Last month I experienced the peak of British style psychology dining at a restaurant for my friend’s birthday. Tom – publisher in his mid-thirties who actually cares about clothes but would sooner die than tell you – showed up wearing a beautiful navy cashmere jumper. The perfect balance of smart-casual required to enter the restaurant.
Within two minutes of someone saying “nice jumper” he was rolling up his sleeves to reveal a slightly rolled cuff, pulling at an imaginary loose thread, and saying “this old thing mate” with a sneer. He then proceeded to launch into an overly detailed story of how he’d actually found it in a charity shop and his girlfriend “made him buy it”, and he’d “just thrown it on because it was hanging there”. I will let you in on a secret – I know Tom spent 45 minutes hovering over the Sunspel website debating between navy and charcoal before buying it outright.
He had even text me asking which would be more versatile. The whole act is quintessentially British men’s style.
A confusing paradox of wanting to appear like you made the least amount of effort possible while carefully considering everything you wear.
Studiously casual, intentionally unkempt, calibrated just so to give off the appearance of being thrown together. The irony being, of course, it usually takes far more effort to look like you didn’t care than it does to just dress up. It’s tiring.
It’s neurotic. It’s ridiculous. But more than anything else, we British wouldn’t have it any other way.
British exceptionalism applies to our style too, apparently. Buried deep in our national psyche is a class-defined conditioning that men of means acted like they were so goddamn good at everything they didn’t need to try. With wealth, power, and status firmly secured in an aristocracy that cared little for the welfare of its lowest citizens, looking like you cared too much was a supremely classist act.
To try too hard at your appearance was accusation of desperation. Of striving to climb the ranks. And while we’ve rightly wiped away those antiquated (though, admittedly, slightly less rigid) class structures, we’ve retained that collective baggage in our approaches to style.
Effort = bad. Doesn’t care = good. The sin here being anyone can look like they don’t care about how they dress.
Look like you cared and you’ve committed Style Sin Number One. It’s something my French friends will never understand. “Why would you want to pretend you didn’t care about how you looked when it’s obviously something you care about?” asks Jean-Philippe. He is one of the easiest men I know to dress well, and it’s in a way that is perpetually stylish without trying too hard or pretending like he cares about fashion.
He just… does. “C’est con?! To lie about something like that?” Well… yea. Welcome to Britain.
Our style philosophy is built on a house of sand. Nothing hurts our feelings more than someone caring about how they look, and the best defence is a good offence. Throw on something ridiculous and pretend like you didn’t try?
Someone insults your outfit and we can all pretend we didn’t give a shit anyway. Sounds so very bad for your mental health, but we wear it like a badge of honour. “How do you actually do it, then?” I asked another French friend while he carefully adjusted his already impeccably placed Oxford shirt cuff.
He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Well…” he said, pausing for punctuation, “You don’t…” Let me take you through the rules (some written, some unspoken) of dressing like you gave zero fucks when, in reality, you spent ages thinking about what you’re wearing. This should really be rule number zero because it subsumes the others.
British style savours the thrill of the “one element too many.” Anything that’s been put together with obvious care will set off our collective style alarm. But so will dressing head-to-toe in clashing patterns. The sweet spot is an outfit that’s put together perfectly, but with one element that’s just… off.
It’s that wool jumper with the coffee stain on the elbow no one can quite see. The patina of wear on your shoes that don’t quite match your belt. It should never be the focal point, but rather your excuse should someone ask why you dressed that way.
Tom, from earlier, is a past master of this. Ask him where he gets his clothes and he’ll proudly regale you with stories of charity shop gems he’s discovered. The thing is, Tom probably spent more time and money curating his effortless wardrobe than anyone else I know.
Oliver, who has worked in fashion for two decades, has his entire wardrobe tailored to perfectly fit him by a local cutter. But he only ever wears jeans with a slight tear on the knee and always chops the sleeves on his jumpers to give him that slouchy vibe. My friends joke he only shops at Topman so we believe him when he says he buys his clothes from there.
Maintenance IS effort, but the right kind of effort. If you come across as though your clothes haven’t been cared for, you’ve fallen on the wrong side of our rule of conscious effortlessness. Your clothes should look worn, not unwashed.
There’s a difference. A well worn jacket that’s been hung on a peg for years and has moulded to your arms will read as someone who buys nice things and actually uses them. A jacket that’s been cheaply made, poorly washed by its owner looks scruffy.
The former screams “I have better things to spend my money on than clothes”, the latter says “I don’t care about my appearance.” Take note: British style isn’t about not caring about your appearance. It’s about caring but pretending like you don’t. Case in point: British men with the best style almost always have a uniform.
Variations on a theme they know suit them and they know looks good. My friend Oliver, who runs an architecture studio in East London, has worn some incarnation of his uniform (navy chinos, light blue oxford shirt, jumper or unstructured jacket in navy) for the 10 years I’ve known him. They will swap individual pieces out as they wear out but will nearly always be able to put together a suitable outfit at the drop of a hat.
It looks effortless because Oliver literally doesn’t have to think about it – he knows what looks good on him and he owns enough of those pieces to stay properly dressed at all times. The same rules apply to colour. My grey sweatshirt, intentionally bleached in select areas to give a homemade look, has been worn so much that it’s shapeless now.
But it looks like that because I’ve worn it so much, not because I haven’t cared for it. White shirt slightly stained at the cuffs? You spend enough time out with British guys and someone will explain that they “wear their whites too much.” It’s our cope.
Speaking of white shirts, this is high-low mixing. Deliberately wearing something expensive with something quotidian. You want to give off the appearance that you could’ve cared less about that designer jacket but chose to wear it with your old t-shirt from Uniqlo.
The luxury item still gets to do its shirt-flattering dance, but it’s just off-set enough that someone won’t be instantly jealous. And your plain white t-shirt from Wal-Mart suddenly feels a lot more high end because you dared to wear it with a designer suit. I’ve watched my friend Raj do this at fashion weeks for years.
He’ll wear a bespoke handmade suit jacket – he’s had one made for around £5,000 by an actual Savile Row tailor – with his old faded pair of Levi’s jeans and worn-in loafers. When people inevitably complement him on his jacket, he’ll shrug and laugh it off with a “had it for ages lol”. The jacket is there to be noticed, obviously (especially when it costs more than most people’s cars), but by admitting that you were actually paying attention he destroys the artifice.
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Which brings me to my next point. British style isn’t just about how you dress. It’s about how you discuss how you dress.
If you take pride in your appearance, you must be prepared to feign indifference when your display of wardrobe mastery is praised. Details are your enemy. Talking too much about where you got something from is frowned upon.
Brand names, prices paid, everything you don’t say when answering “Where’d you get that jacket?” is what lets you off the hook that you’re probably wearing an expensive jacket. It’s almost a national motto. “Oh this old thing?” is something we’ll say about a shirt we had tailor made even if we bought it yesterday. I once see my friend convincingly lie about the origins of his jumper when asked where he got it from (“Oh this old thing?
Ohhh, it’s actually my brother- in-law’s… I think he got it from Japan?”) Two cocktails later he could reel off exactly how that Japanese brand used loopwheel cotton in its manufacturing process and why it’s better than other competitors. Undiagnosed OCD in every other setting, but among British men it’s table stakes. NEVER want to appear as though you’re dressing to impress another person.
You can get away with dressing to please yourself. Dressing well because you have an eye for quality and care about the craft that goes into making clothes? Absolutely.
Dressing well to try and pick up women? We’re all guilty, but whatever you do, don’t let on that that might be your motivation. But actively trying to impress your mates with your clothes?
That’s where you really cross the line into worst-British stylist say. You don’t want to look like a brand advert. This is why British men have long been wary of appearing too “ groomed .” Healthy-looking hair and skin imply you’ve spent considerable time and money maintaining that appearance.
And while we accept othersdoing so, particularly Americans , we prefer to give off the appearance that we woke up like that without effort. Which, of course, almost no one does. But we don’t talk about the serums, moisturizers, and hair products we religiously use to maintain that ‘effortless’ appearance.
We’re British. My barber, Joe, tells me the majority of his British male clients want a haircut that “doesn’t look like they’ve had a haircut.” They’ll spend an hour and half getting crafted the Mother of all haircuts, only to run their fingers through it and mess it up as they leave the barber. “My Italian clients,” Joe says, “will take selfies in every angle to show me off their head.” Ours wouldn’t be seen dead doing that. But, like with most things British, there are exceptions to every rule.
Weddings, job interviews, and court appearances are about the only places it’s socially acceptable to ‘try’ to look smart. Luckily, even then we’ll always find a way to undermine our efforts with a sock that doesn’t quite match our outfit, a loose tie knot, or a pocket square we clearly shoved in there five seconds before leaving the house. Of course, there are regional differences.
Liverpool probably have the dude-bros who pride themselves on overtly trying with their style (“Look at me mates, I AM TRYING”). Newcastle men will happily wear a t-shirt on Christmas day if it’s 2 degrees out. London itself even has wildly differing style tribes that range from the deliberately grungy East Londoner to the punk-rocker and the suavely polished South Kensington set.
But despite our regional differences we all subscribe to that core philosophy: Look good without appearing to have tried at all. Obviously class plays into this. Working class Brits have historically been far less afraid of seeming like they’ve tried too much with their clothes.
Mods. Casuals. Skinheads.
All born out of working class Britain and unapologetic in their need to stand out from the crowd. You’ll rarely see an upper class man worry too much about appearing like they’ve tried too much. More historically they’ve preferred to dress like they couldn’t be fucked, as if their wardrobe is either handed down from father to son for generations, or they just found their clothes at the back of an old cupboard at their family estate.
Middle class men, however, have had the most anxiety about needing to appear they’ve struck the right balance. Not too scruffy that people think you’re poor. Not too smart that you’re mocked for being a try-hard.
You’ll see that performance anxiety manifest itself more strongly in middle class neighbourhoods than perhaps anywhere else. And lord is it exhausting to look at. Age is another factor.
Young British men go through an entitled phase where they think they can get away with wearing whatever they want without regard for this style etiquette. And then they grow up, realise they look like a prick and start performing British-style in everything they wear. A messy bun when we should have brushed our hair.
Flannel when we should have ironed it. British style is full of these contradictions. OK doomer, you’ve made your point.
But how does one actually achieve British style? Here’s my… British-style guide to dressing like you give zero fucks when really you care quite a lot. Invest in good basics that don’t scream expensive.
Yes, even we wear jeans and T-shirts. Get a really good quality white T-shirt that doesn’t look cheap. Get a great fitting pair of jeans in a classic dark wash.
Find a jumper in a fabric you love, preferably in navy. These are all wardrobe staples for a reason. Everything else you wear can come and go, but if you have these few items down you’re halfway there.
Bonus points if they fit well but don’t look like they’ve been tailored.
And for god’s sake avoid obvious branding. Secondly, wear your clothes until they actually wear out.
Not don’t wash them, but wear them enough that they become yours. That denim jacket doesn’t look scruffy, it’s got character because you’ve worn it so much. Those leather dress shoes don’t look new because you wear them every day.
Everything you own should look worn in your style, but not worn out. Finally, when you do buy something expensive or higher-designer, devalue it with how you wear it. Wear that designer jacket with plain jeans and a white T-shirt.
Wear those insane boots you spent three months researching with a random hoodie from Topman. Never want to appear as if you’re wearing your ‘best’ clothes. Trust.
Now get out there and look like you don’t care… about anything.
