At the news that Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) will allow members to remove their jackets thanks to soaring temperatures, I wept a tiny tear. That is, one of sadness, not relief, as I imagine some of you may be feeling, because it is the thin end of the sartorial wedge. Before you know it, Prince William will be appearing in flip flops on the Buckingham Palace balcony and the Prime Minister will take questions in Bermudas.
For the British man needs absolutely no encouragement to disrobe. Left to his own devices, most will slob about the house in their most comfortable pants. And the moment the sun appears for more than five seconds, the men are out in the streets, shirts off, shorts on, their horrible feet on show in sliders or even – shock horror – flip flops. A man that wears flip flops, anywhere but in a spa, is a man that has given up.
How long will it be before those in charge at MCC, Ascot and Henley decide that we don’t even need to bother with long-sleeved shirts and ties? Will White’s allow gents to remove their jackets? Will sweat-stained armpits be on show throughout Clubland? Perhaps the tailors will start marketing short-sleeved tailcoats and short sponge bags.
I, though, will hold out as long as I can. I will admit that this is not always exactly comfortable, especially when it comes to watching the races. My tailcoat, being inherited and old, is particularly hot, as it’s made of wool. I wear a tweed jacket the whole year round, even at the risk of fainting like some Victorian maiden in a too-tight stay. I was relentlessly teased for being ‘British’ when, in America, I wore brogues on a beach.
But these things exist for a reason. The fact is that ordinary men, who haven’t misspent their youths hefting weights and snorting peptides, do not look good in anything other than a suit, whether business, morning or evening. Men’s tailoring reached a height in the 19th century, just after the fripperies of the 18th: stocks, waistcoats, tailcoats and breeches. Would that we could return to that; we can’t have everything, I suppose.
Even so, when I am eventually made prime minister, my first act will be a bill banning men over the age of 27 from wearing T-shirts. Yes, I see you, with your teenage band shirts that ride up when you yawn, displaying puffy midriffs. Wear them in bed, not anywhere where people can catch a glimpse of you. As for shorts – nobody wants to see your knees, which resemble ancient blue cheese, or your spindly ankles, which look as if they might break if a chihuahua blew on them. I include, by the way, the over-muscled here: stop showing off.
The fact is that ordinary men, who haven’t misspent their youths hefting weights and snorting peptides, do not look good in anything other than a suit
Men should wear suits whenever we can: if the occasion demands it, or even if it doesn’t. You can be underdressed but never overdressed. Several years ago, a good friend got married in the Bahamas. The invitation gently suggested that, thanks to the heat, whilst the groom and his ushers would be in morning suits, tailcoats were optional for guests. Since my flannel suit had long been bashed to pieces, I appeared in waistcoat and tails. Only one other Brit followed suit (sorry). Was I abashed? Hell no. I danced till the morning with my coat firmly on, much to the amusement of the Bahamians. Similarly, when an American friend got hitched in England during a sweltering June, the dress code was black tie. Fair enough; but on the day (thanks to lockdown) I found I couldn’t fit into my black tie trousers and so tootled off in my tails. The Americans loved it.
What is a chap to do, then, you may reasonably ask, when the temperature is nearing 35C and the races, regattas and the wedding season beckon? The phrase ‘stiff upper lip’ was invented for this. Think of the guards at Buckingham Palace, in their bearskin hats and uniforms, enduring the heat and not moving a muscle. Think of the King, age 77, opening parliament on a summer’s day with an actual crown on his head and several feet of ermine behind him. I think of my grandfather, who gardened in a jacket and tie. If they could do it, so can you. Have a gin and tonic, adjust your top hat and crack on. Otherwise, it’s a slippery slope to singlets and slobbing out.
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