Some reflections on the sartorial statements of male politicians and 'special advisers'

Although I cannot pretend to have studied the history of costume and fashion in any systematic way, it is interesting to note the correlation between changes in male fashion and certain historical phenomena. Did the advents of ruffs in the apparel of 16th century aristocrats have anything to do with the redundancy of medieval suits of armour ? Did the fashion for flowing powdered wigs in the late 17th century have anything to do with the advent of (relative) peace and prosperity after the devastation of the Thirty Years War ? Was the disappearance of wigs from men's fashion after the French Revolution a consequence of the egalitarian sentiment engendered by that event ? Similarly, the disappearance of most ornamental frills from men's apparel after the Regency period tells us something about the nature of masculinity during the Victorian period (although it could be said that this desire for ornamentation escaped into what can only be described as the 'flowering' of beards during that period). Such questions were regarded as beneath their attention by 'serious' historians for many years, but now, with good reason, because of the interest in the history of 'material culture', are now regarded as fundamental to the study of the past.

Similarly, I would argue than important insights into the nature of contemporary politicians and contemporary elites. (I have to stress that I am talking about male, not female, public figures. The social rules governing male fashion are different from, and much less constraining, than those governing female fashion. The stylistic choices of female public figures are continually and intrusively monitored and policed by various media, most notoriously, but not solely, the egregious 'Daily Mail', in a way that has never applied to male politicians). I am concentrating on male public figures, because, contrary to the assertions of the artist Grayson Perry, they have some freedom of choice. The sartorial tone of a number of politicians has become 'smart casual' (i.e. without ties, and definitely no three-piece suits). In the avant-garde of this revolution in fashion statements have been Blair, Cameron, Osborne and Clegg, all public-school educated, and all desperate to conceal their privilege (including, as I pointed out in a previous blogpost, by the assiduous and consistent dropping of consonants), Johnson's carefully contrived messiness in his appearance is not a departure from this trend, but only the latest iteration of it.

This trend has been taken to its zenith (or nadir) of accomplishment by the sartorial choices of Steve Hilton, David Cameron's political adviser and 'ideas man', and Johnson's very own Rasputin, Mr. Cummings. Steve Hilton liked to be admired in his sports kit. Cummings' choice of headgear (a tea cosy) and his creased T-shirts are the latest rather startling additions to the Downing Street fashion parade. Both outfits can be characterised as 'aggressively casual'. They are worn by people who don'r care about giving a good impression, who don't have to, and don't care about those who have to. If the old German saying, 'Kleider machen Maenner' (clothes maketh man) is true, Mr. Cummings' recent escapades should come as no surprise. As far as his clothes are concerned, the medium truly is the message. By taking casual to its extreme, the phenomenon that began as a contrived denial of privilege has become an uncompromising, 'in-your-face' assertion of it.