It is with a heavy heart I return to the fraught subject of what men of a certain age should wear when it is sunny. Of all the subjects I write about — high politics, high culture, war and peace — this is the one that seems to stir up the most controversy.
I try to take a generous, live-and-let-live view of these matters. But I simply can’t. I have firm views. There is a right way and a wrong way to do things. And tough love is necessary to make sure men know which is which. They will thank me in the end, of that I am sure.
Few issues are as pressing as the persistent tendency of middle-aged men to wear short-sleeved shirts.
It should not need to be said, but in the workplace they are a no-no. Unless you are the photocopier repair guy. Or a dental hygienist. Outwith the office they are no more acceptable. No siree. There is no sadder sight than a middle-aged man with his small-checked Blue Harbour short-sleeved shirt tucked into his relaxed-cut jeans. What this look says is: “It’s over. I’m done. Shoot me now.”
There are exceptions, of course. A Hawaiian shirt worn with dark glasses and a 1950s haircut, for example. Other garish prints worn with a sardonic expression and ten-pin bowling shoes may also be acceptable. But if you can’t muster the required devil-may-care attitude to carry off this look you shouldn’t even think about it.
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Long sleeves, gentlemen, long sleeves. It’s the law.
But what, I hear you cry, about T-shirts? Surely they are allowed? This, like so much in life, is dependent on girth.
If you are relatively slim, a fitted T-shirt is acceptable. If you are a man of substance, physically as well as intellectually, then the baggier the better.
As for what is printed on the T-shirt, my advice is simple: record label logos. I once got a fist bump of acknowledgement from a security guard in Miami for the Sugar Hill Records shirt I was wearing. That made my day.
The more obscure the better. There is a dance label called Lobster Theremin, for example. Great name, great logo.
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On the beach I have worn the same two baggy T-shirts for about a decade. One is a copy of the “Manilla Gorilla” shirt worn by Muhammad Ali while training for the Thrilla in Manila fight against Joe Frazier in 1975. A classic. The other — an Ivor Cutler T-shirt — is now, sadly, too small for me. And it doesn’t come in XXL. A hard blow, that one.
Chilling tale
Allow me to be the umpteenth person to recommend The Handmaid’s Tale, the TV adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel about a world in which women have been subjugated to a role as baby-making machines in a fascist theocracy.
It’s 30 years since I read the novel but this drama feels like it was written yesterday, with its echoes of Boko Haram’s rapacious brutality and the cynical pieties of the American religious right.
It is truly chilling. And its power is largely down to a mesmerising performance by Elisabeth Moss, my favourite actress. With great depth and subtlety she plays an enslaved woman living in hope of one day being reunited with her young daughter. It’s on Channel 4 and is quite simply the best thing you will see on TV this year.
French lesson
What do MPs do after politics? With a general election now days away, and unplanned retirements likely, some well-kent faces will soon be asking themselves that very question.
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What we need is a shining example of how to thrive in the aftermath of a political career. Step forward Malcolm Chisholm, former Labour MSP for Edinburgh North & Leith, who retired from Holyrood at the last election.
How is Mr Chisholm keeping himself busy these days? By spending this year reading only French novels, in French. Impressive.