Yesterday, after a very long lunch I skulked home and watched back to back three episodes of Andrew Marr's History Of Modern Britain, which I've been enjoying very much.
The Thatcher years one really took me back. I know we're practically tripping over 80s nostalgia these days, but this was different. I was marvelling at the fact this woman in a twinset ran the country and people actually took notice of her. Looking back she seems so old-fashioned it's unbelievable. But run the country she did.
The programme has almost managed to steer clear of the The Wrong Kind Of Nostalgia - they resisted the man in the top hat flicking through military jackets for the 60s, George Best pouring champagne in the 70s and the man on the very large mobile phone for the 80s, though there was the yuppie with the pocket full of cash and the ones discussing their huge bonuses. I wanted to be like that once.
When I first moved to London 20 years ago this July, that's what it was like. Me and my college mate Jim both got jobs in the City. We deliberately set our sights on it. We actually wanted to be yuppies. We bought Filofaxes, sharp suits from Next (which in those days was actually a good shop) and thought we were it. If anyone asked us what we did, we told them we were brokers.
But we weren't. The job was a commission-only rip off, the people were vile City boys whose first piece of advice to the new intake was make sure you socks match your handkerchief. It was style over substance, and with no money style was hard to come by. I left after a month. Most of the others followed suit. My City boy dream was over, thank God. I realised I wasn't that sort of person after all.
But it makes me smile when I think of it. It's a proper 80s thing to do and place to be and I'm glad I did it. But just remember - I'm not a twat.
6 comments:
There was an element of broker 'wannabee' in our burgeoning provincial IT careers as well. We couldn't work in The City, but we wanted to look like we did. So we had the Next (or M&S- or even Ciro Cittero) italian style double breasted suits and called ourselves 'consultants'. I used to carry a Nokia P3 around Stourbridge town centre. I was (and still am) a twat!
You've inspired me F-C. I'm gonna dig out 'Wall Street' and watch it again.
P.S. Just a note on Next. I don't know how you outfit yourself in 2007, but I tend to go for the combat trousers sold by Gap and Next, as do many other fortysomethings. We like to think we're still a bit trendy, but actually they're just the modern equivalent of Old Mans Slacks...
I have to say I think Next is very dull these days. Feeling too old to go into most shops, Reiss always give a warm welcome, and you can just about get away with French Connection. Ted Baker is also I think catering rather well for the older man. I refuse to give into M&S quite yet.
I'm surprised you find Reiss welcoming; on the few occasions I've ventured inside, the combination of über-cool shop assistants and annoying dance music has quickly sent me fleeing back into the street again. And their clothes aren't very sympathetic to the fuller-figured gentleman, either.
Conversely, M&S is my default outfitter these days. Yes, they still stock clothes for grandads, but the Blue Harbour and Autograph collections (for casual and smart wear respectively) are highly wearable and affordable. My wedding suit, designed by Timothy Everest, came from M&S, and it's fab.
Back in the 80s, meanwhile (to drag things back to your original topic), I was mainly dressed by Top Man.
Top Man was staple in the 80s too. It's still okay now, if you pretend you're shopping for your son.
I refuse to shop in French Connection for two reasons:
1 - That awful and extremely twattish FCUK campaign.
2 - Their shops play the most apalling dance music at extremely high volume. What is this, 1979?
"Rich says:
"2 - Their shops play the most apalling dance music at extremely high volume. What is this, 1979?"
I don't recall 1979 "dance" music. "Dance" developed in the late 1980s and the early 1990s.
But then I am older than you and actually remember 1979.
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