My Impeccable Sense of Haute Couture

   So, the livery of Britain's Favourite Alien©; almost always of a kind that is definably oddball, outward and outré

   Informing today's title are the early words of the seventh incarnation of the Doctor, as embodied by the peculiar showman's élan and mobile visage of Sylvester McCoy. The character's current, eleventh persona has deftly created warring camps with his attire - "Bow ties are cool" is the diktat from his  recent debut episode itself - yet I've perennially found myself on the side of the 1987-9 model, not only for his meddlesome, obfuscatory, warm and ruthless persona but his offbeat formality. Such whimsy, a lasting influence? And yet an evaluation of the hero of a world-recognised adventure series from a sartorial standpoint could not be more germane to this column's mandate

   Forgiving the branding-motivated question marked apparel - although, that said, it is quite the endearing personalised umbrella - McCoy's costume is cleverer than received wisdom would have it. Hewn closely to the producers' conception of an appearance thought of as normal from afar and stranger under scrutiny,  I'll restrict myself to 1989's brown jacket model over the more familiar cream. It was to represent the devious and darker undertones of the character's progression; in practice, it veers the outfit's previous spring associations towards the autumnal and better melds its elements together, muting the fair isle-inspired vest and picking out the brown tones of the rather classical correspondent shoes. And the jacket is better cut, to boot, tightening up the well considered silhouette of proportioned garments and full cut trousers that assist in exuding the comfort and theatricality of McCoy's character. A sort of playful John Steed, perhaps

   There is a confluence of designs that allows much to be gotten away with; a veritable rainbow of colour alongside a cornucopia of pattern. That the most obtrusive component remains the lurid, questionably designed, as opposed to questionably hued, question mark vest - disdained by the actor to the extent that he once tried to arrange its absence for an entire serial - is a testament to paying attention to an era of considered combinations (the 1930s) in an era of neon excess (the 1980s). Strip the outfit down a tad and one would be golfing in St. Andrew's 70 years ago. This is also cogent to its wearer; McCoy beat David Tennant to becoming the first Scottish Doctor, behind the scenes and in front of the camera, sporting plaid, tartan and paisley and deploying his own accent throughout his tenure. Thus far, this remains the only portrayal in which the Doctor was definably not the model of a very English alien

   The accessorising similarly straddles the line of over-application. A paisley scarf under the lapels is perhaps the height of stylish scarf use and a segment of today's Italian dressers favour such an adornment in the pockets of their coats these days, or is that merely Lino Ieluzzi? Then there is the manner in which McCoy's fob chain was pinned to his lapel, which strikes me as a somewhat patrician affectation and is certainly my preference for its more statement-based positioning over the more familiar waistcoat placement. Finally, McCoy is inarguably a hat person, to the extent that the incongruity of a straw with a self-tied band - achievable with a pocket square - accompanying cooler weather wear simply merits my admiration

   Such a mix is certainly not for the undexterous, which makes it rather iconic as a presentation for a physical performer of McCoy's abilities. If not for this concept, this ensemble may never have come about. For lessons learned, it speaks for itself

   Inspiring, but not as one would expect

Fab Gear

   These are mostly his 'n' hers styles immortalised by Bill Ray in 1968, as published by LIFE in its august days. A mixture of luminaries and scenesters, these were mainly shot in London, as well as France and, one presumes, Italy

   What we have here is a diverse look at the culture crashes that flourished into the iconography of the late 1960s' fashion language, but an emphasis on an air of refinement and an existence predicated on leisure persists. Moroccan caftans juxtapose with matching Mr. Fish shirts, waisted velvet corduroy frock coats, idiosyncratic beachwear by Ken Scott and the earlier designs of Valentino; for the people wearing them, they seem no more than representations of their good fortune. Nonchalance counts

   There are various LIFE collections available. I've always wanted to see Ray's work stand alone, however, and this will suffice for now:

Jane Birkin and Gervase may be the most well known of Ray's various subjects here

   Bang the drum for the days of yore

Old Face

All photographs are copyright of Dean Chalkley via Creative Review

   I've never given much credit to those who treat their existences as an extended costume party, even if I'm fond of their references. In cloning the past, usually in a bid to protest against much of the cultural change since, the reenactors normally, and shamelessly, forego personal originality entirely

   If you've an eye for detail, a knowledge of useful resources, a love for vintage and hate the modern shopping experience, period dress is all too easy. And often too boring. To me, that seems like a rather celebratory admission of a poverty of thought, not unlike a wasted weekend

   This is why I champion costumes that actually personalise their historical exhumations. The various outfits worn by the BBC's premier alien, the Doctor, for example, all respond to archetypes such as "Edwardian," "Continental," "Dandy" and "Hoxton Professor" but usually bend those confines in a way that can be recognised as individual creativity (the artful dishevelment and idiosyncratic footwear of the Scots Doctors, Tennant and McCoy; the mastery over sartorial excess of Pertwee; the clownish yet slightly dignified inverse of Hartnell's attire sported by Troughton and, mandatory for such discussion, Tom Baker's scarf), nevermind that the costumes are ultimately decided and realised by a designer and the showrunner, alongside the actor, if their input is appreciated, that is (pity poor Colin Baker)

   Parallel to this, designers who will tweak conventions and rethink standards are my kind of creators - my Junya Watanabe (whose latest aesthetic nods to the subculture on display here) preference is emblematic of this stance. And what he does with the 20th century's traditional male silhouette, certain musical albums from his homeland dissected in this column have been doing to music once thought to be irrelevant in modern times with the prepotency of near or full genius

   Therefore, what most entices me about The New Faces photographs of eight retro-mods was not the garments of the gang but the eye of their beholder, Dean Chalkley. In a London that has never quite fallen out of love with Mod - one need only visit Topman to confirm this - it's simple to understand how this has come about, but Chalkley is talented enough to make this interesting and masterfully arranged. Forgetting the attire for the moment, there's something of the actual 1960s cultural snapper about his work, from the way that the subjects' goofing around transforms the traditionally sterile studio setting into a groovy, expansive playground through sheer energy (or, in the case of early Doctor Who, a clinically flat alien land) to the emphasis on capturing and advocating their self confidence and love of clothes

   The photographs exemplify Chalkley's fashion shoot stylings in their generally full length compositions, detail-framing closeups and undistracting settings, and so are unambiguously focused on the looks and attitudes of their subjects. They're also consummately professional and designed in a way that is redolent of the black and white music television that this group undoubtedly loves. It's unsurprising that Chalkley relates to them; having performed assignments for Ben Sherman and taking a suggestion from Paul Weller as the name of the show whilst photographing him, he first met them at the club night he runs in London's Highgate. They share a common affection for music, clothing, and the synergy thereof, and particularly that of a certain time and place. And he cannily suggests their hobbies by photographing their dancing, neatly underlining that synergy that has brought these people together

   Ultimately, I always preferred the Peacock Revolution, but I could never discourage an interest in dressing and dancing amongst the young

Dean Chalkley. His sense of style is not unappealing

   The New Faces exhibition is currently at The Book Club in London until April 29th. The Jukebox Jam record label has selected a run of limited edition seven-inch vinyl reissues of obscure 1950s and 60s US rhythm and blues to "soundtrack" the show; clips are available on Chalkley's website

The Stephanie Rushton Portrait Shoot, Part Two

   Alternate angles of café culture and on-the-street photographic reportage

   I'll never sit for Norman Parkinson, but Stephanie's talent makes this as great an honour

 

  

  

The Jamie Archer Portrait Shoot, Part Two

   Featuring whimsy, nudity and an unfurled umbrella indoors

   I wonder if we'll ever be allowed across the museum's threshold again (it was Jamie's choice of venue, in any event)

 

  

  

  

  

The Jamie Archer Portrait Shoot, Part One

   Jamie is the online brand-building whiz who shot the Ian Bruce exhibition photographs that were featured here last autumn, as well as a close-up that we could both dine out on if my marketing skills were at their peak. Here, he asked me to bother the security guards and patrons at the permanent collections of the Victoria & Albert Museum. And I couldn't resist - one could list "Confusing, distracting and endangering stray passers-by" on my CV

   The more childish shots shall be featured in Part Two. Jamie's other space is here:

 

  

 

The Stephanie Rushton Portrait Shoot, Part One

   The short version: Stephanie meets Winston at a party, photographs him, is subsequently referred to me and a breezy early evening in Mayfair becomes photographic memories for all

When I Was in London

   ... I was mostly clad in the gloves and the coat because I respect my body's temperature that much:

   It was good to be back. And now I've left again. And The Mode Parade is going to experience a few small adjustments for the time being, but it certainly isn't going away for now. Indeed, more to come

If I Were in London...

   ... I'd be wearing something like this oldie photo, here:

   Actually, I'll return on Thursday morning, so this is utterly relevant. I hear it's a little nippy out and that I have to stay away from the yellow snow. Luckily, I have some pigskin gloves that I'll be taking out for a little spin

The Bojangles Post

The Bill 'Bojangles' Robinson Monument in Richmond, VA

   Bill ‘Bojangles’ Robinson (1878 - 1949) is the perfect representative of a favoured archetype of mine; the energetic, sharply dressed, dynamic hoofer of the early 20th century. Alongside Gene Kelly, The Nicholas Brothers and, of course, Fred Astaire, he is also an ideal exemplar for the freedom, precise lines and pure élan of skilled tailoring. His capacity for generosity, dignity and rising up against all the odds that faced him are also excellent guidelines for living

   As a man of motion, his jackets gave him the freedom to perform his steps whilst looking his best. Look at how the low padded shoulders and the height of the armholes combine to allow him near-unrestricted movement without distorting the garment’s structure. The sweeping belly of his lapels and loosely structured fit add to his energy and agility immensely

   For those who appreciate my use of full cut trousers, this is where it comes from. What gives Bojangles the edge is that he has no need for my kaleidoscopic enthusiasm; his flamboyance lies in the cut, which is simply of its time

 

   There is any number of reasons as to why his style has not passed on into public legend, but he is as admirable to me as Cary Grant is to everyone else. Ever complimentary of other footwork talents, Astaire’s tribute to him in 1936's Swing Time may be history’s only relatively passable example of blackface, and I say that because I've no real reason to doubt Astaire's sincerity:

   Unexpectedly, his baton was taken up briefly in 2003 and 2004, by, of all people, will.i.am in the ‘Hey Mama’ video and Usher in ‘Caught Up’, respectively. The choice of garments and silhouettes, along with the fact that both men use the videos to highlight their skill as dancers is indicative of inspiration, if not tribute

Dancing alongside Shirley Temple

   I wouldn’t go as far as to include myself as part of his legacy, although an uncle of mine teasingly referred to me as ‘Bojangles’ after I danced with everyone in sight at a recent wedding reception. I still can’t say that I’m not flattered

   Let's hear it for Mr. Bojangles

In Their Element

The In Group – 18th July 1967

Back Row: Susannah York, Peter S. Cook, Tom Courtenay, Twiggy

Centre: Joe Orton, Michael Fish

Front Row: Miranda Chiu, Lucy Fleming

   I’ve felt like sharing this Patrick Lichfield-shot image for a while; it’s been a favourite since a collection of Swinging London photographs passed through my field of browsing vision some time in the distant past. I certainly think this mixture of languor, exclusivity and energy ranks with his airily bohemian portrait of Yves Saint Laurent in Marrakesh two years later, even allowing for their compositional differences

   It also seems to be the only reference for what the man who devised the kipper tie and the wardrobes of Terence Stamp in Modesty Blaise, Jon Pertwee in Doctor Who and Peter Sellers in There’s a Girl in My Soup, Michael Fish, looked like, never mind anything more recent. Surrounded by other luminaries of his scene and taking centre stage in clothing of his own design, one can discern the flair and the garrulousness that made him and his work a desirable commodity; the latter still is, if I have anything to say about it

   The online provenance of this image lies with Shana Ting Lipton; her mother, Miranda Chiu, is seated by Fish’s right knee. Ms. Lipton, an international pop culture and travel writer/editor/journalist and cultural researcher/strategist with an incisive worldview and an exceedingly interesting website, is ostensibly who I want to be when I grow up. My world could certainly use more of her like

   In terms of appearances, there’s certainly a marked difference between this clan of memorable tastemakers and the brand name/High Street scruff of today’s Hot Young Things in an identikit photoshoot. It’s all in the elements

Relaxed Suiting

The Fifth Earl of Lichfield, Thomas Patrick John Anson, via LIFE Magazine

   Men who want to leave the suit behind when their day is done at the coalface are shortchanging themselves. Learning to adapt and procure suits for occasions and for pleasure is merely another aspect of the fun that comes with sharpening one's image. And that suits-with-trainers lark only ever worked for downtown New York New Wavers and David Tennant

   There are other options, you know:

YSL, circa 1969

Also from LIFE, The Beatles take Japan. And Lennon probably didn't need to ask anyone if it was acceptable to sport a muted pink suit

Etro, via the NY Times; the label has entirely defined itself through uncompromising flamboyance, sharp cuts and playful patterning

Etro for summer. There's only one element I'd not wear

The post-colonial African hipster look revived for the NY Times. Suits by Viktor & Rolf (l) and Dries Van Noten (r)

   Let's face it; the mods, suedeheads and peacocks were deriving much enjoyment from their appropriation of traditional dress codes and the results thereof. It's all over Patrick Lichfield's face up above; he's bold, but not over the top, able to enjoy his appearance without being self conscious about it. Given what parades up and down today's metro paving, it's only out of the ordinary because sartorialism is the current incarnation of iconoclasm. Having said that, it still takes a brave or uncaring man to wear a hat crown as large as his face

Mick Jagger and Mary Whitehouse. Really

The 1971 wedding of Mick and Bianca Jagger. His suit was from Nutter's of Savile Row; at this time, the pattern was cut by master tailor Edward Sexton. His shirt was created by Deborah & Clare of Beauchamp Place. The photograph is, of course, by Patrick Lichfield, via The Independent

   It's been well documented that I achieve a more informal look the same way other likeminds do; my shirt and tie combinations could only really be seen at parties or in a creative office. Anyone who really thinks bold ensembles are de rigueur in a conservative professional environment is an idiot or has befriended one too many wide boys. But going the other way and playing the colour field down doesn't harm a suit's out-of-the-office cachet:

Knit tie, green pocket square, striped cardigan; relaxed in more of a cosy sense than a creative one, but also perfectly felicitous for a dressy occasion

   Rather than simply thinking "It's not for me" or "I'm not (delete as appropriate) cool/rich/famous/handsome/slender/crazy enough to pull this off," you simply have to remember that menswear is about the details. For every exuberant pattern, there must be a balancing act performed by the cut; it must, of course, fit exceptionally well. Don't compound the potential shock factor of a statement fabric with offbeat tailoring decisions (unless it's a shorts suit, which is a topic for a future time). Stick with two buttons in a single breasted or go double in a 6x4 configuration. Rather than standard padded shoulders, why not try roped shoulders and/or lightly padded natural shoulders. Retain a well shaped silhouette with subtle buttons. Let the fabric do the shouting

   If anyone would like a place to start, I can think of nowhere better than Dashing Tweeds. Their Exploded Houndstooth design has previously appeared on this column. I do like this Foulkesian 3-piece tailored from one of their cloths by Savile Row's Davies & Son:

Via James Sherwood

   A final thought: don't neglect the outerwear