Severing all ties
James Waldron wonders if this is Blair's bequest to the nation Reading Blair's political obituaries, the most disheartening theme to me was the loss of innocence which the man has ushered in. In ten short years, he created a professional, continental-style 'political class' and, almost simultaneously, did all he could to encourage us to lose faith in it.
Enough politics, though, because I have a (marginally) less depressing sartorial suggestion for the man's legacy: tie-less Britain. Yes, Tone may have been the first serving prime minister to help police with their inquiries, but he was also the first to regularly make tie-free public appearances. Brown, the old fuddy-duddy, may not follow in his footsteps, but he'll be off soon anyway. Blair's true heir, Cameron, keen to distance himself from traditional Tories, seems to jettison his the minute he's out of the House.
I hate to admit it, but Cameron's probably right to go down the open-necked route. It symbolises a very safe, middle-of-the-road kind of cool, and if you're seeking to be elected, that's just the right cool to have. It's different for our stylish friends across the Channel, of course. I can't imagine the permanently dapper Sarkozy being photographed inappropriately sans tie. They say that even those who voted for the new president think that he's not actually a terribly nice piece of work, but you can't be cuddly and snappily dressed at the same time: it would crease the suit.
I'm going to stick my neck out here, and say that there's something hip about the tie now that the Establishment has ditched it. I've recently noticed smart young bucks sporting neckwear at events for which older folk have left theirs at the office. Even Jefferson Hack, of Dazed and Confused and Kate Moss fame, has recently taken to ties. It all reminds me of the reinvention of the City suit as glamorous garment in about 1998. It was sparked by the bean-counters donning baggy polo shirts and chinos, desperate as they were to fit in with computer geeks during the dotcom bubble. Suddenly we had hipster-types like James Brown, then editor of GQ, seen about town in pin-stripes.
Very soon afterwards, Mr Brown was hoofed by his po-faced bosses when he made a point similar to my Sarkozy one above: he included 'The Nazis' in his bestdressed of the century list. I like to think that publishers of fluffy style-mags have a sense of humour, and his sacking probably had more to do with GQ's falling sales. The man who rescued the title, current editor and general style-guru Dylan Jones, is something of a fan of David Cameron, although he refuses to be drawn on the tie issue. GQ's readers have just voted the Tory leader second-best-dressed man in the world — although I imagine this is due to his having recently been featured as the glossy's cover boy, with neckwear.
Of course, DC's tie rejection may simply be a clever ploy to deflect attention from the Etonian dominance of his front bench. There used to be no shame in the old school tie — quite the reverse in fact. Even when neckwear was inappropriate, while partaking of sporting activity for example (most especially during a gentlemen-versusplayers cricket match), a chap could still show his true colours by using his MCC or old school tie to keep his trousers up. Mulberry, a company which seeks to embody nostalgic English eccentricity, took this idea and ran with it in a witty direction, making an actual belt out of silk in unidentified but distinctly clubby stripes.
In the old days, a club, however small or ad hoc, could not claim to exist without a tie. When my father left school, he formed a dining group with a few friends and his first task was to sort out the neckwear. Along he popped to old Ma White's shop in Burlington Gardens, there to order a rather nice cherry-red tie with a large gold question mark, this to reflect the fellowship's name: the Query Club. My father refutes allegations that batting-for-theother-side undertones were intended, muttering something about it being a more innocent age.
Indeed it was. He's referring to the 1940s, but after New Labour, even the straightforward sleaze of the last Tory government has a sort of childlike glow about it. But let's not forget that John Major's sartorial trademark was infinitely worse than Tony's self-consciously tie-less appearances: the Conservative is down in history as the PM who tucked his shirts into his underpants, and for this we can never forgive him Photo: Hugo Burnand
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