I was casually reading today through a men’s style magazine. Not Vogue. A menswear supplement – the free newspaper-thick addendum that falls out of national newspapers every Sunday, whose staple selling point is that every model looks like they’ve been made of pale rock and been given the worst piece of news they can think to deliver gently.
There was an article called Style at Any Age promising “realistic fashion for the mature gentleman”. I nearly spat my coffee across the room. The so-called “mature” model wearing well-cut slim fit corduroy trousers in pine green, a £600 cashmere rollneck and a shearling jacket retailing somewhere in the same financial bracket as my first car must have been roughly 45.
But looked, thanks to clever styling and a smattering of gray hairs strategically glued in by his hairdresser, like he was 32. My dad is 73.
Possibly one of the quintessential “mature gentlemen.” He was sitting opposite me reading the paper as I scoffed at the magazine, wearing his regular outfit of M&S straight-cut jeans (recommended by his pal Tony when he was first bought 6 years ago and replaced with identical ones when they wear through every time), a checked shirt popped neatly into his smart, slim fitting black trousers, and his trusty navy lambswool roll neck jumper.
These have likely been through more UK prime ministers than both those models combined. The divide between men’s style magazines and what real mature guys wear could not have been more clear. Before we go any further, allow me to state for the record that my dad does care about how he looks.
He polishes his shoes religiously, irons his shirts with military precision, and has strong opinions on what constitutes acceptable collar width. But unlike men’s fashion magazines, whose recommendations are refined through airbrushing and thousands of selfies in front of mirrors rather than actual experiences outside of a studio, my dad’s outfits have been curated through years of real life. What British men over 50 actually wear versus what magazines want them to wear is enlightening.
What better place to start than with what magazines want them to wear. Along with the aforementioned sell-your-grandmother-for-it-shearling/rollneck combo, I’ve noticed thin-cut tailoring in seemingly unnatural colours; artisanal Japanese denim with what I can only assume are extremely highDATS; unimaginably expensive knitwear that spends more time describing itself as “directional” than actually being worn; and shoes that’ll have you remortgaging the house. Fine as those things look on a rail in the pristine caress of some fashion emporium, they’re wildly disconnected from reality.
Reality for most men’s lives, finances and, lets be honest, bosoms come 50+. Time for a revelation. “What do British men over 50 actually wear?” I hear you ask. As with any good piece of journalism, I conducted extensive research.
Interviewed dozens of subjects. Asked pointed questions. Traipsed about Britain asking men what they were wearing, RIGHT NOW.
Except the research methods were slightly less professional than that. Mostly consisted of me staring at my father, my dad’s friends, my uncles, older male work colleagues, and that most scientific of British research diligences: wandering around Waitrose on a Saturday morning staring at whoever passes by. Here’s what I learnt.
Believe it or not, there are consistent style themes when it comes to British men over fifty and how they dress. The first, and perhaps most obvious is brand loyalty. Whether it’s Marks & Spencer, John Lewis, or Charles Tyrwhitt, there’s usually a go-to retailers that these guys buy clothing from, and buy clothing from exclusively.
And for good reason. These brands have stood the test of time. They offer consistent sizing that doesn’t suddenly change every season (narrower leg on the jeans?
Fairer shirt collars? Don’t give me that garbage.) And most importantly, they don’t treat their customers like grandfathers. Walk into your local M&S and you can pretty much guarantee to find the same style of straight fit trouser your dad’s been wearing for years.
No deciphering “modern Asian cuts” or explaining to an assistant who could well be your grandson exactly what you’re looking for. The clothes themselves are similar. Classic cuts that have been worn for decades for a reason.
They tend to fit properly and, most importantly, they’re actually comfortable. No insane faux-innovation “comfort” that luxury loungewear designers are bragging about costing their customers hundreds to achieve. Comfort that your mum and dad’s bodies actually understand.
Waistbands that won’t cut off circulation. Shoes you can wear for a whole day without wanting to claw your own eyes out. Knitwear that can be tossed in the washing machine.
Colours too are fairly predictable. Now, before we get all mad in the comments about British men only wearing boring colours, hear me out. Most of the men I’ve interviewed wear clothes in shades of navy, grey, burgundy, forest green, plus about eight different hues of blue.
But that’s not because they don’t know what else is out there. It’s because, like the brands they buy from, they know what works. After years of trial and error they’ve finally settled on a colour palette that actually suits them.
Take my dad for example. He wears a blue checked shirt religiously. It is his go-to.
And he knows it suits him – his mum still tells him it brings out his eyes – 47 years into marriage. Far from boring. Sounds like he’s mastered the game.
Another trend I noticed was how the clothes actually fit. The likes of Burtons may be pushing aggressively slim-cut jeans on their 6’2”, 10% body fat catwalk models, but in reality, actually looking slimmer than your body actually is at 50 isn’t high up there on the priority list. Most of the men I spoke wear straight cuts.
Classics that suit their bodies, not some half-starved model’s. They’re not trying to look like they’re 25 again. They’re just trying to look smart.
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Lastly, a lot of these men have what I like to call a ‘Sunday Best’. One suit they invest in that can pretty much do it all. Be reluctantly surrendered from the wardrobe for weddings, dragged out for funerals, dusted off for those important job interviews and finally, christened by little to no fuss at Christmas dinner.
My uncle Mike bought himself a navy suit from Gieves & Hawkes 15 years ago when his daughter got married. It’s been let out down one side as he’s put on weight since (and taken in by a brilliant local tailor who’ll be damned if he’ll let a generational clothing giant get it wrong) but other than that, he has multiple shirts and ties to rotate with it. White shirt, dark tie for funerals.
Light blue shirt, wife’s favourite tie for weddings. Last year, for his 70th birthday dinner, he threw on a pale yellow pocket square that his grandchildren bought him that featured tiny embroidered tanks on it (he’s into military history.) Solid. Polished.
Elegant. And customised to him, not some idealised reader that Mr Average doesn’t actually resemble. Speaking of customised.
Footwear is where most of these guys actually do splash out. Understandably so. They’ve had years of trial and error to teach them that those £15 boots are actually just a false economy, and spend a little more on shoes that they know will last.
My father-in-law has 3 pairs of Church’s that are probably all over twenty years old. He gets them resoled regularly by the local cobbler (another useful artisan sadly disappearing from our high streets at alarming rates) and polishes them more frequently than he probably should. Not fashion statements.
Investments. Pair of shoes that they’ve treasured throughout some of the best moments of their lives. This is where things really start to diverge from what we’re told to buy.
Everywhere you look in men’s style magazines, retailers are pushing you expensive “designer” sweatshirts that cost more than your monthly rent, or “upscale” jumpsuits that are about as casual as murder. In reality, most of the mens over 50 that I’ve seen wear …normal clothes. Simple jeans or chinos that actually fit over your legs and butt.
Rugby shirts that they’ve earned the right to wear thanks to how bloody warm they are. Lambswool jumpers so synonymous with Mr Faithful_middle-aged-rover that the manufacturers barely change their styling ever in fear of upsetting their core demographic. I’m yet to meet an older guy that owns a Patagonia jumper, but I will say this; my father-in-law has a Shetland wool jumper he’s had for longer than I’ve been married.
Darned at the elbows a dozen times over, it’s been through more wash cycles than most people’s cars and looks better now than most brand-new jumpers out there. When asked where he got it from, prepared for some awe-inspiring story about a special little store he’s frequented in Edinburgh for years, he laughed and said; “M&S. Must’ve been about 1997.” Might sound glib but you can’t buy nostalgia like that.
Finally we come to perhaps the biggest selling point that separates the real deals from the magazines. Country & outdoorwear. These magazines love nothing more than featuring waxed jackets that are handmade by a team of former Slovenian national rowing champions before being proudly displayed in stores where they multiply the price by three.
The dads of Britain? Still largely wear Barbours that they’ve owned for upwards of two decades. Rewaxed religiously every few years either by the company or, in an increasingly common trend, by the customers themselves in a day-long ritual involving glue, newspaper plastered over every surface of the kitchen, and white eyed stares from partners who’ve given up asking why you need so many jackets.
See what I mean? Relationship with the clothing. Built up over years that actual garments just can’t buy.
My uncle has had the same Barbour for near enough twenty years. It’s been on family walks through the Yorkshire Dales, survived the growth of his children and weathered more problems than I care to know. But he loves it.
Fits him like a glove and has that worn-in look that comes from life, not some distressing technique employed by overpaid graphic designers in central London. If I had to sum up how most British men over fifty wear clothes, I’d say; “If it’s smart enough for the occasion, and good quality, I’ll wear it.” Simple. Short.
To the point. They know what works for them. They know what suits their body now.
They know what brands fit their clothes well and consistently deliver good-quality pieces year on year. Best of all, they don’t feel the need to prove themselves to anyone.
My client that collects vintage Paul Smith in his spare time is 63.
Another wears Errol Flynn rugby shirts with the type of gleeful nostalgia usually reserved for primary school pupils. You’ll notice a trend here. Most of these guys actually care about how they look.
They just don’t blindly follow what magazines tell them to. By 50, most mens’ fashion sense has been molded into a routine that works. Try things on.
Learn what suits and doesn’t. Find a brand that consistently delivers and stick with them. Build up a relationship with your clothing that only decades of life can afford you.
I don’t think magazines could teach that. My dad will never grace the pages of GQ, but he’ll always know how to dress himself better than they would.
