rocky road

More equal than others: fashion for men - archive, 1969

Mr Myron Ackerman is trying to give most men a guilt complex. He has discovered two truths which he holds to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, but those who want to be more equal than others spend a great deal of money on clothes; that, in the pursuit of success, it is the over-35s who lead fashion.

It is indisputable that the over-35s have the money. But Mr Ackerman, chairman of the men’s wear company, Chester Barrie, has noticed that they possess “a subtle and sophisticated elegance,” that they “are the truly fashion conscious men of today and are the real trendsetters. This is a somewhat startling development, as ever since the early 30s it has always been the 20-year-olds who set the style.” They are also, of course, customers of Chester Barrie.

Mr coup de grace by listing the wardrobe of “the man who has arrived professionally and is already in the boardroom or knocking on the door. It contains: four medium-weight suits, four light-weight suits, two country suits, two party suits, one lightweight dinner jacket, one silk evening jacket, four leisuretime slacks, and three over-coats. The total cost: approximately £1,150.”

In riposte, I can only throw open my own wardrobe to the public. It is not one in which even the overcoats have overcoats. There are three medium-weight suits, ignoring that double-breasted one in the corner, bought in a euphoric moment after seeing Bonnie and Clyde and worn once. It bulges under the armpits. One lightweight suit. I don’t have a country suit. I’m not even sure what a country suit is; something to wear when going rattin’, I suppose. I own no party suits, although I have a dinner suit. It is not lightweight, but it does have an interesting green mould growing down the front. No silk jacket. No leisure-time slacks. Jeans, of course I have: a white pair, a black pair, and an indeterminate pair with paint stains. Also a blue plasticised-cotton mac. Total cost £150. I’m not sure whether that makes me a success or a failure.

Those who follow the Ackerman line will delight in the Top Room, just opened at the children’s tailors, Rowe’s of Bond Street – a shop once responsible for dressing an entire generation of infant royalty in sailor suits which remains a nannie’s delight. The Top Room is apparently aimed at boys too old for short trousers but not old enough to toddle down to the companion shop, Huntsman’s, for their first Savile Row suit. The buyer, however, hopes it will appeal to our sophisticated mid-30s who may wander upstairs while their children are being fitted down below. They will find good-quality cavalry twills, knitwear, and tweed in rather dull colours. Of course colours are dull, I was told. It is the winter range; the spring clothes will be much brighter.

Meanwhile, I’ll stay with Carnaby Street, or the high fashion of such places as Austin Reed’s Cue and Aquascutum’s Club 92, until the City breaks out into maxi-coats or especially, the furs, warm, cheap, and fun, that the 20-year-olds are wearing.