The rapid decomposition of society leaves one feeling at times a bit adrift. Brideshead Revisited viewing parties only go so far in alleviating the rage. These days the only people I see carrying around a teddy bear in public are children and vagrants. It's time to face the impending immolations with the same determination of our ancestors. Brute force and violence are required. If you don't get it, then get out of the way. It's time to reclaim our heritage, including its cultural and sartorial forms. The Scotsman of all things recently took note of the growing presence of the Young Fogey. Perhaps he isn't so much an effect of the economic crisis, as an antidote to the anti-White poison of the MultiKult? Young Fogey as explicit English identity. I like to think I'm contributing to his resurgence. But even if I'm not, I shall claim otherwise anyway. Here's an excerpt:
There’s a new mood in menswear, and sartorially-minded chaps keen to tap into it need look no further for a fashion role model than their own grandfathers.
Which is exactly what Robbie Williams has done in launching his own clothing line; Farrell, both named for and inspired by his grandpa Jack Farrell, a collection of flat caps, pea coats, cosy cardigans, herringbone textiles and fedoras that pay homage to an elderly man but are firmly aimed at the 18-40 lad about town: the young fogey.
The key elements of the young fogey look – ties, tweed sports jackets, waistcoats, elbow patches, cords, braces and brogues – more usually associated with a certain generation of geography teachers and betting shop stalwarts, are somewhat paradoxically looking rather fresh these days, after nigh-on three decades of trainers, jeans and sweatshirts making up the average young man’s weekend wardrobe.
Traditional items that even a few years ago would have seemed at odds with men’s style anywhere but a sheltered housing complex are now the epitome of it. Leading proponents of the geriatric look include 30-something presenters Rick Edwards and George Lamb (whose foxy silvery locks complement the look perfectly), nu-folk old-timer-dressers Mumford & Sons, and even the positively embryonic One Direction, whose signature layered look of blazers, ties and sensible knitwear saw chat show host Alan Carr compare their action figures to university lecturers.
Topman’s latest collaboration is with Harris Tweed, and while even a few years ago this would have been remarkable, it now seems the natural fit for both brands. The former’s new stand-alone concept store in the heart of Shoreditch (stomping ground of the fashionable London fogey, or codger in local terms), which they have named The General Store, is done up like a gentleman’s outfitters from days gone by – all vintage fittings, battered floorboards and artfully distressed display units.
© 2011 Johnston Publishing Ltd