Recent chat about Cedric on Permanent Style left me reflecting on the posher end of trad/Ivy/prep/call it what you will. It's a look I used to dabble with, though in truth it never really worked for me. You open you mouth in this country and the edifice is shattered. The tie might be Hermes, but the mouth is as wide as the Mersey. But anyone who likes a good pair of shoes and a well cut suit will have found themselves dabbling with elements of Cedric's look. I used to work with a proper Sloaney toff called Patrick. He was the real deal. Wore his grandfather's Anderson and Sheppard single-breasted chalk-stripe suits in flannels and worsteds, pukka Turnbull & Asser shirts, Hermes ties, and a range of Gucci loafers. He looked bloody great. His hair was blonde and worn fairly long and brushed back. It sounds like I had a crush on him and maybe I did. I certainly used to spend a lot of time clocking his outfits. When we first met I was wearing a Brooks Brothers blazer. He didn't look at my face - his gaze went right to my jacket. We had an unspoken erotic affair based around our love of the same sort of clothes. But the truth is I always felt like a fake. The JS side of Ivy is more forgiving, less codified, and allows space for proles like me to claim a degree of authentic ownership. But when I see that posh boy look done so well I do yearn a bit for a good head of hair, better teeth, the swagger of wealth, and even a la-di-da accent...
Last edited by Tworussellstreet (2022-06-21 02:00:17)
The accent thing can be a problem. And yet I was chatting to a charming boy on Saturday afternoon with a very soft, pleasant Liverpool accent. Definitely middle-class. Attended the Jewish school in Liverpool. Sister has just completed her Ph.D thesis on Visual Impairment And The Arts. She's blind in one eye, partially sighted in the other.
I digress. The accent - I have the usual daft English East Midlands whine. So, the open, welcoming, more democratic side of it all - Johnny Simons - does hold a huge amount of appeal.
Back in the day, however, my late father thought nothing of wearing Church shoes (for instance) as his father had before him. And they were 'reet oop, me duck' in that neck of the woods, where colliers fought one another with iron-tipped clogs.
University helped me. Ironed out the broader parts of my accent.
I thought - judging from York - that a Sloane might have sneered at Gucci. Chap I worked for (from an aristocratic family) wore an uncle's chalk-stripe suits but with cheap(ish) shoes. Odd.
(TRS, by the way, is full of interesting little surprises. I don't believe, however, that he was every truly a prole. Being 'working class' in England is a complex concept, is it not? I seem to recall him once describing himself as a 'good bourgeois'. I approved.
My wife is from a more deprived background than I. Her siblings see themselves - now - as 'middle class'. How horrid: all redolent of hostess trolleys in the 'lounge', a hand at contract bridge, membership of the golf club. No curiosity, no conjecture, no imagination).
I used to occasionally play bridge in Wimbledon Spoons when we were not playing in one another’s houses. You could walk in one street and out the other, by Wimbledon theatre. Slow service at the bar though.
Re: bourgeois — Though in my younger years, I used the term in a pronounced (bored?) smear - it should be anything but.
I don’t have any time to go into it. And maybe the situation is too complicated in your country but I think part of the problem is the denigration of the bourgeoisie. It leads to a host of problems. I mean I like to have a laugh with some of your great pop culture from the terraces. But really that’s no way to live. Am I allowed to say that over there?
I might even argue as Orwell before me that there is something fundamentally decent about the middle class. Especially one that is open on both ends.
Pretension is everyone’s right. For some a phase for some a way of life. A pick and choose type of thing. Just some preliminary thoughts.
What we probably don’t have over here, that you have over there. Is the judgment the minute one opens one’s mouth. I mean here there are probably telltale signs. And I’ve been told that I sometimes speak a particular way that marks me. But I think the differences here are so subtle that most people aren’t going pick up on it. When people say you sound educated here it may say more about them than you!
Certainly that whole Brahmin mid Atlantic thing isn’t as prevalent here as it used to be. And there are a lot of posers within that. And those posers or those people on the edges, or some of the most vicious of all. But as you get older you realize that a lot of the people that you didn’t care for, can be good people and you just have to except a few things to get along with them. Look at me trying to be all full of equanimity, I can’t believe it. Or am i reaching for another word I can’t quite place given my tired state.
As to OP and wearing Brooks and feeling fake, one shouldn’t. The Brooks is open to all. They don’t call it the brethren for nothing.
Our local accent:
Woman takes cat to vet
Vet: Is it a tom?
Woman: No, yer daft bugger, it's 'ere, int' basket.
I was being unfair about Bridge. Chap I worked with years ago was a regular player. I liked him very much: 100 per cent reliable.
Class remains something of a minefield in England. Higher education, especially if some of the rough edges have been erased/subtly altered can still mark you out. Less so now that every other bugger is part of the modern 'education racket'.
My first wife was as posh as you can imagine. Her mother despised me. A fully paid-up Leftie, but her daughters had both attended private schools.
Funny old world.