Don’t Let the Poor Gal Down

In the last article, the first of this wife/partner ‘double bill’, I issued warning to men vulnerable to the whims of their other halves, particularly where clothing is concerned. In this latter half, the warnings and advice to be issued concern not the actions of the women and their misguided attempts to mould a chap into their ‘beau ideal’. In this piece, the finger is pointed firmly at men who I would consider, for want of a better word, unsporting. I have attended many a social function, some good, many dreadful, where it is pleasing to see that roughly half, or just over half if one is lucky, have made a jolly decent effort with the attire. Not all the efforts have the complete effect – some are considerably more successful than others but I always applaud the work and thought put in. The sad thing is I am mostly applauding the gals on these occasions for the chaps, as affable and pleasant as they are, rarely get up to the same standard as their female companions.

This knocks me rather because I feel particularly sorry for the lady; as although, next to her rather slovenly and lazily attired man she certainly looks fabulous, when she takes him to the floor she looks less like the princess taking a turn with the prince and more like the charitable dowager sharing a nostalgic dance with the dustman. Not that there is anything wrong with such a two-step, but that for the lady, it seems unfortunate that her gentleman could not make the least effort.

The crux of the issue for some women is; does a handsome but roughly attired man on my arm make me look better or worse? The unfortunate reality is, if you are seriously considering such a conundrum, you are entering the strange and dangerous netherworld of insecurity, in which lurk characters such as Victoria Beckham. Having said that, there is nothing to indicate that in the two pictures, where there can be seen some of the most dreadful co-ordination there has ever been, that Mrs Beckham is necessarily the fat (or not so fat as the case may be) controller of the Beckhams ‘double wardrobe.’ For as long as it has been written that the Beckhams are a well-dressed couple that take pleasure in organised co-ordination, Mr Beckham and his wife have often blazed into social functions wearing the strangest companion ensembles I have ever seen.

In the two pictures represented, Mrs Beckham is by far the better dressed, and indeed more formally dressed of the two; Mr Beckham looks completely out of sync. It is rather curious but in these pictures, the couple appear to be living different lives. One upstaging the other with finesse outfits and expensive accessories, Mr Beckham looks like a very attentive minder, not the married equal of his wife. Whether this has something to do with a breakdown in communication or a pea-brained idea of Mrs Beckham’s that she should always be, conspicuously, the better dressed of the two the lack of synergy is all too apparent.

By comparison Orlando Bloom, pictured at the Royal Randwick Racecourse in Sydney, is, albeit a little funereal, appropriately dressed for his companion. Clearly, though it looks awfully simple, some cooperative thought and conversation has gone into their outfits for the occasion. That in itself is pleasing and, importantly, it makes the couple look accomplished and compatible. Similarly Brad Pitt, who was not always the ‘dapper chapper’, as I remember photographs of Mr Pitt when he was the companion of other women, dressed in truly dreadful and thoughtless ensembles with the overall effect of a Big Issue salesman, albeit a striking one. Now, frequently on the arm of the mother of his children, Pitt rarely lets the ‘team’ down; he has matured into a safe but elegant style and provides for the striking companion on his arm the ‘prince’ and not the charming-but-eventually-inappropriate ‘dustman.’

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The Influential Wife

I know of many men who turn to close female friends for ‘feminine’ advice. The words of comfort they seek are not, they would have me believe, available in the company of men. With the women they trust they exhibit fear, irrational thought and insecurity – all attributes they are eager to conceal from their closest chums. The other thing they are apt to ask their good-natured girls is how the dickens they should wear their cloth. “Women know about that sort of thing” they utter meekly, as if knowing how to dress properly were some black art, beyond the ken and understanding of man.
The devil is, women are generally better at choosing clothing for their plodding and uninterested male partners; they drag them around shops like toddlers, their faces dark in gloom. They are valiant, determined and, in comparison to their infantile husbands or boyfriends, radiant with unmerited optimism.

However, I have seen as many sat far from the changing rooms, drearily dressed and ill-disguising signs of ennui dismissing the cavalier choices of their other halves with but a yawn and a flick of the hand. One particular man happened to look very elegant in a pair of white trousers and as I was awarding him my silent approval, his wife, who was sitting punching keys on her phone gave one look and a slight ‘Nah’ sound escaped her lips. The result? Such was the power of even the briefest disapproval that I watched the man in question approach the till without the magnificent trousers that had fit him so well.

Were a man to hold such power over the wardrobe of his woman? I think not. Unless she happened to be wedded to a gentleman of great fashionable repute, a woman might seek some sort of approval or input, but she has generally more idea about what she wants and how she appears; to receive a blunt ‘Nah’ would be irksome but she is unlikely to waver from her charted course.

Men are very much under the sway of women in modern fashion. Men are very likely to copy the easy-going style of a Hollywood heart-throb not because they respect the clean lines, simple colours and elegant tailoring but because their wife does; and he is very likely to take a risk, with something unconventional (or uncomfortably conventional) if he is assured of close, and possibly distant, female approval.

I once asked a young lady how she would like the man of her dreams to dress. And, although she was very particular about his attire, it was not exactly what I would consider to be the careful calculations of crisp elegance; “…erm, nothing too smart; can’t stand that, just a short sleeved shirt…and definitely some surf shorts to show his legs and then…some trainers. And I like it when men wear leather jewellery.”
After obtaining these details, I asked her how important it was that a man configures to this specification. She replied that although it wasn’t everything and that she could live with ‘differences’, she wouldn’t be able to resist changing the man she loved into the figment of her imagination.

My study in this area is light and is generally based on some extraordinarily un-English eavesdropping and exchange of anecdote; I have never been susceptible to the machinations of a woman who disapproved of my wardrobe. There have been times when doubts have been allowed to prosper in my mind, where I have been ‘under the spell’ as it were, but I believe I have possessed the required guts, balls and barbed words to dismiss the howling harpy hyenas from my mind. The lesson through which I achieved this independence was the lesson which many are disinclined to endure; the prospect of shopping alone.

Wilde considered that “A man who allows himself to be convinced by an argument is a thoroughly unreasonable person.” Although it would be unwise and wasteful to ignore the valid caution of a loved companion, one who surely has one’s best interests at heart, Wilde’s words do touch on that ironic theme of his; ‘know thyself.’ Many men might be happy that their women paint their fantasy or fiction through their choice of clothes, or, more cynically, that they choose men’s clothing that looks sufficiently plain next to their laboured magnificence. I would trust many of my acquaintance, women and men, for their opinions but I would very rarely allow anyone to change who I am; who I know myself to be.

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Reptile Skin

Young children of my acquaintance are often curious about my wallet. And their curiosity intensifies when they learn it is hand made from genuine crocodile skin. They touch it tentatively and frequently flinch in fear when they run their fingers along the large scales. I would have reacted, were I their age, in the same way; seeing a creature’s skin on everyday products is somewhat macabre and terrifying for the young. Even fearsome animals that a child might draw back from in terror are pitied by the children, though they might take a considerable time to admit such pity.

Where or when I became desensitized to the use of reptile skin for whimsical fancy of mankind, I do not know; perhaps a lifetime of a common vilification of crocs and snakes has caused me to not only regard them with fear but also contempt. My wallet does not appeal to many of my acquaintance and some have labelled me both foolish and cruel for ‘supporting’ the trade in animal skins. However, many have expressed admiration and intrigue; ‘There is’ a friend told me ‘something exotic about it; your mind instantly connects with the life of the animal. You see it grinning, sloping off, living and dying…all at once.’

I expect there are those, of strong opinion, who will scoff and deride such romanticism. Of course, it is rather foolish chatter; when one considers the life of a creature has been lost (albeit, according to the documentation, not necessarily as a direct result of the demand in trade for animal skinned accessories), the smoke-ring thoughts of bloated consumers are of scant importance. However, if you are prepared to shoulder the guilty vanity of licensed reptilian products, there are a few things you should consider before purchase.

Crocodile and Alligator Skin Leather Accessories

The glorious texture of crocodile or alligator accessories is hard to replicate; imitation versions can be excellent, but they are usually no match for the real thing. Croc and gator skin is tough – very tough indeed – and no stiffly reinforced leather can measure up to it. This makes it, for items that pass in and out of pockets and bags, slide across hard tops, fall and tumble down abrasive surfaces, extremely practical; the gator or croc wallet is a classic and has been an acceptable form of money-keeping for almost a century. Likewise small items of luggage, though they are usually prohibitively expensive, manufactured from crocodile or alligator will last an incredible number of years. Other accessory items such as belts can be tasteful and even magnificent but that is where I would draw the line.

Crocodile or alligator shoes, whether they be made by an amateur cobbler in Bangkok or a master from Lobb, are, to me, the image of vulgarity. Though it might be true that they are also hardwearing, the croc shoe epitomises a brash, tasteless sort of man; the sort that pours vintage champagne over the bodies of sweating prostitutes, and the sort that personalises his number plates according to the chronological order of his vehicles.

Snakeskin

Though it had never appealed to me, my antipathy to snakeskin products was affirmed when I saw Derek Zoolander, played by Ben Stiller, pacing towards his distant and disapproving family in an entire snakeskin ensemble, with matching luggage. Whereas alligator and crocodile skin is hardwearing and very longlasting, snakeskin is actually rather fragile. And though Stiller’s costume was most certainly imitation, the patterns were actually rather ghastly on such a scale; snakeskin products do not have the subtlety (yes, subtlety) of gator or croc skin. When I see a snake belt or snakeskin boots or shoes I see a product that is neither practical nor attractive. And despite the relative expense and rarity of snakeskin, it always cheapens an ensemble rather than enriching.

Although I may be vilified for owning a croc skin wallet myself, I stand by the summation that while using the skin of some of the earth’s creatures seems barbaric and unnecessary in this day and age, the combined beauty and durability has been extremely hard for man to replicate.

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In Praise of Sartorial Individuality

In a particular movie scene, a Victorian gentleman makes his way into a particularly dubious establishment, something in the manner of an old coaching inn; full of rose cheeked, merry groups of drinkers, smiling and scowling in equal number. His magnificent formal evening dress, white tie, top hat and tails, shines in the dim light with a near celestial luminescence. The owner of the establishment, a portly man with a pompous ensemble of his own, stands in salute, instructs the entertainments to cease and announces with pride; “The Two Turtles is honoured by the visit of a gentleman.”

Such deference, though artificially portrayed, was not uncommon. Smartly dressed gentlemen were clearly identifiable among the rank masses, particularly in areas of town unfamiliar to the silk top hat and patent shoe. They were fawned over and bothered for their charity but generally, they were left rather well alone. Certainly they might have been the object of an optimistic theft in a dark alley on a gloomy evening, or the reason for a knowing nod, nervous glance or a hushed word, but generally whatever animosity there might have been to the educated and well-dressed, it was apparently well disguised.

These days, chastisement of chaps for the way they dress is, in my experience, commonplace. If you happen to be among certain groups of people in certain areas of cities, you come across certain persons I refer to as ‘spoilers’; spoilers, not because of the picnic-table fibreglass they attach to the back of their vehicles but because they often try and spoil the fun of dressing well. I remember walking past a growling trio who, rather startled by my advancing form, gave me the ‘once over’ and muttered ‘Poof!’ as I passed. I am little concerned by such antics. I don’t dress to attract attention or seek approval. Therefore, such appraisal is easily forgotten. But such events do cause ripples of thought; what would the world be like if everyone dressed the same?

If everyone dressed in a way one particular person, or one group of people, approved of the events of fashion conflict would surely never arise. Everyone would approve of one another, differences in such matters would be minute and inconsequential and you would have a uniformity of attire, similar to a day at Ascot or an ambassadorial dinner. However, if everyone dressed in glorious morning dress it would cease to be special and ceremonial; no one would be admired for their particular fashion or style. Clothing itself would cease to be important as, the natural progress of conflict is to cause discussion; and discussion which can divide as well as unite.

Looking at the glowing pictures of catalogue models, all perfectly groomed and attired, enjoying impossibly beautiful afternoons on Cambridge punts, elegant dinners on Tuscan terrazzas and glorious sunsets in Maine, it is difficult not to conclude that fashion’s message is clearly: ‘Dress like this… and the world will be beautiful.’ Of course, if more people took more interest in clothing and cultivated attractive personal styles, it would be an exotic occasion indeed, to walk down the street, oohing and ahhing at the cornucopia of elegance on show. I have been to several locations where I have relished and celebrated the sartorial artistry of those that surrounded me and the knee jerk reaction is quite naturally; ‘If only more people dressed like that!’ A famous writer I had the pleasure to meet and ask for an autograph remarked upon hearing my first name; ‘Ahh, Winston. More people should be called Winston…although if there were too many, it’d be rather terrible.’

There is nothing that cheapens quite like popularity, or I should say, over popularity. The fashionistas of my acquaintance, as fickle as they are, are loyal to one ideal; as soon as a garment appears in Primark, in the eyes of fashion, it is dead. Although such slavish devotion makes me chuckle heartedly, I empathise with such thinking. Men of style and flair who visit these pages, looking for advice or seeking to provide their own valued input, are in a minority. I for one am happy that, as a minority, it remains; stylish gentlemen are jewels to be enjoyed on occasion and for their charming individuality and expression of sartorial understanding. As they are, they shine as precious stones; treasured or ridiculed, berated or applauded, either is preferable to the idea of an oppressively numb uniform world.

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Suede Shoes: Should I?

When I was a young lad my parents, ever practically minded, used to consider that the tricky problem of buying clothes could be mitigated by purchasing garments that were rather too large for me but that could be temporarily altered. The sad fact of the matter was mine was an adolescent body not capable of achieving the ideals of growth that my parents had envisaged. However, I am grateful to my parents for their input. Such practical thinking is admirable, and as they were intent on buying me items of very high quality, it was also rather necessary; I would soon have outgrown a perfectly fitted trouser at the age of 15.

Thinking practically about your wardrobe can save you money. I think a good number of people prefer to devote their time to other activities and expect their clothing results to be as instantaneous as their Starbucks coffee; walk in to shop, find needed black shoes, pay, walk out. The devil is that the product that has been made so readily available to our purchaser, like the Starbucks coffee, is probably overpriced. To get the right results from clothes shopping a good deal of research is needed. It’s preposterous to expect that the average retailer on the high street can be trusted to provide a product that offers, as well as style, long term value for money.

It’s perhaps ironic then that the more practically minded purchaser is apt to make impractical purchases. One such purchase might be a pair of suede shoes.
In the proper hands, suede shoes can be an excellent addition to a gentleman’s footwear collection. However, unlike full grain leather, which possesses the protective ‘skin layer’, suede is only from the soft underside of the animal’s skin; making it softer but also far less durable. Suede also has a tendency to absorb liquid very quickly, making suede products unsuitable for wear in wet periods. And no matter how cautious I have been with it in the past, it has always ended up looking tired, worn and dirty far too soon after the purchase.

“This” I was told by a charming and multi-lingual cobbler in Rome “does not always have to be so.” He informed me of protective sprays, brushing techniques and new suedes, all of which I was previously aware, that had been created for what he termed “the lazy people.” I surmised that lazy people are unlikely to purchase suede shoes because they are more decorative than practical. When new, they look gorgeous; the subtle matte finish is the footwear equivalent of a chocolate truffle. However, taking the decision to buy a pair is momentous. Suede shoes are the difficult child, the young offender and the family puppy; they require a great deal of care and attention. They should really be worn infrequently and never when it is raining. There are shoe care guides aplenty that offer ‘solutions’ for worn, wet or dirty suede but the unhappy fact of the matter is, your suede will never quite be the same again once it has shown the ugly evidence of use.

Lifting the napp on worn areas with a brush will not restore your shoes to their former glory, and dirt marks on light suede are unlikely to be completely lifted even after hours of attempt with a putty rubber. This is not to dissuade (please, excuse the pun) the reader from considering shoes in such a material. I myself have longed for a pair of black suede Stemar lace-ups that slipped through my fingers several seasons ago and despite my consideration that, though splendid, they would soon be irretrievably damaged by the persistent dirt and wet of London’s streets, I would still fall to my knees, irrationally and theatrically, and beg them to be mine.

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