Last summer, I was embarrassingly accosted in the street by tourists. OK, slight caveat: what they initially asked me for were directions to the “Harry Potter place”, but allow me to explain. I was scurrying along in Covent Garden (sorry, Proper Menswear Journalist here: dashing along), when two lost Americans stopped me.
Before I could say a word, the husband eyeballed me from head to toe and said, “Actually, never mind. You’re probably from round here too.” Me. In my hometown.
Where I have lived for twelve years. FARKING YEARS.
I demanded to know what he based his snap judgement on.
He waved his hand around my general vicinity and replied, “You look like a tourist, man.” He was right. I was wearing brand new white trainers (they were only dispatch-box fresh! ), had my camera swinging around my neck (“It’s for the fabric shoot I’m late for!” I protested, clutching my precious Mac). But it was this that killed me: a lightweight jacket with not one, not two, but several discreet pockets.
I looked like someone who was about to ask where the nearest Angus Steakhouse was. I had cocked-up coded myself as a tourist, right in my home city. There followed a short but traumatic identity crisis.
Had I accidentally dressed like some suburban journo on a day trip to the capital? I shuddered at the thought. But eventually I decided I wasn’t alone in fighting the dreaded tourist-dodgy-binbag look when dressing urban.
In fact, there’s something funny about city dressing: if you try too hard not to look like a tourist you actually just look more like a tourist. First up: rain jackets. Tourists wear proper high-tech whatsits in horrible colours that fold down smaller than your average pair of trousers. Londoners hail taxis or pop open their umbrellas.
My friend Charlie, who was born and bred in Islington, refuses to wear anything explicitly rain repellent. “Life’s too short,” he once told me as we got soaked marching from tube to pub. “It makes you look like you’re off to the Natural History Museum on a school trip.” He was right. Still didn’t love getting drip-dried by his not-at-all water-resistant twill “casual” blazer, though. Shoes are another dead giveaway.
You can pretty much tell someone’s a tourist just by looking at their feet. Too smart and you look like you work in the conference centre of the Hilton. But slip into some generic “walking shoes” (ugh) or trekking sandals and you’ll instantly channel Dude Walker From Out of Town.
Ask any Londoner about their footwear and you’ll notice it tends towards practical but not TOO practical. Mine tends towards worn-but-not-tatty leather trainers in neutral colours, beat-up desert boots or Chelsea boots that look like they’ve actually been worn before. The key is showing some wear – they should look like old favourites, not new bargains that yourloseself churned out on an industrialNumberOfMen brisk November morning.
Don’t get me started on bags. You’ll see tourists clutch their rucksacks in front of them like it’s shark-infested waters, or else slinging what everyone agrees is the worst fashion scar on your person across your chest. Tourists.
City folk, on the other hand, are pros at knowing what you actually need to carry with you and not looking like you’re about to set off on a trek through the Amazon. Stick to a nice slim messenger bag or well-worn leather tote, or even just eschew a bag altogether and rely on pockets if you’re feeling particularly minimalist. Just please god no overflowing backpack-style bags emblazoned with the logo of your airline of choice.
The longer you live in a city, oddly enough, the less crap you seem to find you need to carry around with you. When I first moved to London I took an emergency umbrella, water bottle, phone charger, and enough snack foods to survive a natural disaster. Twelve years later?
Keys, wallet, phone, and maybe an old fold-up umbrella if it looks like rain. Becoming part of a city means knowing where every Boots, coffee shop, and pub toilet is, so you no longer feel the need to carry your own insurance policy around with you. Like I said: coats. Mine happened to be super practical but also lined with nothing and studded with enough pockets to store all the unnecessary shit I mentioned above.
Resist the temptation to wear what looks like the type of coat you’d rent from HOPIfunnylocations actually are hopping to get out of London. No goddamn_John Lewis marquee photo ops. I combated my jacket with a battered old navy Barbour jacket I’ve had since university.
Not the quilted number favoured by Essex deerstalkers just visiting London for the day to see Les Mis and Harrods; no, the unlined Beacon sports jacket – somehow smart without being dressy and practical without trying hard to be either. Worn enough that no one thinks it’s from the rental wardrobe department. Bonus points – not once wearing said jacket have I been stopped by tourists asking for directions to the Buckingham Palace.
Look at most tourist photos and you’ll notice certain colours never appear.
London is nothing if not saturated in greens and blacks and greys, yet you’ll rarely see actual Londoners wearing, say, that jumper Ben from Friends is wearing in every single episode set here. The same goes for most cities I’ve visited.
Everyone knows you shouldn’t wear white after Labour Day, but locals also stick to a similar dress palette of navy, grey, black and earthy tones that don’t showcase chewing gum stains or mark you as someone who pulled out their “going out in the city!” jumper for the day. Everyone has that one friend who’s just never quite looked out of place wherever they go. My friend Raj can stroll around Bangkok in shorts and a t-shirt and somehow look cooler than everyone else in the room. When I asked him his secret, he told me he always dresses “like I’m about to bump into someone I know”, rather than “going sightseeing.” Clothing that says: I live here, sort of.
Basically, once you stop worrying about “looking like a tourist”, you instantly stop looking like a tourist. Fight your natural instinct to assume tourists act and dress a certain way and you’ll realise it’s those very actions that make you “touristy” to begin with. It’s the menswear equivalent of trying not to think of pink elephants.
Ever since that day, I pocket my camera until I need it, donated that dickens of a jacket to goodwill, and threw out my white trainers. It’s about clothing that says “yeah, I’ve been around this block before” without screaming “HEY LOOK AT ME I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT LONDON.” Hopefully if those Americans are still lost in London, someone local enough not to look like a tourist has steered them in the right direction of Platform 9¾ by now. Me?
I was too busy giving off mega tourist vibes on my way to Madame Tussauds. __
