Andrew Kay: A dressing down

I’m out of the closet in oh so many ways …

Now I know I don’t look it (come on, go with me on this) but I am about to hit the ripe old age of 59. It’s not a milestone year I know – that comes in 12 months’ time – but it is somewhat daunting.

When I say I don’t look it, what I suppose I really mean is that I don’t dress it. I still have the wardrobe sensibilities of an art student and this became very apparent a few weeks back when I started to pack for my trip.

I’m not a fan of watching myself on the TV. Telly puts on ten pounds they say; what they don’t say is that it puts on ten pounds in every direction. I guess that self-image is based on a vision that you hold of yourself when you feel that you looked your best. Hahahaha – no chance of me hitting that 32-inch waist rack any time soon.

I was packing with a view to filming. That means a lot of clothes that can work in a variety of combinations to give the illusion of a vast wardrobe. Some days I need to change three or four times, which is obviously not possible with a 23 kilo baggage allowance and trousers that burst the 40-inch waist barrier – cloth is surprisingly heavy.

This time around I also had the problem of radical differences in temperature. Vancouver can drop to minus four at this time of the year whereas Las Vegas can hit 16 degrees.

In the end I opted for shirts over T-shirts and a light but very smart suit. With a selection of ties and cravats it seemed like a plan.

Twelve days, though, proved to be rather a lot of shirts. I’m not short of shirts, I have in excess of 50 which I know is rather too many. Many of these are of course of the colourful ‘Hawaiian’ variety – not suitable for smart dinners in fine restaurants but I hoped okay for treading the streets of Vegas.

Of the rest I chose a selection of plain, stripes and checks, rather a lot of checks, so many that it looked like a wardrobe hamper for a touring production of Oklahoma. Not inappropriate I thought and rather jolly. Maybe I should look into buying some leather chaps when I hit the States? No you’re right, maybe not!

To supplement this I packed a swimming costume, a pair of shorts, a pair of jeans and a warm coat – one with a zipper to ward off those cold pacific winds. I packed an umbrella too and scarf and gloves, not wanting to leave anything to chance. Of course there were the usual smalls but I won’t bother you with that.

It’s a sartorial nightmare and one that was highlighted when a colleague commented on my wardrobe in a less than complimentary manner. I brushed it off at the time but later I started to think, is it time for me to break out the comfy corduroys and woolly cardigans?

I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at the rack of shirts, the trousers in bright yellow and pink and the suit that Rupert Bear would not look out of place in. Memories of previous wardrobes came floating back – the Katharine Hamnett years, the body-map era, my long acquaintance with Paul Smith and a vast array of army surplus and vintage that would be the envy of so many Brighton clothing stores. It made me
smile. Now where did I put those dungarees?