Christmas Man

Dressing with style at Christmas is a tough one. With all the lights and glitter and what have you, it’s tempting to succumb to the lure of the season and go for the sparkly or shiny. Oh, and no novelty sweaters, please (see left)
Like the best-dressed Christmas tree, less is more. A little discreet colour and sparkle here and there – the raffish pocket handkerchief or cravat, some sparkly cuff links – is great for party wear.
I think the jacket is the perfect party item rather than the full suit. You don’t want to look too “just come from the office” and this year there is a range of examples shot with a touch of the exotic and unusual.
By all means go for that wild brocade number, or the astrakhan collar if you’re brave enough, but velvet is on the rails of all the top designers this season: Paul Smith, D&G, Amani. Even M&S has a decent enough blue version. Yes, they’ve been around for a while but the shawl colour, in satin, is the seasonal update. Two or one-button is best, of course. Halston does a particularly fine looking version in a smokey hue, available in Harrods.
There’s something about velvet that’s perfect for the winter party. It’s plush, rich-looking – and ladies will no doubt want to stroke it. All good.
So what to wear with it? If you’re the peacock type go for some striking trousers: I think something with a check (not too golfy, mind) looks good, and Etro the Italian fashion house that does natty things with colour and pattern does some muted paisley affairs that are fun. If you want the really casual look, the ubiquitous dark jean is passable but uninsipired.
Now the shirt. Let’s pass on the big-collared, loud-print, open- to-the navel, option - unless you really want to look like the love child of Graham Norton, Simon Cowell and Harry Hill.
The head-to-toe all-black look – and I don’t mean dressing like a Kiwi prop-forward - is a tad passé and makes you resemble a bouncer or someone on a perfume counter, but colours such as purple and lilac are uplifting at this time of year.
For real style, though, you can’t beat the classic, crisp white shirt. You can do the skinny tie, small lapel route – to be worn only with jacket lapels of similar width – but the shirt with a higher collar stand and bigger cutaway collar sits nicely under a jacket. Open a couple of buttons and It highlights the chest for the alpha male out to attract attention. Lounge lizards or Austin Powers wannabes can go for frills down the front
In the movie Steel Magnolias, Olympia Dukakis remarked: “The only difference between us and the animals, honey, is our ability to accessorise.” How true, Olympia. The devil is indeed in the detail.
The final touches to Christmas Man are a sharp multicoloured pocket handkerchief (Duchamp does them well), which acts a flash of colour to that all important breast area. Alternatively – but not both, please, - a cravat, tied in trad or a more rock ‘n’ roll manner, sets you apart from the herd. Don’t forget cuff links, of course, which can be slightly whimsical and glitzy at this time of year. Finally, for shoes, a black Chelsea boot is unbeatable style-wise.
Happy Christmas!

Jolly good, Jilly

How lovely that after being featured on the Iconic page in Attitude Magazine, Jilly Cooper saw fit to send a thank-you card. Nice. Old school, you see - proper manners.

Sometimes words just fail you...

Love you, Alan, sweetie, but I don't think I need to say anything, do I?

Mark's Buy of the Season

As you probably know, the military look and the big coat are big this season. The standout military coat is by Zara, a brown coat costing just £139 that is a complete rip-off of, sorry, looks a bit like one by Burberry. It's very World War II with a hint of Dr Zhivago and superbly made. When they first hit the rails in September the smaller sizes flew off the rails. Two weeks later, there were none to be had the length and breadth of the UK. Now they're back, so get in quick. My very posh and stylish chum in New York also bought one after I showed it to him. I finally got mine - and it's getting lots of praise. So what are you waiting for?

Yesterday I was mostly wearing...

Liberty floral shirt, moss green tie and belt, white jeans, pink moccasins (!) and khaki jacket.

Take that, gay cowboys

So Robbie and Gary think it's hilarious to have a spoof Brokeback Mountain vid for their new single. The best part of making up is when you're making up, goes the song, and after 15 years apart the two songsters suggest with barely suppressed smirks and lingering looks that they might be more than just chums. There were a lot of gay rumours about virtually all of Take That back in the day, so perhaps this is a sly reference to that now they're both married chaps (Robbie just recently). Brokeback Mountain was ultimately a very moving love story with a great deal of subtletly. This has none.

Pub opera anyone?

To the Soho Theatre this week to see a cracking new version of La Boheme. I'm not a huge fan of opera, though I used to go and see the more theatrical productions at ENO in the Eighties. I don't really know enough to appreciate the music but, more crucially, I find the psychology of the characters and plotlines simplistic in comparison with theatre. Take Puccini's La Boheme: in just five minutes, Rodolfo and the tubercular Mimi are swearing undying love. Bit OTT, really, but I guess that's opera for you.

All praise to OperaUpClose, then, whose modern-day, Soho-set version, with four casts of young (now there's a refreshing change for opera) classically trained singers, has been playing at the unlikely venue of the Cock Tavern Theatre in Kilburn, for a record-breaking 6 months before transferring to Soho Theatre, a venue with lively programming and reasonably priced tickets right in the West End.

Robin-Norton-Hale's captivating production - in which the second act café scene takes place down in the theatre bar, with cast and chorus mingling with the punters - is a complete delight. Definitely one for anyone who wants to give opera a whirl.

Thanks, D&G!

So Dolce & Gabbana reckon the best men's style is to be found on the streets of London, not Milan. Well I guess they would say that when they are launching their new outfits for Chelsea FC.

Nice, though, from those great arbiters of sexy style (if not always the best tailoring). Italian men are among the best dressed on the planet, with an insouciant sense of what looks good - but they tend to resemble Identikit fashion plates.

So London comes top when it comes to looking good, simply by dint of our sense of individuality and our ability to mix things up a bit. All very true but one of the biggest looks coming in is that of the Italian gigolo – all slicked-back hair, shirts open as far as decency will allow (or not) and sockless feet in slip-ons. Time to search for your inner lounge lizard.

Gok does men

Interesting to see Gok Wan do his first makeover on a bloke in last week's How To Look Good Naked. The chap in question certainly had his demons, having suffered from serious curvature of the spine but now lacking in confidence because he was so skinny. (Would that we all had such problems as being thin!) To bulk up he would wear layers of T-shirts under everything. But like most people on this programme, he suffered from his own perceived image of his body not reflecting reality.

Of course, when it came to dressing the man, Gok could have put him in anything and he would have looked great - especially the skinny suit he was given. Not exactly a challenge, then. I like what Gok does but perhaps he is less confident in dressing men. You'd think, as a gay man, it would be no problem. But then I could never dress women....

Roll up, roll up!

Is it just me, or is the fashion for rolling up the bottom of your trousers really annoying? Not only does it reveal an expanse of - often sockless - ankle (not the most exciting part of the anatomy), it shortens the leg line to stump proportions. Yes, it's another summer fashion best left to youngsters and those who have the physical resemblance to a rake, but still there are those on the streets who should know better.

Just take a look at the wedding pics of Swedish singer Peter Joback (should have been this year's entry to Eurovision instead of the dirge they sent) to his boyf in Stockholm last week. Not one but two sets of hairy ankle on view. This just won't do...

Let's be beastly to the English

I wouldn't normally comment on football as I can't abide it. Always have. Always will. I'd rather roll around naked in a vat of tapioca with Theresa May.

But the inept display by the England team in the World Cup just confirms that these days our footballers are a spoiled, overpaid bunch of lazy tossers who don't seem to have any passion or hunger when wearing the Three Lions shirt. And if that nasty Mr Capello tries to instil some kind of discipline, they yell boo-hoo, foul!

They couldn't even beat Algeria. In their first match, the excuse for our butterfingered goalie letting one in from the USA was about the new ball used this year. The Germans, it seems, have been practising with the new ball for months! It's not exactly rocket science, is it?

What palls most is the amount of money these guys are paid when the rest of the country is struggling financially and many are losing their jobs. Their performance is just an insult, a kick in the teeth. And, yes, footballers have short careers but they still do quite nicely, thank you. Have you ever heard of a poor ex footballer?

This all, of course, brings me to this year's Eurovision, a subject on which I'm on home rather than away ground. What happened in Oslo? Oh yes, Germany won and the UK came last. Perhaps Germany did well because they took some trouble in choosing their song and performer this year. Unlike us, they actually put in some hard work. I'm sensing a pattern here....

I am not Spartacus

Is it because of the rise of sword-and sandals-epics on film and TV that gladiator sandals have become popular with women? Well, now it seems, style fans, that men can get them too. Wearing them won't turn you into Russell Crowe (should you want to turn into a scruffy, arrogant, potty-mouthed Aussie), and will make you look like a complete prat.

I have a general gripe with summer footwear for men, even the regular sandal. Why should you end up paying a fortune for a few small bits of leather stitched together (Prada £250, Jil Sander £345, John Lobb £465)? Even at the cheaper end (Aldo, £70!) they're overpriced - and don't look that great. Feet aren't the most attractive part of the body, though the fact that I have a "criminail" infection on one big toe probably makes me as jaundiced about open footwear as the colour of the affected toenail (apologies).

Still, at least sandals can sometimes look cool and are a sight better than the ghastly flip-flop (often seen at this time of year with nasty baggy cargo shorts and a tatty tank top), which should ONLY be worn at the beach or on hols. In town they're definitely a no-no!

Why Oslo was priceless

And so the Eurovision glitterball has been packed away for another year.
But we can be grateful to the Norwegians, who were charming hosts, for dragging the songfest kicking and screaming into the 21st century and investing it with gentle humour. There were no endless shots extolling the virtues of their country (remember the travelogue that was Athens 2006?), folk dancing or trolls (apart from some of those performing).
For the interval we got a flashmob dance filmed around cities of Europe - and performed live in the hall by the 18,000 audience, plus between-act postcards featuring fans of all the nations - that made it an inclusive and very contemporary show. Which helped bring about a cool and modern winner in German Lena's Satellite. A great result for the contest.
Not so good for the UK, of course, whose last place was widely predicted the whole week thanks to a song that was definitely from the 20th century. That said, all credit to performer Josh who, for a relatively inexperienced singer in an intimidating arena, handled himself with charm and professionalism the whole week - even after the contest. What a trouper.
Pete Waterman expressed surprise at the size and media circus of the whole shebang. He might have considered that - or even watched previous winners - before he pulled the desperately tired That Sounds Good To Me from the back of his sock drawer.
So what will the BBC do next year? Probably more of same. We can only hope they'll pull their finger out. The rest of Europe expects something that reflects our world-beating pop music. That's why they won't vote for our sub-standard, old-fashioned entries - it has nothing to do with so-called political voting, as the German win proved.
Still, even the UK finishing at the bottom of the board again cannot dim the great memories of Oslo: the Georgian party at the fabulous new opera house, walking up the pink carpet to the welcome party at City Hall like it was the Oscars, and chatting to one half of Bobbysocks (Hanne) while queuing for a small £8 glass of wine during the final. No, we won't forget the exhorbitant Olso prices either - but Tak Norge all the same!

Hello, this is Oslo calling

This week Man About Town - as I am also known to some - is Man About Oslo. Yes. I'm here for the Eurovision Song Contest. It's my ninth year at the annual circus of schlocky horror and dodgy dancing in the name of pop music.

It's not camp at all really. Take last night and the official welcome party at City Hall. We had to walk up a big pink carpet surrounded by paps and TV crews - it was like the Oscars, and some of the outfits were tackily Oscar-worthy. My pointy white shoes, by the way, looked particularly fine on aforementioned carpet.

Then we were entertained by first Norwegian winners Bobbysocks, who are completely faboo, and then a gay men's choir called the, er, Faggotkur. It couldn't have been more camp if the mayor had said "Call me Brenda".

Anyhoo, The Mark of Style was beady-eyed re the fashion. There were some horrors, I can tell you, and some of the performers were OTT as you might expect in Eurotrash mode. Though the style of the night for the average Euroboy seemed to be the  little blazer (H&M, Zara et al much in evidence), skinny jeans and tie, plus the occasional waistcoat. There was a handful of bowties (and you know what I think about those). Yours truly was in in slim grey jacket and waistcoat, white shirt with cutaway collar, black tie, faded black skinny jeans and my "occasion shoes" - shiny, white and pointy. Seemples but classy, I thought.

More of the contest and songs to come. Just don't ask me who's going to win!

The history boys

I felt part of a major piece of history this week. And I'm not talking about the election and the well-hung Parliament.. 

To the Trafalgar Studios in London's fabulous West End to see Holding the Man, a play based on a cult Australian autobiographical book by Timothy Conigrave. It's a love story really, from when Tim fell in love with the football captain at his Catholic boys' school in Melbourne, their relationship through uni, drama school (in Tim's case), early gay politics and sexual freedom (again in Tim's case) - until both men died of Aids in the early Nineties.

I remember that time of fear (mine) and loathing (other people's) all too well. I came to London in 1982 and was able, for the first time, at the advanced age of 25, to enjoy the burgeoning sexual freedom for gay men. I'd barely had time to shake a big pink stick when Aids arrived.

Sex with another man at that time meant standing on opposite sides of the room waving at each other - wearing Marigolds. I've been having safe sex ever since - that's about 27 years...

So  a lot of memories came seeping back as I watched the production - which is also very funny and has Jane Turner of Kath and Kim fame, who actually knew Tim and his lover back in Oz, stealing many a scene in various roles.

When I looked around the audience there were a lot of young guys and I realised that this was actually a history lesson for them. It was a sobering (and depressing, age-wise) thought. The production also brings home the fact that the battle against Aids  - both medical and in terms of social attitudes    - may have been more or less won in this country, but that is far  from the case in other parts of the world.

This really takes the biscuit

I was gobsmacked by a recent TV ad for Belvita biscuits. According to Lisa Snowden and Johnny Vaughan, it's a "new way to eat breakfast" I'm surprised they didn't call it a "new breakfast system". It's a friggin' biscuit!
This after Vanish Extra Hygiene which advertisers tell us we must put in our wash or our sheets will be crawling with bacteria. Oh really?
It puts me in mind of a TV ad for some night-time drink back in the 1950s, which was claimed to combat "night starvation", whatever that was. It's amazing what ad types will come up with to sells us stuff we don't need. And don't start me on all that science guff in cosmetics ads...
In a related topic, I see that the Hairy Bikers now have their own range of crisps. Now I quite like Si and Dave (and I can't say that about many TV chefs), but I was just a tad wary on opening a packet of Prosciuto and Blue Cheese flavour (which still tasted a bit like smoky bacon) that I might find, well, a hair!

Today I am mostly wearing....

Slim grey one-button jacket by Filippa K of Sweden, grey waistcoat, white cut-away collar shirt and slim black tie with white horizontal stripes, plus faded black skinny jeans and black Chelsea boots. Simple but sharp!

That Mitchell and Webb Look

Interesting to see in The Times last week the summer fashion piece using the comedy double act of David Mitchell and Robert Webb as models. They even featured on the front page of the main paper (must have been a slow day) garbed in the cardy and shorts look, with comedy hankies knotted on their heads (ho ho). What's with that, anyway: if it's warm enough for shorts, why do you need a woolly?

But I digress. Further investigation of the piece in the glossy mag revealed them modeling - wait for it - check shirt and jeans. How original! The check shirt is so ovah, I can't tell you, but they cost £125 here. And a Dunhill pair of jeans were more than £300!

This drives me nuts. I know mags want to be aspirational and high-end but in these straitened times £300 for a pair jeans - which look not much better than a £30 pair from H&M or Uniqlo - is a joke.

By all means pay £640 for a cream linen Paul Smith suit (seen in another pic), which seems more reasonable, and to be fair the spread also featured a striped blazer from Topman. GQ has to be commended for this year doing supplements with H&M and Topman, showing you can mix high-end and high-street fashion

Shortlist (which I love, when it doesn't do whole spreads on "duffle" coats spelling it wrongly all the way through) usually takes an item of clothing and presents a range of prices, though recently it seemed to suggest that adding  a couple of pleats to the front of trousers (skinny flat front is out, apparently) now means they cost more than £200. That's fashion for you...