If asked to put together the top six annoyances of riding a bicycle, approaching any female counterpart or said current government; fewer than 3 would fail. Questioned the deterrents of educated dressing and well mannered sartorialistic opinions? Nothing.
The term ‘mere men’ is redundant by any means. Men are actors, and his cloth is his costume. Even when performing as you are i.e. a doctor as a doctor, a tailor as a tailor, you are still in character as per say. Why else would you put on your costume and ascertain the assumed nature?
An education, or even a gentle guide around any corridor of dress is indispensable to say the least. Following on from reading, writing, walking, a few more and then finally the mannerisms of your wardrobe, they are the most prominent and fundamental composition of your acting attire. It is not to be left in the lap of gods for reactions regarding to swooning expressing way in your direction.
Philosophical poignance checked off for another week.
“Rules belong to border man. It’s a good thing they do for that matter, some of the people I’ve encountered I would cite in any length of sartorial poetry as borderline-man anyway. We must break the rules to break the records. But if any of those breakages result in a recording of your distasteful attire, it’s best to err the safe side of the sensibility.
In understanding, these borders exist to maintain you in your post-neanderthal self. They also stand to steer you away from your overzealous tendencies. They are never to enter you into a point of no return or similarly, the point at which people wish you would appropriate no-return. Never should these rules exert you into garbing beyond or below your duty of dress but merely teeter amongst them.
Faux pas account for 98% of the total accumulated wars (despite ironically being a faux pas in themselves). Equally they tot-up 73% of wedding no-shows, 47% of arguments and grudges and 13% of one-night-stands* please reference first brackets.”
Luke Barrett Todd 2010…sometime before.
The Guide, Week 3:
My guide to dress, spread over these past and present weeks, will arm you with a code of conduct more elaborate than anything pedalled by MI5 or the like. We’ll cover everything from black tie, white tie, morning dress, Hollywood black tie, lounge suit, wedding attire (not applicable to men of the cloth) and all the rest.
I’ll try to teach you the key points, I’ll try to teach you to avoid the uh oh’s, the moans, the groans and the divorces respectively. I’ll try to teach you to keep your hands to your own accompaniment but some of you are hard students!
I find it hard to maintain any form of visage at
most all times. The worst of any scenario is entertaining (or entertaining the thought of entertaining) pretentious event goers who either only showed up or didn't throw their invitation away because it looked too snazzy.
The interpretation of song and dance is a dress code. Sorry, the interpretation of a dress code is a song and dance. Just thinking about it I may need to sit down. I’ve ushered you through black tie and wedding sartorial necessities (and the not-so).
Nevertheless some have you have been getting a bit randy/ansty, p*ssing off the email clerk we keep locked away in the cupboard, filling my inbox with your requests for an elaborate explanatory effort of statistics and what not relating to the following mysteries.
I am from Ascot which means a leaning towards some sense of inner obligatory standards being carried in my attendance of the Races. In any audience of the horses, morning dress should be fulfilled. Morning dress, only being carried off in the day, is your pass through security and the hello into any hospitality box or to the Royals respectively. Noam Chomsky pedalled the idea of an innate language ability, a certifiable prerequisite not expected to transcend into sartorial knowledge; not until selective breeding comes into play.
It would be a mournful (see what I did there?) thought, and I’m sure a breach of my contract somewhere, for me not to lead you into the winners enclosure for your attire. Morning dress is chiefly sustained by a morning coat, waistcoat and striped trousers.
Some dabble, but are sure not to be seen in, hire shops. This is the clubcard-friendly situation. Ascot calls for a grey morning-dress but should your suit be called up for wedding endurance it is the reserved right of the groom and the brides father to fashion grey morning dress; the fable of bridal prima-donna'ism is no more. Should a bespoke be beyond reach then hiring is of course within acceptability.
Last weeks article shot down any hope of you sporting a top-hat in the congregate of your next ‘I do’ but at Ascot should you be asked if you are accompanied by one you better had hope that’s your answer. Regardless of your misshaped head you blame your mother for, few are likely to find a top-hat suited to their skull. Perhaps use those clubcard points for the bespoke treatment? Luckily a grey top-hat and black morning coat do no row at the dinner table (unless that dinner happens to be a post-burial occasion).
The royals would not call upon morning dress if it were to be simple and leave you without headache and me without feeling in my fingers. This isn’t to nod towards Prince Phil’ as a style icon but merely the godfather of sartorial sensibility. Your morning suit should be stalked by a shirt in the white or pale region. Erring around pink or blue far out does any off white (and that includes 'formerly white' – we can tell!)
Oxford shoes are the expected, the polished variety and by no means should they follow the beaten-aesthetic of your hired top-hat. It is the rather preferred to digress into your loafers should they be in better 'nic' than your Oxfords. You’ll never catch a Royal donning a duffle the same way you won’t catch them donning brown shoes; follow big Phil’.
Fortunately, morning dress does not pose a lot of do nots when it whittles down to dress; the real no no's are your accord on the day. If you didn’t glance at the invitation correctly it claims ‘morning dress’ so be a good little Cinderella and pop home before dark. It’s just the hosts way of getting rid of you before you run out of alcohol and rummage their vintage lot.
I leave the remainder of your woes within a singular self-fashioned proverb:
If anyone nudges you, including the unlettered tailor, away from the continuity of godfather Phil’ – Just say neigh!
Luke Barrett Todd.
Senior feature writer.
Dedicated FashionBeans email: firstname.lastname@example.org