Of course, I am the most accepting psychotherapist around. At least, my tolerance is genuine in the workplace. But privately I prefer to discriminate (in the good sense). Fashion wise, I like to discriminate against what I regard as ‘celeb’ clothes for gullible male peacocks who end up looking strangely inhuman. As if they were ashamed of the shapes we all come in. As though men should somehow lose their proportions in the interests of body art. Yes, I fear I am referring to a few of the products from trendy labels (eg ‘Sik Silk’ and ’11 Degrees’) and retailers like ThomasGun. Yup, I have it in for blokes in jokes.
Do you know the ones? T-shirts resembling pregnancy shifts in tropical floral prints or bearing stark calligraphic tattoos – at 40 quid a pop – ker-ching.
Or trousers with baggy bottoms and gaiter legs that deform the human frame and could only be justified inside a pair of riding boots astride a horse. But these wearers are new romantic gym bunnies not red-fleshed huntsmen. Urban jodhpurs is what they really sport and every rider knows there’s no place for jods in the street unless you fancy re-incarnating the great dictator Mussolini and his mates.
Another word for the battle between modernism (silly art) and traditionalism (practical beauty) is ‘ageing’ of course. We all grow impatient with the follies of those who are younger. But there remains this point: clothing, like architecture or painting, has been around long enough for some styles to be superior because tried, tested and functional. Sik Silk drainpipes – to me at least – just look like plumbing covers for hot water tanks.