The Strange Paradox of Why Shirts Tucked Into Jeans So Rarely Works

I think it’s fair to say you don’t normally expect management accountants to be cool or stylish but I have to say that the only person I’ve ever encountered in real life who could pull off the shirt-tucked-into-jeans combo was just such a person.

Obviously shirts and jeans are fine together. It’s the matter of tucking in where problems begin to arise. The whole area is, for some reason, rife with contradictions and paradoxes. If, for example, you decide to go with ‘smart-casual’, which seems to have become a uniform for City workers outside work, where suit trousers are simply substituted for jeans, it’s somehow only possibly to get away with it by not tucking your shirt in, even though you would ordinarily tuck your shirt in when wearing a suit. It’s as if adding jeans to the equation suddenly renders tucking in virtually impossible. Perhaps it’s just a simple matter of needing to decide between smart (tucking in) and casual (jeans), and combining the two just doesn’t work.

Or is it much more simple than that? Is it simply down to the size of your gut and nothing else?! Jeremy Clarkson, for example, personifies the late middle aged man who, for some utterly inexplicably reason, tucks his shirt into his jeans presumably because he thinks a man’s gut is the male equivalent of a woman’s cleavage and, by his own twisted logic, is something that should be exaggerated if you want to be sexy. My feeling is that he is mistaken in this regard but who knows?! Some women may find Clarkson sexy but I imagine they’re the same ones who write to serial killers in prison then want to marry them.

At the other end of the spectrum there’s Russell Brand. Now, there’s a strange phenomenon about him, chiefly that, whilst a lot of people mock his style, in photos where he’s dressed ‘normally’ ie clean shaven, in a suit and with comparatively controlled hair, he just looks plain odd. Have a look if you don’t believe me but you’ll soon see that, no matter what you think of his trademark style, he doesn’t look right when he wears anything else. But he’s also someone who can get away with the shirts-tucked-into-jeans combo. True, they almost always seem to be black, which seems to be another factor in making the look work, but it’s quite possibly mainly because he’s just very skinny.

And maybe that’s all there is to it. For, despite the seemingly endless number of articles the Guardian runs about how the fashion industry is turning the entire population of the world into anorexics (a number of articles very nearly matched by all the ones they run about the world facing an obesity crisis; you work it out) no one ever seems to go into the role that your size plays on your ability to be stylish. I mean, is it possible to be stylish when you weigh thirty odd stone? I’m going to say no.

So, when it comes down to it, the question of whether shirts tucked into jeans can work is not so much to do with the incongruity between smart and casual, or the materials involved, or the colours. It’s about whether you’ve got a belly or not. Phew. Glad that’s all sorted. If only everything were that simple.

(Disclaimer: I used private browsing to find a picture of Jeremy Clarkson, so concerned was I at my computer remembering my search and looking down on me as a consequence. And I hope I get trolled for this article by some Clarkson fans. Bring it on!)

Pondering the Perfect Post-Purchase Packaging

Whilst there can be no doubt that major corporations like supermarkets spend millions of pounds and thousands of hours studying the psychological effect of their branding and packaging, it’s fair to say that the bag or box you get to take your purchases home in generally comes across as something on which far less effort has been spent. After all, why spend more time and money worrying about that when you’ve already had somebody’s custom (and cash) and they’re about to leave your store? For most shops, a plastic bag is a disposable vehicle for transporting your goods home. And, as for the oft-quoted ‘fact’ that a plastic bag takes a thousand years to biodegrade, I general find I’m prone to question that claim when the bag I acquired barely ten minutes ago has already disintegrated and left my weekly food shop as an amorphous mess on the floor next to the bus stop.

True, luxury brands will give their customers some flashy packaging so they can show off to their shallow friends that they’ve just spend £800 on a pair of pants but I never get the feeling that those companies have really put any more effort into it, just a bit more money.

So that’s why it’s always refreshing to find a company who put as much effort into their packaging as they do into the product. It’s like they’re seeing the whole process through to the end rather than abandoning it as soon as they can see the finishing line. And it gives the welcome impression that, although they’ve already got your money, they still care about you. So, here are three of my favourite items of packaging that I’ve received recently…

Kurt Geiger Shoe Box

I’ve genuinely bought shoes where the boxes outlived the shoes that came in them. Who doesn’t love a shoe box? Just think of all the things you can put in them. But, after having bought a pair of boots last year that had begun to disintegrate after barely six months I decided to go for a quality new pair and so bought some of Kurt Geiger’s Brando Chelsea boots. Yes, the boots were excellent – so good in fact that I’ve just been wearing them around the house as I don’t want to get them dirty – but look at the box! It’s silver! It’s a work of art in itself. I was tempted to not even take the boots out and spend a few more days walking around with them in the box. Truly, there is love in this box. Sure, I’ll end up keeping bits and pieces in it but only bits and pieces of the very highest quality.

Drop Dead Bag Thing

I can’t remember if the t-shirts I bought at Drop Dead, just off Carnaby Street, actually came in this or if I was given it as a freebie but whichever it was it’s still pretty damned good. Actually, I think it may be an iPad case but, not having one, I use it to keep my copy of Alan Moore’s Watchmen in until such a day that a take the leap and buy a tablet.

 

Religion Bag

Look at this one. Environmentally friendly, too, as if I’m just going to the local shops I can (and do) take this out rather than get yet another plastic bag. Whilst it’s possible that there are uncivilised parts of the country where a man might get odd looks for using one of these I know for a fact that it’s safe within at least a one-mile radius of Kingsland Road.

Heroes of the Style Vortex: Wilko Johnson

I’ve often thought what a brilliant idea it would be if once a musician died their work was then removed from sale, simply to stop all those annoying people who didn’t give a damn about them when they were alive suddenly jumping on their bandwagon the moment they hear about their death. Like all the hipsters who suddenly decided they liked Johnny Cash, for example, having previously ignored him as a boring old man whose fans were alcoholic wife beaters. Plus, pretentious people like me would then have extra bragging rights for owning said recordings based on their merit rather than due to having fallen under the spell of the PR-constructed myth swiftly built up around said deceased star by their record company in a ghoulish way to add to the existing boost in sales.

Which is why I thought it would be a good idea to write this piece about the legendary Wilko Johnson now because, whilst he was diagnosed with terminal cancer over a year ago and was not expected to survive 2013, he happily remains with us at the time of writing. He perhaps personifies the idea that cool isn’t just about how you look; it’s also about your deeds, your actions and how you carry yourself: there was his early influence on punk rock as the guitarist and songwriter for Dr Feelgood, bringing a driving, simple-sounding yet deceptively complex rhythmic style back to British music at a time when it was largely obsessed with twenty minute organ solos and songs about goblins. 

There were his songs, concise and punchy R&B numbers that captured the essence of life on the Essex Delta. There was his menacing glare, used to great effect when onstage with the Feelgoods, which he later admitted was a trick he’d learned during his short tenure as a teacher that he realised would work just as well on a rock audience as a class of schoolchildren and was also employed by him in his role as the mute executioner in Game of Thrones.

Or there was his sartorial style: as simple yet effective as his music. He found something that worked for him and stuck with it to the extent that it’s very difficult to find a photo of him where he’s not wearing his trademark black shirt and suit. No photos of him wearing flares and an enormous kipper tie in the ‘70s or then making an ill-advised foray into punk fashion and pushing a safety pin through his nose. No embarrassing attempt to pass himself off as a young man once firmly entrenched in middle age. Which is to say, it’s seemingly impossible to find a photo where he’s not looking cool. And how many people can you say that about?

Also, whilst he’s in the relatively small group of bald rock stars, he’s in the even smaller group of people who accepted it with dignity. No combover or expensive toupee for him. Once he realised it was going he got rid of it swiftly, proven by the fact that it’s also impossible to find photos showing him on the road to baldness: he either has a full head of hair or a shaven skull.

Wilko Johnson appears to have a personal philosophy that he’s applied to every aspect of his life: just keep things simple and you’ll never go out of date. For despite the fact that the world of fashion and music are constantly buffeted around on the whims and vagaries of fashion there are some things in those worlds that are eternal: simple and effective music will always work (and the success of the White Stripes seemed to suggest it will always keep on returning to popularity) and well-cut black suits will always be cool. True, there’s also a lot to be said for taking risks but they can backfire more often than they succeed. So Wilko Johnson has to be saluted for being that most rare of creatures: a middle aged rock star with not a single skeleton in his stylistic closet.

Thoughts on Trendy Clothing Brands – Religion, All Saints and the Kooples – and Why I Love One, am Indifferent To Another and Hate the Third

So, three brands, all with superficial similarities… Kind of trendy-ish, sort of East London/Shoreditch (except the Kooples, which I think may be French). But in the same way that I love Def Leppard but can’t stand any other hair metal (apart from Livin’ on a Prayer of course but, come on, we’ll take that as read), I somehow find that I really like one of them, hate another and am indifferent to the third. But there must be reasons. So I shall try to find out why.

The one I love is Religion. Why? Everything just fits so well! I don’t need to get stuff custom made when their stuff fits me so perfectly. It’s almost like they design it with me in mind. I’m proud to say I have three leather jackets from there, and the arms even taper towards the hand like my actual arms do. How did they even know that? I also got the best pair of jeans I’ve ever had from there. Once again, perfect. And don’t even get me started on the t-shirts.

The funny thing is that I first discovered them in New York, in the legendary Century 21, which, in case you don’t know, is kind of like a cool version of TK Maxx, in that it largely seems to sell discounted stuff from previous seasons but actually has a good range rather than row after row of polo shirts. So then I went through the slightly odd routine of going from London to New York and buying clothes from a company down the road from where I live and taking them back to London. I’ve got t-shirts with more air miles than me. But I suppose they keep it cool by only having a few outlets (even if one of them is in John Lewis or somewhere).

Then there’s All Saints. Now, I’ve been into their shops perhaps twenty or thirty times but never, ever bought anything. Why? Not sure. I kind of like it and though it’s quite expensive it’s not more so than Religion. But it’s as if, say, their leather jackets never quite get it right. Or their suits can’t quite decide if they want to be trendy or formal. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I could make up a decent look from their clothes but… I don’t know…

And then there’s the Kooples. I mean, first of all there’s the name. What’s all that about? How’s it even pronounced, for a start? Is it meant to be a northern pronunciation of ‘couples’ that they’re struggled to render phonetically or is it meant to rhyme with scruples (the way everyone I know pronounces it)? It just doesn’t make sense.

Then there’s the desperately-trying-to-be-cool air about them, trying to portray themselves as edgy but doing so by having huge ads on seemingly every bus in London.  And don’t even get me started on the Pete Doherty collaboration. I mean, really? Pete Doherty? The only people who think he’s cool are people who were fourteen when the Libertines came out and swore that they were inspired by them to become beatnik jazz poets but now all work in offices. I know that for me there’s nothing more reassuring when I buy clothes than knowing

they came about through a totally natural collaboration between two kindred spirits, and certainly not because one of said kindred spirits was a crackhead who urgently needed money to avoid getting a kneecapping from the enforcers of a shady Eastern European drug lord.

Then there are the annoyingly smug adverts. You know, the ones full of annoying trendies with implausible names like Nast and Bambi, who presumably reflect their target audience, which is to say dopey and gullible trustafarians happy to blow their parents’ money on a pair of y-fronts that cost £80. I have obviously never seen their business plan, but I reckon it went something like this: ‘1. Make some clothes. 2. Sell them to idiots in Dalston for ten times what they cost to make. 3. That’s it.’