It began, as most of my ill-advised dares to myself do, in the pub. Jamie (yes, that Jamie from uni who I’ve weirdly ended up keeping in touch with; the one who still wears shell suits to business meetings) was riffing on how British television is so rooted in a particular aesthetic that you could pick any show going and recognise it by the costume of just one character. Marcus – God bless him, he’s replaced his 70s polyester nightmares with expensive Japanese workwear that costs more than my monthly salary – bet me fifty pounds I couldn’t recreate “proper television looks” IRL without it screaming “costume.” Bet bloody accepted.
The rules were thus: five days, five quintessentially British television shows, dressed to an activity you’d otherwise wear smart-casual to. ThinkSaturday Night Theatre-watchingspecial, not full-on cosplay, but enough that someone who knows their stuff can clock each reference while still looking something you might actually leave your flat in, rather than getting committed. Oh, and film the whole thing forthiscolumn.
See above regarding poor decision-making. 
Monday: Bridgerton (Regency-ish businesswear) Look, starting with Bridgerton was always going to be a mistake. I’ve interviewed enough costume designers to know the show isn’t historically accurate by any stretch of the imagination – it’s Regency-viaPinterest – butttt…it still translates weirdly into office-appropriate wear.
Even those loose shirts and huge coats.
I opted for my highest waisted trousers (thank God for the return of the 90s dad jean), a plain white shirt with a hilariously huge collar bought specially for a wedding then never wore again, and – can we talk about this for a second? – a midnight blue brocade waistcoat I found in a vintage shop in The Northern Quarter ages ago and never had the balls to wear. Still have it in my closet. It’s my revenge shirt. “You look like you’re about to call the next round at some shit village fete,” said my housemate Tom when I left.
Which… wasn’t really what I was going for. But we’re working with it. I had a blast on the Tube, let me tell you.
Manchester isn’t exactly famous for being conservatively dressed but goddamn, even among us Northerners, a guy rocking ‘the full daddy-daress’ at peak commuting hour sticks out. A woman asked me if I was in a play. Men. Turned some heads in the office, as you can imagine.
Patrick from marketing kept calling me “milord” all day (Hi Patrick, you earn a mention for keeping me amused), while Michael (my boss) rolled his eyes so hard I thought he was gonna dislocate something. Luckily, I had a meeting with a denim brand mid-afternoon (SURPRISE, NOT REGENCYTTING AT ALL) so spent twenty minutes explaining to increasingly confused PR girls that yes, this was not my usual work attire and yes I did in fact know what contemporary menswear looked like outside of 1810. The waistcoat, though.
I might never take that off again. Who knew brocade matched jeans so well? Cheers, def, Thrones.
Tuesday: Top Boy (Roadman realness) If Bridgerton was miles away culturally from how I normally dress, going from that toTop Boyclothing was like jumping from the Queen’s Tea Party into Ron Weasley’s wardrobe. Culturemosphere whiplash, basically. Unlike some of the others, this actually required a trip to the high street.
Ask anyone in my flat and they’ll tell you: my wardrobe consists mainly of tailoring, “good shirts” and what most people would call “nice jeans.” Ifpushed,I’ddescribe my style these days as a progression of “ dad ” looks (insert cool kids eyeroll at dad dressing here). Full tracksuit? Heavyweight trainers?
Oversized puffer? This was never going to happen without some retail therapy. Monday night was spent fret-buying on ASOS (surprise) and convincing my friend Dwayne – who legitimately dresses like this, all the time – to lend me his black Nike Tech Fleece. Thing I’ve recommended on the site countless times but somehow never owned myself. “You look ridiculous,” said Dwayne as I FaceTimed him to double-cheque I wasn’t losing it completely. “Not because of what you’re wearing, but because you look like you’re scared the clothes will bite you.” Ah, yeah.
Truth bomb right there. I’m so used to blunting jackets and generally wearing things with “nonchalant ease” that trying to rock a rigid, streetwear-savvy silhouette was…unsettling. Literally.
I felt like the tracksuit was chewing me up. Still…I had photoshoots to do and meetings to run today. Made my studio arrival. “Alex Wright in a tracksuit normally warrants some fucking paying,” said the photographer when I turned up. “But Alex Wright wearing a tracksuit for work…this is like seeing The Queen wear jeans.” Ouch.
High praise? Tuesday’s revelation was how bloody comfortable the whole outfit was. I canNOT believe I’ve ever left the house properly dressed before this.
It was like…I’ve never known what leggings were capable of. Highlight of the day was leaving the hood up during my lunchtime coffee run, partly for street cred and partly because I ran into Nick (ex-steamer disaster Nick, who now works at a rival publication who will inevitably see this and BLOCK ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA) and did not need that interaction. Wednesday: Doctor Who ( Eccentric academic vibes) Midweek called for The Doctor. Took some inspiration from both Capaldi’s lumbering rocker vibe and Whittaker’s joyous colour-blocking for this hybrid geek chic number.
It was verging on my natural uniform but amp it through bleedin’ eleven. Wing tipped brogues? Doctorish.
Checked sports coat? Doctorish. Waistcoat?
NoDoctor wears a waistcoat. So full Dracula Friday it was. Land-ed with outrageously wide leg wool trousers I picked up fromMR UNIQUEa few years back, an old velvet blazer in some kind of burnt orange I usually reserve for autumn wedding season, Doctor Who boots (AKA burgundy Doc Martens because I wasn’t about to splash the cash onsome British flag trainers), and, because no incarnation of The Doctor is complete without an outrageous scarf, theMother of all stripeyscarvesI picked up from a Paul Smith sample sale circa 2019.
Draped it over my shoulder Elsa-style, obvs. “This is basically how you would usually dress but on crack,” said my sister when I sent her a pic from the office bathroom mirror. Cheers, sis. Truth.
I’ll wear velvet blazers for ‘special occasions’ but trousers that wide? With THAT scarf (donned dramatically, of course) bouncing about? That’s a step too far forevenme.
So far, so canon. The real test was an early morning editorial meeting with a Swiss watch brand. Mike, the UK rep, is a man who values a sharp suit.
I’m sure he did a double take when I breezed into the office wearing my stripey Frankenstein’s monster about his wrist. “Interesting…um, layering today, Alexander.” Best keep it vague, Mikey boy. Explained the concept of the column which, I think confused him so much he just assumed I was messing and left it at that. Happy daydreaming of my newfound follower base in the Whovian streetwear scene.
Thursday: Peaky Blinders ( Gangster-by-way-of-Victoria-totting ) Approached this one with equal parts dread and excitement. On one hand: Peaky Blinders is probably the show that’s influenced British men’s style the most in the past decade. You can’t swing a moustache in the menswear world without hitting some idiot with poorly dyed hair and a horrific waistcoat.
On the other:layercakeandtrilby poorly executed=themed stag do. Honestly went full Tammy. Three-piece suit (charcoal herringbone, NOT period accurate but WHATEVS), collarless campshirt, hella wool overcoat AND (“because nobody would mess with a funny little tramp like me”) an authentic Birmingham-made flat cap I bought from the hatter I interviewed for this amazingarticle last year.
Had a back-to-back slate of advertiser meetings all day so timing was perfect. There’s nothing liketurning up to sell someone’s life insurance looking like you can get kneecaps audited to make them trust you with their money. KIDDING MOMSINTON, LAWYERS.
Vory tech founder actually recoiled when he saw me burst through the door and gave me a fully Santa-sized handshake on introduction. “Power dressing” achieved, fam. Final boss level of validation came while getting my morning coffee. Barista – who, bless her, had zero frame of reference for why I was dressed as a gangster – accidentallycalledme“sir” in a way that felt different to how she normally does.
We dress for ourselves sure, but we’re also interpreted through what we wear. Life’s a shirt. Friday: Great British Bake Off ( Dad vibes, but rural ) Saved the toughest til last.
Not becauseGBBOrequires outré costumes – heaven forfend. But because “nicely dressed middle-aged man” is such a blanket, everyman style that making it obvious I was dress-as-inspired-byGBBO, rather than just dressing like I haven’t been bothered to try very hard, was actually the challenge. Selected a yellow cable- knit jumper with elbow patches that Mum bought me for Christmas three years ago (they’re one of those things where I don’t think anyone UNDER 50 would wear, which made it PERFECT), my baggiest jeans and boat shoes I usually reserve for holidaying.
Billionaire question-mark. Someone stop me. Well not literally, I had a fun day and all that.
Crown jewel was Bake Off bonaesthetic apron I wore on my lunchtime coffee run, ZERO EXPLANATION REQUIRED. “You look like you’re about to cast judgment on the biscotti I bought,” said the dude at the coffee shop. WHO WANTS TO BAKE WITH ME? Full-on embraced being Steve by day’s end.
Asked my team how the “crumb consistency” on their sandwiches was at lunchtime and spent twenty minutes convincing one of the studio producers I hadn’t accidentally left my webcam on during a weed break and was in fact wearing that nice to work. The moral of the story? Clothes have power, yo.
I genuinely felt stronger/more confident/worthier of a good coffee because of what I was wearing every day. Big Blinders blazer got dudes on the Tube keeping their distance. Bake Off dad-on-the-outsidebasement coolhad people at my local coffee shop starting conversations.
Styling choices affect how you’re treated. Period. Context is key, too.
That same Doctor Who getup I rocked Thursday would NOTSSHHHHHHHHHhave got me compliments had I worn it to, say, my dad’s golf club.
But onDevon Road? Inbox bills.
Finally – if there’s one thing this whole silly experiment has taught me – it’s that British TV truly is a barometer for how we as a nation view clothes. Whether that’s paying homage to the class-bound tradition that isDownton Abbey via peacockingyour waistcoat, celebrating rural Britain via deliberate averageesness or whatever else… televisual fashion says something about us and the way we dress IRL. Plus, did I win the bet?
Of course I did. M’s adding the fifty quid to a collection he’s building so he can buy himself a leather jacket one day. Bless.
Jamie obviously wants to now do the same thing but with American shows.HELL NO. I watchedSuccession,do you know how much of a paycheck those Tommy Hilfiger cashmere baseball caps are? F*** OFF WITH THAT.
I’ll be finding sequins in my jacket pockets fromwhen I dida RuPaul’s Drag Race UKspecial all Christmas….. nah, never mind.
