It is that time of year when one major sartorial season ends and another begins. As the nights close in and one feels more and more like there are ice cubs in one’s shorts during the stroll to work it is the time to bargain hunt. I am often shocked by how well one can dress buying Jermyn Street tailoring out of season.
As I rule I allow myself one new suit and jacket a year and trousers as my wife directs. Combine this with a shirt turnover of about two or three a year and there is all a man should need. A total of around £450 per year (yes it is that cheap providing one waits six months to debut anything) sees me better dressed than my wages suggest I should be, and more over the suits I buy will last me decades.
This I compare to the snuffling oicks I see dressed for comparable prices by the likes of M&S and Burton and stand astounded. Branded clothing rightly costs over the odds, only the witless pay to wear someone else’s name across their chest, but people who pay £250 for a suit that looks flame retardant simply show laziness and lack of discernment. Quality, especially anonymous quality, often comes very cheap.
Perhaps the real root of this discrepancy is motivation rather than taste. I suspect most of the clothes sold in London are not bought with a purpose in mind (except perhaps the odd shiny grey two piece for that first court appearance) but rather just for the glutinous desire to purchase.
“Retail therapy” is a phrase I hear women in particular use more and more without irony, the idea that there is something cathartic in just buying things. Absent an openness to grace or knowledge of the Sacraments people genuinely seek fulfilment in oddly cut cardigans and lurid checked shirts, not to wear there but just seeking satisfaction in their purchase. Indeed this I view as being the main driving force behind the more ridiculous stylings we see in the high street; constant purchasing requires constant novelty and as a result fashions become ever more deranged and sensationalist until we get to a point where children run about with profanity scribbled across their clothes.
The result has seen the once best dressed island in the word become the prey of junk food tailoring such as H&M, Top Shop and the famous Primark – where women have been hospitalised competing to buy tee shirts they will most likely bin in a week.
The myriad of cackling Sharon’s I see boarding the Underground at Bond Street, clutching their branded bin liners full of discount nylon exhibit all the signs of classic addiction; manic momentary highs followed by sulking melancholy. 
The mission of the Church to offer a seasonal message of real value, a faith that actually satisfies and a hope that truly sustains is clear. But perhaps also there is something to be said for the little things, like dressing better.
In Victorian England men who went about without a tie, proper hatting and not wearing a suit fit for the occasion were enjoined to go home and come back “dressed like a Christian”. Words we could all perhaps take to heart this season as we resist the latest fads.
December 8, 2008 at 12:39 pm |
As one whose annual clothing budget is considerably below even yours, I take heart from your comments!
March 10, 2009 at 8:10 pm |
I agree, genuine poverty means not having any money to spend on clothes. Living on a reasonably low income is not really an excuse for dressing badly.
For example, my Grandfather always wore a three piece tweed suit to Mass and even at home. He was of the generation who did not do “leisure wear”, and as such he used to have a smart tie for going out and a casual tie for wearing around the house.
And the reason…He worked in the shipyards all his life and spent his working days in a boiler suit up to his knees in mud. The last thing he wanted to do was to appear scruffy in his own free time.
As you say, this used to be the best dressed country in the world but that was when most ordinary people had some decency and self respect.