Dress Sense

It’s funny how much we judge people on their clothes. With the exception of looks, they’re the first thing we use to form an opinion of someone before meeting them. This is because experience tells us that a person's dress sense is a reflection of their personality. A smart suit and tie, for instance, is likely to be worn by a motivated, disciplined individual, whilst a baggy shirt and jeans are more suited to a free spirit. Clothes therefore are a means of self-expression and often a tool for cultivating a deliberate image.

There are exceptions of course. Uniforms, for example, are intended as identifiers for certain groups rather than reflections of the wearers' personality. It is doubtful, thus, that policemen or firemen would actually choose to wear their bulky outfits when off-duty.

Yet it would be wrong to presume that a uniform cannot reflect the values of a collective body. The exceptional standards of the Armed Forces, for example, and the pride with which they carry themselves are expressed in the immaculate service dress they put on for ceremonial occasions. Likewise, and at the other end of the spectrum, it is arguable that the cheap, garish boiler suits of prisoners reflect the wearers' status in society.

What therefore to make of Eton’s famous tailcoats and pinstriped trousers? They are an emblem of Britain's public school tradition, and embody on the one hand the school’s many centuries of tradition and on the other its unashamed ethos of elitism and aspiration.

It goes without saying though that none of us actually wear anything remotely like the uniform when we have the choice. Evenings and weekends are the time for something more casual, comfortable and frankly normal!

Given the demographic from which most of us are drawn, it is surprising that there is a real diversity in people's dress senses here. A stroll around the school on a weekend will reveal several distinct styles on show. These might include:

Sloaneys – who deck themselves out in brightly coloured trousers, and loafers whatever the weather. These lads fuel the toff stereotype and carry an irrational dislike of t-shirts. Membership of this group conditional on possession of a dinner jacket.

Country bumpkins – the Sloaneys of the outdoors, they own multiple items of tweed and love to accessorise with flat caps. Acclimatise to rain with a Barbour jacket (no imitations) and Hunter wellies. Can tell you where bacon comes from.

Rude bois – for those boys tortured by the guilt of their privilege and determined to be as normal as possible. Staple costume is best described as ‘chavvy’: hoody with the hood pulled up, tracksuit bottoms (ideally 3-stripe) and an aggressive swagger. Not for the uncool.

                                                                                                                

Hipsters – lovers of everything alternative, they sport skinny jeans and untucked shirts (with the top button done up of course). Best accompanied by an edgy haircut and working knowledge of indie music. Unsuitable for the fat or those who like smiling.

Gym bunnies – exercise freaks with a penchant for wife-beaters, lycra and anything vaguely revealing. Do not approach with question: ‘Do you lift mate?’ Likely to engage in random displays of strength.

Of course, a few of these looks are very context specific. For example, the gym bunny style is only really acceptable before or after a massive sesh, whilst a sloaney or hipster costume is best used on visiting girls.

If you’re wondering which category among these I fall into, I can say I’ve never attempted to imitate any of them. The reason for this can be traced back to my first half in F block. I was nearing the end of third or fourth week and realised, almost suddenly, that my worries about not fitting in or struggling with the work had disappeared. In reality, I had made friends very quickly, and with the odd exception found the work very manageable. Yet rather than settle into a happy routine at this point I must have thought it was all too good to be true. Consequently, I began to search for things that might ruin it all, and settled on my clothes.

Until this stage in my life my standard outfit had consisted of a pair of corduroy trousers, a collared shirt and a woolly jumper. These were recommended to me by my mum, who also purchased them, and since no-one at prep school had ever commented negatively on them I was oblivious to their relative coolness.

But now, with a discerning eye, I saw that they were completely unlike anything that anyone else at Eton wore. Cords and woolly jumpers were, quite frankly, the type of things an old man or boy from the 50s would pull on. I feared therefore that if I didn’t change my look soonish one of the older boys might pick up on it and start to tease me.

So it was that I trotted down to Windsor the next Sunday afternoon armed with all the money I possessed. It was just enough to buy a navy pair of jeans and two jumpers which more or less resembled the type my friends wore. I hoped my wardrobe change would go unnoticed, and fortunately it did, although I was forced to wear the jeans permanently until the next installment of money.

Looking back now it’s slightly sad to see how paranoid and insecure I was. Yet at the same time it is always hard to be a new fish in a big pond, where your main priority is to fit in. Although three years have since passed, but my outlook on fashion has regrettably not changed. It is guided more by a fear of being mocked than by what I might like to wear. As a result I shun any bold style, be it sloaney or rude boi, and play it safe with a t-shirt-jeans-jumper combination.

Perhaps my conservatism comes from the fact that I know that my friends know what I wear. If, for instance, I were to suddenly rock up one day with a completely different look I would doubtless be accused of being someone that I wasn't. I hope that at some point in the future I end up in an environment where my sartorial history is not common knowledge. This, then, will be the time for reinvention. But till that day I'll just be the normal me!