The first thing I remember thinking as a teenager wasn’t about sex or independence or any of those clichéd milestones that everyone else insists happened to them. It was about rain. I was stood at a bus stop in Manchester when I was about 17, watching as my newly-bought suede desert boots – the fluffy suede kind that were shockingingly inappropriate for the British Isles – went from smart to diluted cola in seconds, all while I stood there.
Thirty quid of my two-week dishwashing salary just soaking up water like a sponge. I stared up at the grey sky in betrayal while simultaneously attempting to fold myself into the newspaper I was holding like some Dickens protagonist from hell. Twenty years later and I’ve lost track of how many items of clothing have been sacrificed to the soggy altar of Britain’s rain-cloud BDSM relationship with us.
The expensive sweater that spontaneously combusted after a freak cloudburst. The so-called “waterproof” bomber jacket that lasted about 47 seconds in the shower before christening itself.
The countless pairs of jeans that have a suspicious splatter mark around the ankles.
You know the one: uniform raindrops that make you look like you were wading through puddles with your trousers rolled up for fun. For the longest time I thought those were the only two choices: wear something you actually like and get soaked, or stay dry but look like you’re off on a Duke of Edinburgh hike. There seemed no in between.
Instead my wardrobe fell into two categories: normal clothes that I liked wearing, and actual rain-wear that made me look like I’d raided Eastmans for enough nylon to survive the apocalypse. That changed seven years ago, whilst on the lash at London Fashion Week. London decided to chuck it down that particular week.
After defiantly wearing something inappropriate for the deluge I ended up interviewing an Italian designer while moisture pooled in my notebook, water-logging my prepared questions and making them run together into illegible blue puddles. The designer, who’d managed to look pristine despite braving the exact same streets to get to the venue as me, sat there drying himself off with a leaflet as I sat there steadily creating a moat around my chair with my miserable sighs. It was then I realised how badly I needed to ask him the question. “How do you stay looking so…dry?” I demanded.
He smiled knowingly; that infuriating Italian shrug that says they feel sorry for you while simultaneously judging you. “The secret,” he began, conspiratorially leaning across the table so he could keep his distance. “Is that you can’t fight the rain. You have to work with it.” I filed this away as just another Italians-being-filosofical-about-clothing moment (they’re national at experts at this, I recently discovered) but over the years I’ve come to realise he was right. The British are ridiculous about rain.
We obsessively ignore forecasts only to scream in to our phones when we’ve been caught out. Umbrellas? Pah!
We pretend we don’t need them until our coat somehow manages to soak through without protection, leaving us clinging desperately to ghetto-fabulous smokers shelters for shelter. The answer isn’t throwing ourselves wholeheartedly into the world of technical nylon wizardry either. There is a middle ground between destroying your suit with a dodgy umbrella and wearing rip-stop gear that makes you look like you’ve suddenly been teleported to Everest Basecamp.
And it starts with getting your rainwear right. I’m not talking crinkly North Face shellcrap that rustles whenever you move like you need to put your clothes in a sandwich bag before wearing them. I’m talking about raincoat, dear reader.
An actual grown up raincoat. To be clear I’m talking about the style of raincoat, here. The classic Mackintosh.
They’ve been perfected since 1823 and for good reason: It’s simple. It doesn’t have stupid pockets and toggles and reflective tape all over it. It has a real collar that can be flipped up to protect you from the rain without making you look like a nocturnal rodent.
Sure, you can still get ridiculous nylon parkas marketed as Mackintoshes but if you look in the right places you can find grown up options that do what they’re supposed to without looking like you’re about to sleep in them or take shelter in them like a tent. For years I scoffed at them. Too stiff.
Too square. Too…Accountant. Until I found an oversized navy number in a vintage shop in Edinburgh (the Scots really do know rain).
It’ll happily jacket up over suits or hide under jeans. It’s actually waterproof, but not at the cost of dignity or style. The oversized silhouette lets me layer underneath without bursting at the seams and the length keeps my trousers safe from puddle-splash back too.
Shoes. Ah, shoes. We’re conditioned from a young age to think that getting our shoes wet means cramping our style with wellies or worse still: those nightmares known as plastic rain boots.
Again both serve a purpose (god help you if you have to walk through fields for fun or work), but when it comes to urban commuting there are far more elegant solutions to keeping your feet dry. As is often the case the Italians beat us to it decades ago with…the subtly reinforced rubber sole. Shoe brands like Tricker’s and C&J have been making Goodyear-welted footwear with reinforced Dainite rubber soles for years.
They look indistinguishable from your standard non-waterproof shoe from every angle but the underneath where, instead of leather, you get a slim layer of rubber that repels water and keeps you from sliding around. I picked up a pair of Derby boots with them from Tricker’s years ago and they’ve yet to disappoint me. Best of all they’ve seen me through enough rain storms that I can confidently wander into meetings without them making that terrifying squelching noise every step.
As far as knitwear goes, it might seem an insurmountable task to outsmart a good dampening. Wool is about as absorbent a fabric as you can get, and does so with relish. It also smells about a million times worse than any other fibre once it’s decided to dry itself on your radiator overnight.
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Then I met an old sailor friend (trust me, I have friends outside of the fashion world). Real proper sailors who’ve been battling the elements for years. Before your fancy Gore-Tex and nylons there was the fisherman’s jumper.
Well, a version of the fisherman’s jumper. Not those horrendous attempts at copycat authenticity with the giant rolling cables up the arms and waist. Think drill royal navy with a slightly higher neck and sleeker knit.
Made from densely woven wool that’s been treated with oil to further repel water, they double up nicely as a mid-layer as they’re thin enough not to bulk up your outfit but tightly knit enough to offer surprisingly good protection from the rain. Carrier Company and North Sea Clothing do some great versions that look like standard jumpers but are about as waterproof as tech gear. So now you’ve waterproofed your shoes and upper half, all you’re left is bottoms.
And finally we come to the biggest mindset change of all. British menswear has become hopelessly addicted to the straight, unforgiving line of the regular cut jean or trouser. Trousers that quite often we insist on leaving dragging on the floor despite how muddy puddle happy we insist on making them.
Thank God it’s finally time to embrace the turn-up. Not as a fashion statement, mind you. As a practical way of stopping your trousers from dragging through puddles.
Be precise with it. A 5cm turn-up on jeans or cotton trousers not only saves your hem from soaking through but looks smarter too, breaking up the line of your leg and working particularly well with boots. For smarter trousers, go cropped instead.
It does the same job of cutting off your legs at the shin but looks intentional rather than accidentally chopped off. And finally we come to fabric. Do yourself a favour and take a leaf out of the Italian rain coping book once again by looking at wool/mohair blends.
They naturally repel water, keep their shape, and are being sold in the mens market as summer suiting fabrics because they’re so light. Bonus? They dry super quickly and don’t stain like beetles ate your wool trousers when they get wet.
Look into cotton gabardine too. The OG technical fabric invented for fighting (obviously, obvs) in trenches. High-tech?
It was made years before that actually was a thing. Building layers is where you really get to have fun. Instead of one big bulky waterproof coat your outerwear becomes a series of blankets that you can add and remove depending on the situation.
Start with a thin merino as your base layer that’ll wick away moisture and dry quickly should you get caught out. Throw on a shirt. Then add a light jacket or cardigan.
Then grab that aforementioned proper raincoat and you’re good to go. Each layer gives you an extra barrier from the rain, but because they’re all relatively light you’ll still be able to peel off should you burst through a shower into an air conditioned pub that decides to blast its heating full pelt even though it’s only mildly cool outside. Accessories are worth considering too.
Remember when I said your accessories act like scouts sent out before an advancing army? Well the rain hits those bastards first. Get yourself a proper umbrella.
Ones that do actually fold are fine, just invest in one with a wooden handle and enough stiffness in the structure that you can bash a thief with it and call it self defence if they don’t immediately give you your phone back. James Smith & Sons has been making them since 18 30 so they know what they’re talking about. Finally, hats.
Not some weird baseball style disaster, and certainly not one of those teensy beanie things you pull down over your ears. A proper rain hat. With a bloody brim.
Christys’ does a fantastic crushable felt trilby that comes treated to combat rain and looks worlds better than a hoodie while managing to fold up small enough to stash in your pocket should the sun decide to grace us with 45 seconds of its presence. The fact of the matter is that unless you move somewhere that experiences all four seasons in the space of a day you will never get away with the minimalist, everything-fits-in-one-pocket-and-two-bags kind of outfits that our favourite publications would have you believe we should aspire to. Thank God for that really.
Because it also means we don’t have to suffer haplessly wearing sweaters that look like salad bowls or trash bags tied at the ankles just because it’s rained.
There is a happy medium of outfits that accommodate for those inevitable downpours without broadcasting to the world that you might be genuinely interested in walking to John o’ Groats. Trust me, that Italian was right.
Rain can’t be defeated. But it sure as hell can be negotiated with. Next time you find yourself staring out of the window at the monsoon retreated sodden landscape that used to be your hometown, I want you to do me a favour and take a look at your fellow sodden Brits.
The classiest among them won’t be those who’ve remained bone dry or those marauding about in nylon massacres of modern activewear. They’ll be the ones who know how to dress for the British weather; the ones who’ve come to terms with it by dressing in such a way that the weather-proofing almost becomes invisible. Much like our dreaded food, our frustration with the weather becomes something we just accept.
Another bloody layer we have to master to call ourselves British. Time to bundle up, slick chaps. Britain’s about to bomb us with rain once more.
