Mandy and the dodgy jumper – it can only mean bad things
Oh, Mandy, what were you playing at?
I don’t mean rejoining the Government, coming back from the dead for the third time, which out-Nosferatu’s Nosferatu. I am referring to the outfit, the sleeveless jumper thing, the woolly tank top, immortalised by Frank Spencer (although he preferred the stripey ones).
I am not a great fashion-watcher but unless I am sorely mistaken Peter Mandelson was wearing a bright red tank top under a blue suit on the day he returned to Downing Street to discuss his new role as Business Secretary.
In fairness to Mandy, the sleeveless apparel may have been a full-blown jumper, with material stretching over the armpits to the wrist, but this does not excuse the faux casual air of wearing this weekend garment to work. And the fact remains that the clash of colours – navy blue and school jumper red – was vile, simply vile. Fancy wearing a wool jumper (I trust it was wool and not a mix of man-made fabrics) over a shirt and tie, and then whipping on a double-breasted jacket.
The message this sends out to the electorate – “I’m laid back and can get away with it” – is entirely wrong. I’ve seen bettered co-ordinated dogs’ breakfasts.
Mandy’s garb is symptomatic of declining standards in the nation’s dress code, which can be traced back to the emergence of the Teddy Boy and Cliff Richard.
The outfit he selected for his chinwag with Gordon Brown proves the rot starts at the top. If I was the PM, I would have given Mandy a piece of my mind.
I mean, really, if you are going to be the Business Secretary, for goodness sake dress like a businessperson, not a male model for Marks & Spencer from the 1970s.
This tendency for shoddy apparel has become rife.
I recently dined at one of Birmingham’s top restaurants and was staggered by the manner in which a large number of customers were turned out. There were distressed jeans with distasteful buckles, T-shirts (T-shirts for goodness sakes!) and designer plimsolls.
Some of the worst offenders were courting couples. I don’t know how these chaps hope to snare a lady when they dress in such an unsavoury style. Is it asking too much to expect a smart blazer and tie, or a splash of country twill and a freshly starched shirt?
I feel that I am not entirely blameless. I occasionally wear a suit to work but have long since moved on from the days when I would don a suit and tie with regimented regularity.
Dotcom millionaires started wearing jeans and training shoes and we collectively let our guard down. We thought less was more and the corporate world became infected with the fashion for tie-lessness.
Shirts started to be worn open-necked, revealing chest hair and, depending on the looseness of the cut, glimpses of male nipple.
We can count our lucky stars that the Business Secretary has not stooped to this level and one must hope that Mandy’s nipples stay off limits, whichever outfit he selects from his wardrobe.
But rather than whingeing about this lowering of standards, I vowed to something about it, take positive action, in the manner of TV egg boiler Jamie Oliver and his campaigning Ministry of Food.
I am under no misapprehension about the scale of the challenge, but I did my little bit yesterday for the Ministry of Decent Attire. I did something truly shocking.
I wore a tie.
(And I know you will be dying to know, so I’ll tell you: the tie has a dark blue, almost black, background, overlaid with an interlocking, textured gold pattern, purchased from the Prado Museum and based on the detail in a skirt worn by a posh bird in an El Greco painting. Or it may have been her curtains.)
Talk about people being suspicious. The first three people I encountered in the office asked: “Have you got a job interview?”
The fourth asked: “What time are you up in court?”
All four of them were deadly serious, including the latter who was due before a judge for wearing pornographer’s shoes in a public place.
So as not to seem overtly flash, I dressed down my little slice of replica Spanish renaissance art, opting for a pair of understated chocolate brown corduroy trousers and a plain white shirt (no button down collar, no cufflinks with £ signs or “Slap my bitch up” logos).
A colleague asked if the tie made me feel more important. It is difficult for me to feel more important than I do, so I told her, most sincerely: “I feel empowered.”
She turned and slouched away, muttering something about pompous twerps.
I have no idea who she was referring to. But while we are at it, you should have seen her skirt.
