I was standing outside The Prince Albert in Notting Hill last Friday, waiting for Marcus (chronically late since uni, some things never change), when I spotted them – a group of blokes clearly headed for dinner somewhere with tablecloths and wine lists longer than a pamphlet. The giveaway? The subtle but unmistakable outfit upgrade. Three-quarter zip jumpers instead of hoodies. Actual leather shoes instead of trainers. One brave soul even sporting a blazer that definitely wasn’t part of an old suit. They had that slightly self-conscious air of men who’d made an effort but were trying desperately not to look like they’d made an effort.
Meanwhile, streaming past them into the pub were the Friday night regulars – jeans that had clearly been through the wars, well-worn trainers, those mid-layer jackets from outdoor brands that have somehow become the unofficial uniform of British men between the ages of 25 and 45. No one looking twice at each other’s outfits because frankly, there’s nothing to see here. Just the same comfortable, reliable kit that British men have been wearing to pubs since approximately 2005.
The distinction between pub clothes and restaurant clothes fascinates me. It’s this unwritten code that most British men instinctively understand but would struggle to articulate if you asked them directly. The nuances are subtle but crucial – push too far in either direction and you’re either the overdressed prat at the pub or the underdressed slob at the restaurant.
Let’s start with the pub gear, shall we? The backbone of British masculine casual dress. The unofficial national costume of blokes having a pint.
What are British men actually wearing down the local? First off, jeans. Almost universally. But not just any jeans – that very specific shade of lived-in indigo that suggests they’ve been washed just enough times to be comfortable but not so many that they’ve started to fade dramatically. Slim but not skinny, straight but not baggy. The Goldilocks zone of denim.
Footwear is where the first real distinctions start to emerge. Your classic pub trainer has evolved over the years, but the general principles remain the same – it needs to look decent enough to go out in, but you can’t be precious about it getting a bit sticky from spilled pints or scuffed when someone inevitably stands on your foot in a crowded bar. Your New Balance 574s, your Adidas Gazelles, your Nike Air Max 90s – these are the unsung heroes of British pub culture. Comfortable enough for standing around for hours, casual enough that you don’t look like you’re trying too hard, but still showing you’ve got at least some awareness of what’s current.
Up top, it’s all about the layers. British weather and British pubs both demand flexibility. That middle ground between “freezing outside” and “surprisingly warm once 50 people are crammed in and the heating’s been on for two hours.” T-shirt as a base layer, obviously. Probably plain, possibly with some faded band logo or the name of a place they went on holiday four years ago. Over that, we’ve got a couple of contenders. In winter, it’s the trusty sweatshirt – grey marl if you’re playing it safe, maybe some faded navy or burgundy if you’re feeling adventurous. When it’s slightly warmer, you’ll see a lot of those Oxford shirts I mentioned earlier, worn open over the t-shirt. And the outer layer? The North Face, Patagonia, or the budget-friendly Berghaus. That lightweight, water-resistant jacket that can be tied around the waist when it gets too warm or the rain stops.
Accessories are minimal to non-existent. Maybe a watch that’s either surprisingly expensive (the secret indulgence) or the same Casio he’s had since college. The wedding ring if applicable. That’s pretty much it. British men at the pub are not peacocking with statement pieces. God forbid.
Now, the fascinating bit is watching what happens when these same men dress for a restaurant. Not your local Nando’s or the curry house where they know your order before you sit down – I mean somewhere with a booking, somewhere where you might want to impress your date or not embarrass yourself in front of your partner’s work colleagues.
The shift is subtle but meaningful. It’s like watching a slightly hesitant metamorphosis.
The jeans might stay (though they’ll be the newer, darker pair reserved for “proper going out”), but they’re now joined by the chino contingent. Navy, charcoal, or that specific shade of muted green that somehow British men have collectively decided is acceptable. The fit is slightly more considered – no baggy seats or knees with the life worn out of them.
Shoes are where the most obvious upgrade happens. Those trainers are suddenly replaced by what I affectionately call “the reluctant smart shoe.” Chelsea boots are massive here – they’re the perfect compromise shoe for British men. Smart enough to get you through the door of somewhere with a dress code, but not so formal that you look like you’ve come straight from the office. Desert boots play a similar role, especially in the slightly more relaxed venues. And yes, there’s always that one mate who’s stuck with a pair of square-toed formal shoes from his first job interview in 2008 and brings them out for every restaurant occasion despite your gentle suggestions that perhaps it’s time for an update.
The top half sees the most dramatic transformation. That t-shirt is now either a much nicer plain one (possibly even – gasp – ironed) or it’s been abandoned completely for a button-down shirt. Not a formal business shirt, mind you – that would be trying too hard. No, we’re looking at Oxford cloth mostly, with the occasional chambray or subtle pattern for the more confident dressers. The fit is crucial here – it needs to look intentional rather than borrowed from a slightly larger sibling.
The humble sweatshirt has been upgraded to a proper jumper – possibly even the M&S merino number I wrote about last week. Crew necks dominate, though you’ll spot the occasional quarter-zip among the older crowd. And here’s where you start to see one of two approaches to the outer layer – either the casual blazer (unstructured, definitely not part of a suit) or the elevated jacket (Harrington, waxed cotton, maybe even a bomber if they’re under 40).
What fascinates me most is watching mates who I know for a fact own exactly the same clothes somehow intuitively understand which items to deploy in which setting. Take my friend Dan, who works in IT and owns precisely three jumpers to my 27. He’ll wear the plain navy crew neck to the pub without a second thought, but automatically reaches for the slightly nicer texture-weave one when we’re heading for dinner. Same bloke, same basic item of clothing, but an instinctive understanding of the subtle hierarchy.
The really interesting cases are those tricky middle-ground venues – the gastropub, the slightly nicer chain restaurant, the new place that’s opened that no one’s quite sure how fancy it is. This is where you’ll see the most varied interpretations of the unwritten dress code. Some will err on the side of pub casual, others will tip slightly more formal. There’s usually a moment of visible relief when everyone arrives and realizes they’re in roughly the same ballpark.
I saw this in action last month when our group of six met at a new place in Ancoats – sort of industrial-chic with sharing plates and craft beer but also a wine list with actual vintages and proper napkins. We all turned up in slight variations of the same outfit – dark jeans or chinos, button-down shirts or decent jumpers, Chelsea boots or the slightly smarter end of the trainer spectrum. Pure coincidence? Not at all. Just six British men independently solving the same sartorial equation and arriving at very similar answers.
There are regional variations, of course. London men generally skew slightly smarter across both settings – the result of a working culture that still leans more formal despite the post-pandemic loosening of dress codes. Newcastle lads will brave much colder temperatures without proper outerwear than their southern counterparts would consider sensible. Manchester has that specific indie influence that still lingers from the 90s – more likely to see a vintage Adidas tracksuit top in the pub there than you would in, say, Bath.
Age plays a factor too. The 20-somethings are more likely to push into streetwear for the pub – the Supreme hoodies, the chunky trainers, the cross-body bags that us older blokes secretly don’t understand but won’t admit it. The 50+ crowd often skip the middle ground entirely – either full casual with golf jumpers and comfortable jeans for the pub, or jumping straight to proper shirts and smart trousers for restaurants with very little in between.
The most telling detail, though, is watching what happens when plans change mid-evening. When “quick pint” turns into “actually, should we get dinner?” there’s that moment of outfit assessment – the mental calculation of whether what you’re wearing can make the transition. The relief when the chosen restaurant is casual enough that your pub attire will pass muster. Or the slight awkwardness when you realize you’re underdressed but it’s too late to do anything about it.
I’m not immune to this myself, by the way. Last week I had to do an emergency shirt purchase in Selfridges because post-work drinks suddenly evolved into dinner at a new place with a Michelin star and a velvet rope. My pub-appropriate merino jumper and jeans combo wasn’t going to cut it. Sixty quid later, I was wearing a still-creased Oxford shirt with the security tag cleverly hidden under my watch. We do what we must.
The beauty of these unwritten British men’s style codes is their persistence despite the general relaxing of formal dress requirements across the board. Even as offices have embraced more casual attire and restaurants have dialed back their formality, that subtle distinction between pub clothes and restaurant clothes endures. It’s like sartorial muscle memory – a quiet acknowledgment that different social spaces deserve different levels of effort, even if that effort is carefully disguised as effortlessness.
So next time you’re people-watching on a Friday night, take a moment to notice which direction groups of men are heading based solely on their outfits. I guarantee you’ll be able to spot the difference between the pub crowd and the restaurant reservation crowd with surprising accuracy. It’s a small detail in the grand tapestry of British social life, but one that speaks volumes about how we navigate our social spaces through what we choose to wear.
Leave a Reply