If there are two words guaranteed to strike fear into the British male heart, it’s “smart casual.” Those innocuous-looking words on an invitation might as well be written in hieroglyphics…
I got three slightly panicked calls last weekend from different mates all asking essentially the same question: “What the bloody hell do I wear to this garden party/wedding/race day when…
The first proper jumper I ever owned—not counting the scratchy school uniform ones that felt like wearing a hedgehog—was a navy blue lambswool crew neck that my grandmother gave me…
I’ve got this mate, Charlie, who once turned up to a casual pub lunch in Chorlton wearing full-on shooting attire—tweed cap, tattersall shirt, plus-fours, and those weird sock garters that…
I still have nightmarish flashbacks to a particular day five years ago when I stepped out of a menswear launch event in Soho wearing a pair of pristine white canvas…
I’ve long maintained that autumn is when British men come into their own, stylistically speaking. After the confusion of summer (Is it hot enough for shorts? Will I be the…
I’m staring at a photo that my mate Jamie just sent me. It’s us, Reading Festival 2004, caked in mud that had somehow invaded places mud has no business being,…
I got a wedding invitation last month with dress code listed as “lounge suit” and watched my American colleague nearly have an existential crisis. “What the hell is a lounge…
I destroyed a perfectly good pair of brogues last autumn in the Lake District. Not my brightest moment, I’ll admit. My girlfriend had suggested a “light walk” near Windermere—the kind…
I have a slightly embarrassing confession to make. For years, I packed for British seaside holidays as though I was heading to the bloody Amalfi Coast. Linen shirts, lightweight chinos,…