I said I would return to The Dandy At Dusk, and here I am: back to ponder a couple of interesting quotes from the book. Both speak to things that have been on my mind lately, apropos of personal style.

I’ve been feeling like a bit of walking cliché lately. I remember reading articles, when I was younger, about the innate un-coolness of people who get “stuck” on the trends of their “glory days” (usually high school) and thinking: that is never going to be me. If, for no other reason, because I hated high school and, even if pressed, can’t think of any time in my personal life that would call my “glory days”. Maybe, like, 2019? 2019 was definitely a good year. Anyway, notwithstanding my earlier youthful assurance, I am here to confess that I am those people now. Lately, I have become obsessed with the 90s … which were — coincidence?? — my high school and early university years.

I know the 90s were far from perfect, but the music was banging. And the fashion? A lot of it was surprisingly good. Wasn’t it? Or am I speaking through the rose-coloured glasses of a middle-aged stereotype?

The Dandy At Dusk reassures me. Philip Mann writes: “Arbiters of taste often return for their inspiration to the prevailing aesthetic of their childhood.”

Hah!

I am not a cheugy geriatric millennial; I am an “arbiter of taste”, ok?

I think one of the key things to unpack here is the phrase “return for their inspiration”. I see a distinction here, between wearing the actual clothes of one’s youth versus infusing one’s current style with influences pulled from the fashion of one’s youth. For me, there is an element of curation at play; not re-living the past, but rather incorporating some of its flavour into the present while keeping an eye on the future.

I have always been more vulnerable to nostalgia than most; I think some people just are. History as a whole, not only my own, fascinates me; how people lived in the past, their objects, etc. As I have gotten older, I’ve come to understand that there is a danger in that — the possibility of looking back too much, so to speak, and not being open enough to the possibility of change. So my perspective now is that the past informs who I am now and might be tomorrow, but doesn’t define me nor set my future path in stone. The past is not inherently better; indeed, I think nostalgia is a kind of wilful blindness — it only remembers what it wants to remember, and sometimes it’s even things that did not exist. Strangely enough, reading old magazines has helped me to see this clearly; contemporaneous writing often reveals things our nostalgia would have us forget about the past.

I am curious whether this current obsession with the 90s will fade over time, to be replaced by one with other eras. Maybe there *is* something unique about the period associated with our youth which makes it prime material for inspiration-mining, and maybe it has nothing to do with whether we actually enjoyed our youth or not. What do you think?

Another quote from The Dandy at Dusk that stood out to me was this one: “… under capitalism taste is not autonomous, as one would expect of a system that promotes competitive individualism, but tends rather to be collective. … The market requires that everything must be likeable, as everything must be saleable.”

Doesn’t that last sentence hit hard in this age of the Instagram aesthetic? I know it’s trite these days to blame everything on capitalism but, damn, capitalism has a lot to answer for. Including the flattening of individuality, it seems. Obviously, there are bigger problems in the world, but I think homogeneity of aesthetics is a bad thing. I can’t articulate this thought as well I would like, but I am concerned with how seeing the same visual aesthetic — in clothes, interior design, art, whatever — over and over changes how we think. I think it acts like … a sort of numbing cream for the mind. I’ve talked about this before, but it’s why I am so particular about curating my social media experience. I try to keep my feed as diverse as possible, because I believe growth comes from being exposed to new things all the time. I do create a “bubble” around myself when it comes to certain issues (politics and human rights, for example), but otherwise I am actively trying to seek out different perspectives as much as I can.

I have also been coming to grips with the idea that *I* don’t need to be likable or saleable. I don’t need my content to appeal to everybody. Having a niche audience that authentically appreciates and interacts with my content is what matters to me, even if it isn’t the capitalist ideal. Yes, that means that I will never be an influencer, but it means that I can be a content creator and interact with social media in a way that doesn’t make me feel terrible about myself. That being said, let me tell you: it is not easy letting go of the feeling that one needs to be “likable” at all times, to all people. It’s not even my own people-pleasing tendencies that are the (only) problem; the world remains decidedly unfriendly to women who evidence any sign of disinterest in likability (aka conforming to expectations). I am a bit of a coward, especially online. Ok, maybe “coward” is too harsh; I just hate conflict and unpleasant conversations, and having been on the receiving end of unsolicited comments for years — most of them nice, don’t get me wrong — I know that I would struggle to remain equanimous in the face of a barrage of criticism. So I definitely still modulate how I communicate on social media in order to avoid coming across as unlikable, even if I do not actively pursue being likable. Something in that to think about.

But to bring this back to personal style (and a conclusion!), next time you hear someone — even yourself! — say “oh, I couldn’t possibly wear that”, sit back and think: why not? Give the finger to The Man and wear whatever you want. Personal style is not a commodity. It is a personal choice that need not be subject to the dictates of capitalism or anyone else.

Details: Babaton turtleneck, LizSport vest, Denim & Supply dress (all secondhand)

Thoughts: Ok, technically this is something I wore at the end of last year but since I didn’t post it on IG until now … let’s count it for January. I loved this look; mixed plaids are one of my weaknesses. I ended up thrifting this vintage LizSport vest, even though it’s very similar to the vintage Gap one I bought on Poshmark, for that very reason. And also because it fits me a little better than the Gap one. Of course, I can’t part with the latter *face palm* even though my closet is in dire need of editing *more face palm* Here’s hoping this January comes in strong with the “decluttering” vibe so I can make some headway. But I have too many pieces I love-but-don’t-wear-enough, and this is making my task harder than usual. Sigh.

Details: Kaliyanna top, Ralph Lauren turtleneck, Tommy Hilfiger jeans (all thrifted), Zara boots (retail)

Thoughts: I spent most of my holiday break in sweatpants or PJs so when it came time to easing back to “normal” clothes, I was worried. But I needn’t have been! Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that. I am finding myself a bit more inspired, in terms of outfit planning, than I had been in the run-up to the holidays. This outfit was what I would call “elevated basic” and it was perfect for that back-to-work transition.

Details: Ralph Lauren sweater, no label skirt, BR belt, Fluevog shoes (all thrifted)

Thoughts: Paisley on paisley – what’s not to love. I think the belt is key here; it ties the outfit together, literally and figuratively. I tried it without, and it looked much less … finished, for lack of a better word. This, as you may have spotted, is the belt I reach for the most; it just goes with almost anything.

Details: Artizia top, Jones NY blazer, Suncoo pants, Poppy Barley shoes (all thrifted)

Thoughts: I had been looking for a velvet-collar blazer for a while, and finally found one that checked most of the boxes for me. I only wish it were a little bit longer. Still, I’m pretty happy with it and considering it’s vintage, I think it looks surprisingly modern. To bring it fully into the current era, I decided it was time for some graphic (tee) action and some (p)leather. Very happy with how this one turned out.

Details: Massimo Dutti sweater, Vince dress, Free People shoes (all thrifted)

Thoughts: My newly ignited love of brown continues to burn brightly. Mixing prints is de rigueur, naturally. I’ve also been loving the look of platforms lately — they’re still very trendy — so these burgundy pair (which I rescued from my “sell pile”) seemed like the perfect finishing touch (and colour bookend to the sweater).

The book which gave me the greatest occasion for self-reflection this past year came as something of a surprise to me. Last month, I found myself at a loss in a bookstore; I had come to scour the clearance shelves for something that would keep me occupied over the holidays, knowing I would be laid up in bed for a portion of the time. [I had surgery, I am fine.] I wanted something diverting but not too easily digestible – in other words, a good book (or two) to sink my teeth into for a few days at a time. Historical non-fiction along with mystery novels are my usual go-tos in this scenario, but nothing on the clearance shelves appealed. And then, almost by accident, I came across The Dandy at Dusk: Taste and Melancholy in the Twentieth Century by Philip Mann.

Although it is a book ostensibly devoted to men’s sartorial matters, I was immediately (and immensely) captivated by it. I say “ostensibly” for a reason; it is more of philosophical exploration than a book about fashion. It pulls from so many different sources, media, and ideas – covering an impressive chunk of the Western cultural canon from the 19^th century onwards – so it reads (and feels) like a wild ride. It got my synapses firing, trying to keep up with it, in a way that was really exciting. I guess that’s a sign that I don’t read enough challenging books these days. Anyway.

There are many things in The Dandy at Dusk that I have been left to mull over, some big ideas, some small details — probably enough material for a few blog posts. [It is not my usual style, when reading, to flag passages for future reference, but this book is filled with innumerable Post-Its.] Today, I want to focus on the most obvious question of all: who is the dandy? Am I a dandy? It is not a question of existential importance — in fact, I have a love/hate relationship with labels — but it was an inevitable thing to ponder as I read the book.

Let me start by saying that, although Mann writes of dandies exclusively in male pronouns and references only male-presenting historical figures throughout, there is a clear theme in the book that dandyism is a state of mind; personally, I do not believe states of mind are inherently gendered, so I am taking a broader approach to this topic than perhaps the author intended but whatever.

Let’s examine the evidence.

I think what immediately appeals to me in the concept of dandyism isn’t the obvious, i.e. a deep interest (obsession) with clothing. Because dandyism goes beyond that; it is a philosophy, a way of perceiving and engaging with the world. Rather:

… to the dandy, form and authenticity are not separate entities. The opposite is the case: to him they are virtually inseparable. As in the appreciation of any work of art, form and content are indissoluble. The dandy is his clothing, with all the multitude of references that this entails. Every tasteful socio-political nuance, every well-made subtlety of cultural history, even every uncomfortable existential thought that has worn him out, all these are present in his clothing.

And also:

The essence of dandyism is the elevation of the prosaic life into the poetic.

I have written before about how, to me, clothing is a form of self-expression, a creative mode. Choosing an outfit is like painting a portrait — honestly, in an almost literal way. Clothing is a mask (or armour, depending on the day) but one that doesn’t necessarily conceal as much as reveal, in a strategic way, what one wants to reveal at any given moment. So it is never inauthentic because it is always an expression of self (and its multitude of facets), even when it is not consistent from day to day.

Over the last few years, during a period when I have been more introspective than usual (already a lot!) due to external circumstances (hello, pandemmy!), I have come to see the act of living itself as a question of continual creation. How we live can be art. The more intentional we are about our choices, the closer it comes to art. So, yes, I relate a lot to the idea of the prosaic becoming poetic; it’s just a question of how you look at things. And I also think that the way we choose to live our life — the things we surround ourselves with, how we approach the mundane tasks of life, and so on — is a reflection of our accumulated personal history. And similarly with our clothes.

On the other hand, there are aspects to the dandy that are not quite as relatable for me.

In believing suffering to be the secret of life, which nourishes the soul and transcends the banality of pleasure, [Oscar Wilde] brought the dandy’s unconscious to the surface. … The true dandy is more Stoic than Epicurean.

I am definitely not much of a Stoic, especially the older I get. Beauty, more than suffering, is what nourishes my soul. And then, there is also the idea that dandyism is not about “an inordinate delight in dress and material elegance” but rather about the perfection of “utter simplicity”. Beau Brummell, the dandy sine qua non, offered the famous dictum: “If John Bull turns around to look at you, you are not well dressed, but either too stiff, too tight, or too fashionable.” Or, to quote Adolf Loos, another subject of the book: “The point is to be dressed in such a manner as not to attract attention.”

In this regard, I definitely feel very un-dandy-esque because while my goal is not to attract attention with my clothing, I accept that it is often a consequence of the way I dress vis-à-vis fashion norms in my city. And, also, my goal isn’t to dress in a manner that is elegant by its very inconspicuousness; I wear what expresses myself, whatever that self may be at any given time. Sometimes my outfits are simple, sometimes they are not. Elegance is a distant second-thought.

But then, again, Mann notes in his book that many dandies who followed Brummell’s footsteps, particularly in the 20th century, were not especially inconspicuous in their clothing choices. In fact, if anything, they stood out. He writes that nostalgia (for a time past) is at the core of dandyism; the “dandy uniform” (which has evolved over time) has often been anachronistic, carrying elements “not of its time” when compared to contemporary fashion.

On the third hard:

[Iconic] is a quality that goes beyond great beauty or sexual attractiveness. Cartoon characters have it and film stars of Hollywood’s golden age in the 1920s, 1930s and 1940s  had it. It is the art of always of looking the same. … For the star as for the dandy, the secret is to project an innate personality through an identifiable style and to stick to it for evermore. In this respect, stars are the polar opposite of actors, as acting implies the ability to inhabit a character different from the actor’s own.

This is a really interesting distinction and (side note!) perhaps one of the reasons why “Hollywood stars” are so rare these days, when actors are always falling over themselves to create the most extreme transformations on the screen. Speaking for myself, this is where I feel I might diverge the most from the dandy state of mind. Not because I don’t approach clothes as a medium for expression of personality (which I do), but because I don’t believe that personality is a forever static thing. We evolve, we grow; the past informs who we are, but we are in a constant state of becoming. If icons are iconic because they never change, I am never going to be a fashion icon. I mean, we already knew that but here is the incontrovertible proof.

So, then, on balance: am I a dandy? A little bit … maybe. As often happens whenever I run through one of these mental exercises having to do with labels and categorizations, I come out at the end thinking that the process was more interesting and useful than the result. I am forever fascinated by systems of classification, and forever repelled by the idea of being definitively classified. So maybe it doesn’t matter whether I am a dandy or not; what matters was that I asked myself the question, and used it as an opportunity to reflect on how I approach and think about personal style. Opportunities for self-reflection are always to be sought, as far as I’m concerned; it’s part of our continual process of learning about ourselves, which is the other side of the coin of personal growth and evolution.