are the classics shrinking our personal style?

Classic wardrobe staples have always battled with iconic statement pieces. And more often than not, they’ve won. Whether that’s down to the sheer strength found in a beige trench or just because those statement pieces appear easily exhausted and are often to be found curled up at the back of your closet after only a handful of wears. Either way, classic always seems to come out on top. 

And no wonder when we are inundated with repetitive wardrobe advice that proclaims white t-shirts, black denim, a trench and the all important little black dress are among the necessary items one must possess. The advice comes with the underlying message that classic is always best and those statements you might be fond of making are best made with shoes, bags or accessories. In other words, leave the loud to Anna della Russo. 

But what happens when those classics suddenly become statements in their own right. Take the now ubiquitous camel coats, white kicks a la Stan Smith and skinny black denim with perfectly placed rips at the knees. You know the ones I’m talking about. 

These pieces have infiltrated out wardrobes and sartorial desires (I’ll admit to a hankering for a camel coat that makes my desire for an EU passport look like a flight of fancy) to such a degree that their ever present nature now makes a statement in its own right. 

But it’s the kind of statement that freewheeling fashion folk might not be too enthused to hear. 

Because I have to wonder if adhering to the classics, if stripping your wardrobe of the sublimely ridiculous does, in fact, make a statement about statements. Or more to the point, about not making them. 

Do these pieces, the white button up shirts and black pumps among them, contribute to a shrinking of our personal style?

Do these pieces tell the world that we’re happy to play within a strict sartorial playground, with a uniform of sorts? And that discovering half the people you follow on Instagram are wearing the same shoes as you doesn’t even make your heart flutter, let alone stop. 

It almost seems like an inevitable evolution when people like Emmanuelle Alt, Christine Centenera, Kate Lanphear and Carine Roitfeld are revered, and consistently emulated, for their personal style. 

But I have to wonder, when this sartorial world of ours is dripping in black and white and shades of grey, is there a point where classic loses its appeal?

kb xx

rebel skivvy.......

Will this nineties revival ever end? Will I ever stop pontificating on the value of specific sartorial items that saw their heyday only a few short years ago? Are continuous rhetorical questions a real form of writing? Don’t answer that last one - or the first two either.

I said I was sick of trends, and I’ve yet to get back on the trend-wagon, despite my own predictions of imminent failure. But I do find myself with a real appreciation for skivvies. Something which only manifested itself in the last twenty four hours, after spying a rack of them in the school uniform section of a department store. I will confess to searching for the largest children's size in black, which I would have willingly worn without a hint of irony. But alas, I came up skivvy-less. 

So what gives? What’s behind the desire to don a garment that has a past dating back to the 15th century, a long list of famous champions (Steve Jobs anyone?) and a secret rebellious nature? Is it the simple design? The hint of masculinity - see my menswear obsession - that draws me in? Or is it that they are inherently comfortable and easy to wear? 

Or is it, in fact, the hidden wild streak that has me hooked? Dubbed the anti-tie, the skivvy became almost a symbol for the sartorially inclined gentleman who recoiled at the notion of formal attire and the constricting neck wear that came with it. The skivvy was a symbol of rebellion, of a fight against the system. And when feminists started rocking the skivvy, it found itself in the curious section of unisex clothing, alongside socks and scarves and boiler suits. 

I’d like to think the rebel in me recognises its equal in the skivvy and that’s why I’m drawn in. But to be honest, the real reason is more likely to be that with the end of March fast approaching and grey skies becoming much more frequent, it’s evident that winter is but a hop and a skip away. And I’m sure the only real way for me to deal with the rain and fog and icy cold winds that are on their way, is to wrap myself in skivvies. 

Plus, 15th century - man that’s some real vintage there.

kb xx

double.......

My fascination with double denim doesn't appear to have abated. And I'm clearly not the only one that is enamoured.

Perhaps it's the way doubling up on the blue gives you that I could not care less nonchalance that is so damn hard to cultivate. Maybe it's a nod to fashions past, or a overdeveloped sense of appreciation for a fabric that has become increasingly woven (pun intended) into our culture. Maybe it's the infestation of our sartorial lives by nineties reincarnations. Maybe it's the fashion anarchists in us all pushing back against 'rules' that are basically bullshit.

The Canadian Tuxedo, as the look is so eloquently known - no really I'm a fan of the phrase - was a faux pas of the greatest kind. It was a pointer to your economic or social status, it was the domain of a select few who made their own rules. It was the bastion of pop bands who dressed in that weird matchy way - a la Destinys Child - and, of course, Britney and Justin. Until the end of the first decade in the new century, when designers like Ralph Lauren, Stella McCartney, Chloe, Dries and Isabel Marant embraced the idea and now rocking a Canadian Tuxedo points more to your ability to navigate trends than anything else.

My own DD (just to be clear I'm not discussing my bra size here) started with my first denim shirt, which I'll admit, came about a few short years ago - probably around the time Stella and Dries got on board. In a strange twist, my dear Mother has been rocking the double blue for some time. Something that induced a overwhelming amount of sartorial induced shame in my adolescence. Now I'm like a freaking poster child (adult) for double denim in all its guises. These days if I'm not wearing denim in some duplicated way I'm probably naked.

kb xx