Am I going to get gravy/egg/brown sauce/olive oil on my shirt?  I need a bib perhaps: one of those plastic jobbies with the trough my daughters used to wear to catch assorted goo. 

I own nothing much that could be stigmatised as 'non-Ivy'.  A yellow United Colours polo shirt I thrifted from the Cats Protection League is about the limit.

Natalie Wood would have had to have worn them with no knickers on for me to wear sweatpants, made in the USA in the 1950s or otherwise.

I even wear Ivy for digging in the garden now that Ruddock is wrecked.

If you work in heavy industry, you'll never be off-duty with these, steel toe-capped penny loafers:

http://www.hookedonvintage.com/home/hov/page_2784_71/mens_vintage_brown_leather_penny_loafers_by_iron_a.html

^I'm with all the above, it's a spiritual vocation practised by a seemingly disinterested and yet immaculate priesthood.

Figure a man is only good for one pledge in his lifetime, mine is to the United International States of Ivy.