One of the minor matters that I have resented during the past few years has been the idea of dressing to a corporate standard. There are greater issues that have caused me angst but this is an easy one to address going forward. When I started t1ps my attire was T-shirt and shorts/jeans. When the office was in my home I used to work in my underpants. It was a time when life was simple, work was fun in that I did only what I enjoyed (mainly writing) and was – I think – quite good at what I did. And no-one told me what to wear. I remember Algy Cluff being a bit surprised to find me wearing Irish rugby shorts and a T-shirt with some vaguely controversial message across the front, but most CEOs judge you on your work, not on what you wear.
Gradually, the pressures increased to smarten up. I found a review of a talk I gave a long time ago where I was lambasted for wearing a crumpled shirt. Heck did the reviewer know that was an upgrade? Looking back I can see some inverse sort of correlation between freedom to wear what I want & to write what I wanted and my move to do other things and an increasing sense of frustration and unhappiness. However that was suppressed at the time. Maybe weight gain was a symptom of that.
And so, going forward, whatever I do it has to be on the condition that I will be looking rather casual as I do it. I guess that rules out a career at Morgan Stanley. Drat. But my lifetime love affair with the T-shirt can once again come out of the closet.
My first T-shirt arrived in 1975 and was a red creation with the word cocaine in a coca-cola logo format. At the time I had no idea what that was all about but I wore it often. It is, sadly, no-longer in my collection but maybe Louise Mensch MP has an one like it from her youth that she is keen to get rid of lest it gives her more crazy thoughts? Nor can I find the Springsteen Born in the USA Tour T-shirt I picked up at Wembley in 1985. I think my oldest T-shirt is a black (my favourite colour) wombles creation. It must be 20 years old and has been fit for the bin for at least a decade. It is almost as much rip as shirt. But, although I have no interest whatsoever in the early eco-warriors, that shirt is with me on this break.
What your T-shirt says, reflects your interests and tastes. Thus I wear a Viva Steyn (Mark) shirt with pride, several West Ham and Ireland shirts and a few from Israel. Yes I do “stand with Israel” as it says on the shirt. Sometimes you have to explain the logo. 48 seconds is the time it takes for the alarm to go for you to get into a shelter when a rocket sent from those nice “peace activists” of Hamas lands on an Israeli settlement. So I wear a 48 seconds T-shirt.
The “Empire Needs You” shirt (with a picture of Darth Vader not Lord Kitchener) reflects my intense interest in Star Wars, though of course it was Vader’s daughter (who would have understood my first ever T-shirt all too well), not Darth himself, who was my pin up. There is no “Piss off Argentina” shirt with me here but I will be wearing one from this September. Those of us with strong views on civil liberties and Austrian economics do not always find T-shirts to convey our sentiments and so I shall be designing a few for the shop on this site. They are for my wardrobe first, if anyone else wants one (and, amazingly, Piss off Argentina is selling) I am happy to assist.
Abbe Aronson has threatened to post on this blog photos of us as a couple (I still cannot remember anything happening, bar rejection, despite trying extremely hard) from 1986 in which, I think, I was wearing a Ramones Rocket to Russia T-shirt. Nothing changes, I sport the same design to this day. And darling Abbe is still not interested in me. Hey, Abbe: if I chuck the Ramones T-Shirt and try a Go-Go’s one instead might you change your mind? Can we finally get the beat or am I just beat?
After 4 weeks living from a rucksack, none of my clothes can remember what an iron looks like and I sense that most could do with re-acquainting themselves with detergent. And so with some very dirty Ireland rugby shorts and a very crumpled T-shirt I was surprised as I waited for the ferry from Corfu to Albania (a boat the size of a Thames pleasure cruiser, from where I am now writing, as it slips across the channel to dock in Europe’s fastest growing, low tax economy), when a man rushed up to me asking if he could take my picture.
Sure, whatever. At once his two sons grabbed my arms and made thumbs up signs and grinned like jackanapes. Whatever. Then they disappeared and it was a photo of me by myself. The man seemed terribly excited. Perhaps he thought I was someone else? Someone famous? Or maybe he had bought shares in Centamin Egypt (CEY) after my tip at 8p and had sold at 134p as I advised and just wanted to say thanks.
But no, my new Italian friend explained it was my T-shirt he loved. I looked down, not exactly sure what crumpled and smelly garment I was wearing and saw that I am today advising folks to “KEEP CALM AND SUPPORT WEST HAM” in the style of the WW2 poster campaign. It turns out that the man is a big admirer of Paulo di Canio. Me too. I love his footballing skills, his charisma, his flair and his enthusiasm and commitment. I am not quite such a fan of his politics (“I am a fascist not a racist” says Paulo who has a tattoo of Mussolini as well as a large West Ham tattoo somewhere on his body). Actually Paulo, sorry to say this but your politics stink but I would still love you to manage West Ham.
Anyhow, my career as a male model has started. Somewhere I shall appear with two grinning jackanapes, as well as alone, modelling a West Ham T-shirt on the facebook site of an Ultra from Italy. I suppose we all have to start somewhere.
PS About half the passengers on the ferry are a party of Polish schoolkids. I have no idea why they are here. They are being shepherded by a thirty something 5 foot 5 (guess) woman who just has the most enormous breasts on this planet. This is not me being a Dirty Old Man in noticing them. If you were here you ( whether male or female) would agree that you cannot avoid noticing a silhouette which just dominates the cabin. There is something not quite natural about her 48 G physique. This is not a matter that I intend pursuing in any way but I mention it en passant. And anyway, it is time to go. We are about to land in Albania.