Men's dress sense? Just say no, girls

Lowri Turner12 April 2012

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Smart casual - two little words that set the hairs on the back of the neck on end. Apart, they are innocuous. Put them together, and the result is awful. In a move that has, frankly, shocked the nation - we weren't aware he'd been in the UK long enough recently to go shopping - Tony Blair has chosen Australia to unveil a new British designer smart-casual wardrobe.

It started with the removal of a tie to address Commonwealth leaders. Then, flushed by his own daring, Tony took his Paul Smith jacket off for a spot more chitchat. Finally, he went the whole hog, attending a barbecue in a Nicole Farhi baggy striped jumper. And, he didn't tuck it into his trousers!

The dress-down idea was obviously intended to underscore what a regular guy Tony is. This, while chatting to lots of other regular guys, who all just happen to run countries too. It's the same notion that sees company CEOs in short-sleeved shirts and chinos on Fridays. They've recently had a rethink in the City on that, but maybe Tony was away and missed the papers when it was announced.

The fact is, men invariably look much better when wearing the usual uniform of suit, shirt, tie, than in mufti. Companies that introduced dress-down Fridays must have seen the incidence of office affairs plummet-The quickest way to go off a colleague is to see him in a leather blouson and slacks.

But the problem for most men is that of role models. When doing smart casual, chaps aim for either Harrison Ford - leather jacket, shirt and chinos - or Nick Faldo - jumper and slacks. It's an age thing. Men start with the former and slide inexorably into the latter.

David Beckham has a few years yet before he slides into grey slip-ons. After seeing him on this week's documentary, Being Victoria Beckham, you wonder if he will ever succumb. In contrast to Tony Blair's self-consciously casual attire, David was filmed lounging on a cream sofa sporting a crisp white shirt and a gold tie.

You have to hand it to the Beckhams. Unlike the Blairs, who are always pretending they're like the rest of us when he's PM and she's got a salary the size of Wales, Posh and Becks are defiantly aspirational. Even dressed down they're dressed up.

"Victoria rocks my world," announced David, which made you want to throw a brick at the telly. What Victoria also does is supervise his clothes. Indeed, most chaps are far better off with a partner whose job it is to stand over them and say: "No, you can't wear that. You look disgusting."

Poor Tony Blair. No wonder he looked so dreadful in Oz. Cherie may be a top lawyer, but she has the dress sense of Olive from On The Buses. And, on Tony, it shows.

A bag is for life, not just for shopping

In my house, we have drawers and drawers full of bags so as to accommodate a complex grading system. At the bottom are free supermarket carriers and anything bearing the name of a woman's fashion shop, which my husband won't touch. Next up are neutral bags from nongenderspecific stores such as WH Smith or Ryman, which he'll carry at a push.

At the top, in the premier division of this plastic bag league are those Bags For Life you get from Sainsbury's or Waitrose. Partly, it's snobbery - blokes like them because you have to pay for them. Mainly, though, it's because the plastic is so thick you can't see what's inside. There is only one thing a chap hates more than doing the weekly shop, and that's being seen to lug home the loo rolls.

Swap your Crown Prince for our Clown Prince

This, in the week The House of Windsor's very own Mr Potato Head, Prince Edward, announced he was winding up his business. Despite an expensive education, a famous name and Mummy's money, he can't make a go of it. He and Sophie, for whom PR stands for Pathetically Rubbish, are off on tour to Africa. Perhaps Her Maj would do us all a favour, get on the phone to King Harald V and suggest a permanent swapsie.

Geri Halliwell has been snapped having a sneaky cigarette after a Hollywood lunch. What a relief. Halliwell is the patron saint of the My Body Is A Temple brigade. These are the people who come to dinner and announce they can't eat meat, dairy, sugar or fat, are gluten intolerant, bread makes them bloat and, no, they won't have a glass of wine because of their IBS. Now we all know, they're not on a higher plane than the rest of us. They're on a diet.

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