Who Do You Think You Are?

           On returning from several weeks away in the campervan, I unpacked my bag and, small as it is, found that it still contained items of clothing I had not worn and need not have taken. Despite my best efforts to pack only the necessities, I had over-provided. To be fair it was prudent, given the time of year, to take both summer and autumn clothing. But I really did not need that smart-casual outfit for the one dinner we had in a posh restaurant: the hospitality trade is currently so stressed that dress codes have been relaxed, face masks now being the only requisite. No, the fact is that I have not quite mastered minimal packing, certainly not in the same way as my friends who gad about in their (very small) helicopter and must adhere strictly to weight limits. One superfluous pair of pants and they could crash and burn.

          Perhaps the problem starts at home, where too many clothes are stashed for no good reason. Now that the routine of being back has kicked in and I have resumed my daily visits to the gym for a workout (if thirty minutes on a cross-trainer can be called such). I found that all the staff were pleased to see me – or anyone at all, really – and I could have my pick of personal trainers right now, despite my embarrassingly low-grade kit, which comprises an XR-emblazoned t-shirt, M&S lounge trousers and Primark loafers. The sports section of my wardrobe, at least, is admirably Spartan, which supports the theory that one’s choice of clothing is determined by lifestyle – although there are qualifications. First, there is the tendency to be aspirational about lifestyles that never actually materialise, a behavioural quirk that is the foundation of the fashion industry and which is responsible for many a wardrobe stuffed with garments that never get an outing. Garish shirts come to mind. Then there is the temptation of ‘the sales’ and the stuff we buy just because of the apparently bargain prices. I still have an overcoat that is too big for me, though I always pretend it is not. Then there is the tendency to cling on to outfits from defunct lifestyles, whether out of refusal to accept their redundancy, nostalgia for the past, lax housekeeping or plain, old-fashioned reluctance to discard ‘perfectly good clothes’. Whatever the reason, there must surely come a point when any reasonable person will acknowledge that an overstocked wardrobe is one of the things in life that can absolutely be categorised as unnecessary. This is especially true of the most problematic section of the wardrobe, the one devoted to the host of public outings that are not formal but do require a degree of effort at looking presentable. This is where the maximum clutter tends to accumulate, with more casual shirts, jumpers, jackets, trousers and shoes than can feasibly be worn in a lifetime

          Whilst most of these clothes may be discarded on a whim, it is harder to do so with the more formal gear, especially as I have a tendency to want to dress ‘appropriately’ – subjective though the definition is. I keep, therefore, several outfits in case of invitations to weddings, funerals, bar mitsvahs, formal dinners etc. The fact that these outfits are beginning to look passé is of less concern to an ageing gent such as me than it might be to someone more fashion-conscious. I like to think that the more outmoded I appear, the more sympathy I might get from other guests, perhaps being offered a comfortable chair or a refill of my sherry glass. And one lives in hope that an invitation will arrive to a proper garden party, in which case one has just the perfect outfit to hand – albeit twenty years out of date. The thing is, I have an image in my head of a dashing young version of myself in flannels and linen, which is as hard to discard as are the actual togs.