The wisdom goes that one of the joys of fashion is that it allows you to express your true personality. I am mistrustful of this. I like my personality contained deep within, where I can keep an eye on what it’s plotting. But January is such a prescriptive month, when we resign ourselves to being exhorted to give up this in order to become that, which makes it an ideal moment to discuss eccentricity.
From the Marchesa Casati to Bunny Rogers, fashion has historically thrived on the eccentric, through individuals who challenged the possibilities of what was beautiful or tasteful, whose wilful deviation from the dictates of modishness were gradually absorbed into the mainstream. Whether Coco Chanel in a traditional stripy Breton jersey, or Lily Allen sporting trainers with a prom dress, looks that were once distinctive for their oddness have now been accepted as conventions.
Eccentricity is the opposite of attention-seeking, though the latter is often a consequence of the former. Approval, at least mass approval, is not the objective. The eccentric wears their personality on their sleeve, or their feet, not in order to garner pap shots and likes, but because they are possessed of an internal aesthetic they are unafraid to share with the world, mostly because they are entirely uninterested in the world’s opinion. This is the exact opposite of the Insta-scavengers who gussy themselves up in ever more outlandish outfits for the sake of the cameras outside the shows. There are now innumerable online guides with oxymoronic titles such as Five Steps to Becoming a True Fashion Eccentric, but they entirely miss the point of the true luxury of eccentricity, which is needing no one’s gaze but your own; the simple joy of an item that gives you pleasure, irrespective of the tastes of the majority.
“Ugly fashion” is having a moment right now. It began with Phoebe Philo’s reinvention of the Birkenstock at Céline in 2012, played around with the plain-as-a–pikestaff riff of normcore and continues in Gucci’s bestselling bumbags. “So wrong, it’s right” has rescued many a piece from fashion’s leper colony, but as with the ubiquity of the socks-and-sandals look, “current to tired” can prove a short journey. In the words of the late artist and possibly last great London dandy Sebastian Horsley: “Clothes are merely a part — they may even be the least important part — of the personality of the dandy. Dandyism isn’t image encrusted with flourishes. It’s a way of stripping yourself down… You can only judge the style by the content and you can only reach the content through the style.”
We all know Jenny Joseph’s poem, “When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple/With a red hat that doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me./And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves/And satin sandals.” A BBC poll claimed it was the UK’s most popular postwar poem, speaking to the exuberant eccentric in us all. Defying convention, rather than following it in the form of contrived individuality, is exhilarating. Perhaps a better definition of eccentricity is not whimsicality for its own sake, but a lack of self-consciousness. That’s what makes you look confident, or brave, regardless of whether it’s becoming or cool. Maybe you love hats or cowboy boots or overalls, or all of them together; gypsy skirts, or extravagant coats, or an Edwardian nightie worn as a dress. I currently have my eye on a Balenciaga trapeze-line parka, a potentially repulsive garment that nonetheless combines my aspirations (I live in Milan, on Via della Spiga) with my reality (I’m at Kidzania. Again).
Advertisement
And since it’s January, there had better be a healthy part, so here it is: eccentricity is good for you. Playing dress-up relieves stress, which in turn is excellent for the waistline. Giving a damn leads to anxiety, which raises your cortisol levels, the hormone that gathers fat around the stomach. If only in the interests of la ligne, release your inner old lady. Wear a bit of purple, eat an extra sausage. You’ll feel marvellous.