Glimpses of a male wardrobe

There is, I must confess, something perversely delightful about observing men being put under the same trivial spotlight that has shone on generations of women. It is not a common occurrence admittedly. For all the talk spouted by pop psychologists, sociologists, movies and advertising folks about the emergence of a new sensitive man — a man more in touch with his feminine side than ever before — it is rare to find equality in the portrayal of both genders. Whether it is in soaps or on discussions on the budget, serious issues are still considered the male prerogative and lights ones, the women’s. So this month it was with some surprise and considerable anticipation that I found myself flipping through not one but two men’s magazines devoted to the completely superfluous subject of style. Not style in general but that little discussed subject of men’s style.

British GQ (Gentleman’s Quarterly) announced its annual top twenty list of stylish men this month. Whether one would trust a list picked by a panel of 300 celebrities including such worthies as Liz Hurley (she of the safety pin dress), Elton John and Dido or not, the choices were fairly revealing. Top of the heap, not surprisingly, some would say, was the much loved captain of the national football team, David Beckham. Sir Beckham, as the magazine chose to call him, apparently awed judges with ‘‘his ability to continually experiment’’ — mixing Gucci, Burberry, Dolce and Gabbana with Pringle and Maharishi and daring to wear ‘‘such baggy pants’’. In contrast, somewhere at the bottom of the list but also embodying male cool was the musician, Sting. Always fabulous even though one had ‘‘no idea where he buys his clothes’’.

In between there were familiar style icons: Nicky Haslam, David Bowie (the master of reinvention, up at 33 from 48 on last year’s list), Daniel Day Lewis, Prince Charles (when has he ever been badly dressed?), Elton John, Ewan McGregor and Robbie Williams. The current selection and the exclusion of old favourites such as Michael Caine (old school working class), Bryan Ferry and Sir Terence Conran (of the blue shirts and large spotted ties) seemed to indicate a move towards costly perfection. David and Posh Spice’s expensively attired four-year-old son Brooklyn Beckham, for instance, staged a precocious entry at number 17 while Hugh Grant stayed in the running after having exchanged his stuffy English look for a more ‘‘sleek and modern’’ one.

Redemption was clearly within reach. Pierce Brosnan returned to the list after a two-year hiatus while Tony Blair zoomed to number 11 from the number 13 spot on the worst-dressed list last year, earning for himself the approving title of ‘‘the Rockin PM’’. But the most intriguing new entry perhaps was Imran Khan. ‘‘I’m very into Afghan chic at the moment,’’ wrote the magazine’s contributing editor, A.A. Gill. ‘‘And Imran’s got a really good look. All that starched white linen, it plays to all kinds of fantasies.’’

Closer home, co-incidentally, the Indian monthly Man’s World interviewed a clutch of local corporate honchos, media personalities and others on the same subject, of personal style. At an average age of 45-plus and a conventional career profile, interviewees were expectedly far more conservative than their British counterparts; the most outrageous style choice in the selection was probably a youngish radio jockey’s preference for thong underwear.

Favourite style icons too were in the classic, conservative mould. Amitabh Bachchan and Sean Connery emerged by far as the most popular (and hardy) choices. Others included Zakir Hussain, Madhavrao Scindia, Milind Soman, Prasad Bidappa, Jawaharlal Nehru, Rabindranath Tagore and, surprisingly, Mahatma Gandhi.

Most interviewees were eager to point out that style was more a matter of personality, an internal rather than an external thing. It is about ‘‘being yourself’’ was the belief expressed by one interviewee. It is about ‘‘how you carry yourself’’ was another. ‘‘My style is dynamic yet sincere,’’ claimed a corporate bigwig; it is an ‘‘external reflection of your internal beauty,’’ said a musician. (Sounds familiar? Think Miss World, Miss Universe.)

And yet, despite all the protestations of sincerity, inner beauty and being oneself, the effort prised open the doors to a world of buffed and polished elegance. A rarefied universe of Cartier and Bulgari watches, Ferragamo and Louis Vuitton shoes, Moschino jackets, Issey Miyake fragrances, Brazilian sandals, silver spurs, monogrammed cuff links, Ermenegildo Zegna and Brioni suits, Krishna Mehta and Anna Singh sherwanis and antique Jamdani handkerchiefs of the finest Dhaka muslin.

Who says the new man is a myth? As far as vanity goes at least, ladies, its time to yield the crown.

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