts and ties and Gianni Campagna suits. Never over or underdone, the combinations emphasise the importance of simplicity and fit – a Brummellian manifesto – above all else.

These elegantly uncomplicated ensembles mirror the extraordinary knack McQueen’s Crown exhibited for not dressing up, or dressing down, but simply dressing well. Colours may tend to be minimalist, suits traditionalist (but hardly basic) and ties ‘uniform’ but what is remarkable is that on my last viewings of the original and the Brosnan update, the beautifully attired Mr Crown had aged little since the films were released. Others more in sway to the ‘fashions’ of the periods look decidedly dated.

The lesson to inquisitive but nervous improvers, intent on discarding the present uniforms of inelegance is simple; an upgrade of material and of shape, an embracement of maturity and felicitousness. Crown is no fake – heavily ironic considering his duplicity – when it comes to dress; his style is no ‘bullet proof’ armour or pomp of a parvenu. It is a symbol of his taste, success and earned position. It looks as it should always look: entirely natural.

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Young Style Icon: Chuck Bass

Regular readers might remember a derogatory article I penned about the brand Abercrombie & Fitch – the success of which I attributed, partly, to the strength of its presence in the powerful television series that portray the glamorous but tragic lives of American youth; a formula of attraction that captures the imagination of Americana hungry teens worldwide. The ‘dramedy’ fixture appeals, and is therefore marketed, to young girls. There is very little evidence in these well-packaged productions that young males are a target audience. And, of course, why should there be? Young boys are expected to be out playing sports, surfing, engaging in pubescent banter and chasing girls; there’s little time or consideration for following the boring, made-up lives of cry-babies.

And yet there will be those who, with a willingness to please, catch a few scenes with their girlfriend; there will be those who are more than vaguely aware of the characters names, who’s been with who and who wears the best clothes. The characteristic of many of these shows has been that while the girls can be well catered for in the wardrobe department, with significant product placement and even fashion leadership; Chloe handbags, Juicy Couture tracksuits and Paul Frank t-shirts, the boys are – aside from a few cult logos – A&F, Penguin and Fred Perry – uninspiring and rather ordinary. Marketing is a huge part of these programmes. In fact, some programmes are so blatant as to even mention the designers during an episode – a brutal kind of marketing that angers some parents who are press-ganged into making these child-pleasing purchases.

However, the chief problem, in my view, with acceptance among young school-age boys and girls, has a lot to do with timidity; boys don’t dress in ordinary, ugly clothing out of any sort of pride but fear – a fear of being unconventional, of constituting something girls might consider odd or even threatening. Popular culture wields a mighty hand in dictating fashion; it’s no surprise that in the UK thousands of girls began to ape the cutesy short-skirted, pigtailed image of Britney Spears in ‘Hit Me Baby One More Time’ after only a few bars of ‘Oh baby, baby…’ It is therefore encouraging that the hit television show Gossip Girl, about the sheltered, seemingly perfect lives of young Manhattan socialites actually features a positive male style role model for any transfixed teen; it matters not that gazing at the screen are mostly hearts-a-fluttering young girls, sighing and blowing kisses, the exposure of such style to an audience so used to a style aesthetic of printed t-shirts, skater jeans and Converse All-Stars is a positive thing; I can imagine the love struck young ladies sighing up and down the country; ‘I never thought bow ties could look so cute.’

Chuck Bass is without doubt one of the most popular characters on Gossip Girl. And alongside his devilish good looks, precocious cynicism and intimidating manner, he also attracts a huge amount of attention for his sartorial style. Of course, some say, he’ll look good in anything – but that’s hardly the point; the point of this particular form of style leadership is that items of attire youths previously associated with out-of-step fathers and grandfathers now have a completely different association; you can guarantee that an observant, self-confident young man somewhere will walk into a house party to whispers of respect and admiration rather than ridicule; ‘Look’ the girls twitter ‘he dresses like Chuck Bass.’

There isn’t really a signature look for Mr Bass. He certainly loves using colour, wears shoes rather than trainers, embraces supposedly ‘poofy’ materials like silk, cashmere and velvet and though there is always a trend-twist to his ensembles, his overall look promotes good grooming and an appreciation of detail. Some might dismiss the looks as typical American prep; the sort of aesthetic Ralph Lauren has advanced since the mid-Sixties. However, Bass is no stiff, Brooks-Brothers-of-old cut-out; there is a charm and energy to his exciting ensembles that reveals an inner confidence bordering on priggishness. Most know-it-alls in teen dramas are vilified; made out to look shallow, geeky and ultimately unattractive but Bass has depth. Bass manages to turn up in a bow tie, powder blue suit and sockless loafers, sip a cocktail and deliver cruel putdowns in the manner of Max Beerbohm – an unlikely crush perhaps, but the result is generally irresistible.

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Hollywood Gold

When I overheard a conversation between two persons, neither of my acquaintance, the response given by one to the other’s question rang, rather violently, in my ears; with the Academy Awards coming up, the constant comparisons between our ‘economic climate’ and the Great Depression and our never ending fascination with celebrity, it couldn’t be more appropriate; “Hollywood” the lady had replied “is not what it once was.” This remark, now such a cliché, is a favourite of those who criticise Hollywood’s perpetual self-reference; who point out that Hollywood lacks creativity and ingenuity and compensates, rather inadequately, by overspending and overproducing. There has always seemed to be a little Narcissian weakness in Tinseltown, but considering the monumental success of its output, this is hardly surprising. From the era of Chaplin and Doug Fairbanks to the present day, success has been the toast of the evening; art is a goal, but success has been the narcotic of choice for everyone from Louis B Mayer to Lana Turner.

As gigantic and influential as Hollywood now is, there is still a sense of loss amongst veterans, an indulgent nostalgia for ‘the way things used to be.’ This pining has led those of influence to christen new Hollywood as old; George Clooney is ‘the new Cary Grant’, Scarlett Johansson the ‘Marilyn Monroe of the Noughties.’ “You see” said an elderly member at my good friend’s club “there’s nothing appealing about Hollywood anymore. It’s all about recycling; the movies, the stars, the parties…” Whilst too cynical a view for my taste, I conceded some truth. Hollywood is always in love with itself; the ponderous ceremony of the awards, the glitz and razzmatazz are, apart from the music industry, never seen anywhere else. It is a tad self-congratulatory but then, why should it be anything else? I for one am all for the warm nostalgia that is sprinkled over the industry at this time of the year; recalling ghosts and years past of style, glamour and legend.

Look at Clark Gable arriving at an Academy Awards ceremony in the 1950s with Grace Kelly, squinting into the glare of the camera flashes, a neat pocket square poking out of his overcoat; or Marlon Brando, looking like a textbook 50s model in shawl collar and ‘cocktail’ bow tie; or Douglas Fairbanks Sr, recalling an even earlier Golden Period, in a light, three-piece suit with white shoes, remarkably appropriate for the warm climate of California. Hollywood needs this depth of style as a reminder; far from forgetting the pattern of elegance and attraction that built the legend of Hollywood, it needs to always be conscious that fame itself is a by product of what the fantasy of the studios was capable of doing; delivering dreams to it’s devotees.

Cecil B. DeMille, by his jodhpurs and boots, gave birth to that stereotypical and romantic depiction of a film director. The seemingly bizarre combination of an equestrian/military lower half with a rather more conventional torso is nevertheless a successful marriage that, like many of Mr DeMille’s films, captured the imagination of faithful Hollywood. These little bijoux, stories and captures from the Golden Era, merely affirm, many contend, that Hollywood, stylistically and artistically has lost its way and, like an impoverished aristocrat, calls on former glories and splendour to add glitter to its name. I rather think this point of view is growing in tediousness; Hollywood ‘gold’ may be gone, but bravo to those who ensure it is not forgotten – in Hollywood, they all need a little ‘direction.’

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