Politician

This week, while politics has resembled something akin to The Real Housewives franchise, I’ve been far more concerned about the horror show that is their outfits. Politicians' dress isn’t just a personal statement; it’s an ideological one. Look at Ron DeSantis. As the Florida governor was sworn in for his second term this week, he donned a crisp blue suit and slicked-back hair, complimenting the dresses of his daughters Madison and Mamie. His four-year-old son, Mason, looked immaculate in a matching suit. Some say shoving a blazer on a child this young is vulgar. I disagree. Mrs. DeSantis’s mint-green cape dress was chic. The whole family’s sartorial elegance oozed American conservatism.

It wasn’t the easiest news to have to break, but he delivered it with the kindness and compassion of a favourite uncle explaining to his nephew that his hamster has passed away. Afterwards, we were left thinking, “Well, what is a 20.4 per cent slump in the economy between friends, anyway?” Even the announcement that the UK is in the deepest recession of any G7 nation hasn’t taken the shine off Rishi Sunak’s approval rating, which remains light years ahead of other members of the government. When the Chancellor declares “we’ll do whatever it takes”, we believe him.

The best-dressed politician of all time was Anthony Eden. His style was something out of an Apparel Arts illustration; long jackets, peaked lapels on single-breasted jackets (a good 60 years before Tom Ford would revive it), high-waist trousers and double-breasted waistcoats. Even the fabled hatter Lock and Co renamed the Homburg hat ‘the Eden’. Those were the days of Porfirio Rubirosa, Mountbatten and the Aga Khan, when the idea of the sartorial statesman was unexceptional. As things stand, Jacob Rees-Mogg will never leave behind that kind of legacy. By the lore of classic style, there isn’t anything particularly special about a suit, shirt, tie and polished shoes.