A man in a floral shirt is trying too hard

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/oct/10/man-in-a-foral-shirt-trying-too-hard

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At the heart of consumer culture is a simple and seductive lie: we are what we buy. Were this true, it would seem that Britain’s men are increasingly becoming a range of floral patterned shirts.

Lest you imagine this is a politically correct Guardian euphemism for big girl’s blouse, I mean it quite literally. Customer research published on Friday by the John Lewis Partnership reveals that sales of the garish garment have leapt 1000% this year, driven by their popularity among young urban modern males (I will spare you the marketeers’ acronym.)

The news clashes rather with the current New Statesman, guest-edited by Grayson Perry, who contributes an essay called The Rise and Fall of Default Man. The article, like its author, is mischievous and provocative, interspersed with moments of brilliant insight. Much of the essay is taken up with the symbolic and cultural power of the dark grey suit and its inseparable associations with authority and power. These hegemonic tendrils have extended far beyond their cultural home, so that even where power is not wielded by the white European male, middle-class and heterosexual, those in charge still don the same robes.

Leaders of politics and commerce from six continents adopt the look. Women who achieve power – think Angela Merkel or Hillary Clinton – conform with only the faintest tweak into the charcoal suit. This conformity seems to scream that even if the individuals at the helm may vary in appearance or identity, they still navigate from the same map, one that is resolutely wealthy, male and western.

So where does the floral patterned shirt fit in? Very easily. The suit and tie is but the visible outer layer of a package of masculine gender norms. The same satanic contract demands stoicism and a stiff upper lip, the denial of vulnerability and weakness. Just think about how a tie is worn, what it represents – even the meaning of the word itself. The dress code both stands for and contributes to a stifling dehumanisation that has innumerable toxic effects on men’s health and wellbeing, not to mention consequences for those we live alongside.

Masculine gender norms constrict like a fist, and the tighter it squeezes, the more that contrary bubbles tend to pop out. Every decade has seen some sort of petty cultural rebellion against the enduring power of the grey two-piece. Remember the preening metrosexuals of the 90s, the new romantics of the 80s, or punks with their performative anti-fashion a few years earlier?

When I hear that affluent young professionals are splashing out on floral print menswear, I do not sense the demise of the tie and grey suit. On the contrary. I take it to be a rather desperate over-compensation, like the socially awkward youth who dons a fedora as an off-the-peg personality. The flamboyant Saturday night streetgear is not an alternative to the sombre threads of Monday morning, but a brief release at best.

As Grayson Perry notes, such is the fierceness of the grip of these masculine norms that a man who makes the slightest deviation – such as a pair of stripy socks or an unusually patterned tie – is likely to be branded an eccentric, a character, even a radical.

If it is true that we are so attached to the power of the sombre suit and everything it represents, what would that imply? Are we culturally, politically and psychologically trapped into accepting a dominant norm?

Perhaps we can construct a little testable hypothesis here. If Perry is right, then even in times when we consciously believe we want profound change, we will still default to our expectations. Supposing in our frustration with the establishment, we offered our attention, our faith, our votes to a radical alternative. What would that look like? It would probably look like a 50-year-old straight white man in a charcoal grey suit with a background in finance and commerce. He would be different, not because he represents different lifestyles, different backgrounds, different economic interests. He would be marked down as a refreshing alternative because, say, he enjoys a pint of beer rather than a glass of port.

Should such a character emerge on the scene, it would doubtless be hailed by other middle-aged, straight white men – and those who adopt their garb – as a dramatic departure, perhaps even an earthquake in our political culture.

But no. I can’t think of anyone either.