15 March 2011
Dress shirts, as I always say, are disposable. But I shall be very sorry indeed when finally I am forced to dispose of these beautiful shirts from W.H. Taylor Shirtmakers. Hopefully that day is a long way off yet. In the meantime they are worn with quiet pride. Note the spread collar. The eye-popping candy-coloured stripes are a standard deviation or three away from basic white, ecru, and pink shirts, confounding even the most hidebound of businessmen, and are a direct throwback to the Hooray Henry styles I wore as a younger chap. And that is my intention. Our times call for an increased fogey quotient without regard to fate. I may appear reserved and thoughtful enough sipping from a cup of tea or nursing a G&T. And small children, young women, and old ladies alike may approach, assuming from my kindly demeanour an easy familiarity. But for the initiate an entirely different mode of thinking is hinted at by the confluence of pattern and colour, a dreamlike interval in the fogey sartorial continuum.