“These photos were taken at the Chap Olympiad,” writes Claire Banton. “I’d travelled down from Teesside to take my father Ian Banton along. On the walk from Goodge Street station we were approached by a local down-and-out, who asked my Father the location of his penthouse – so can we assume (despite the fact he was wearing a duvet as a cape) that our attire met the required standards?” Madam, we are confused – is this a photo of you with the down-and-out or your father?
“Wot-ho, Wot!” wrote Jon West. “See attached mimeograph of self, please advise if Chappist.” The problem here is not so much a sartorial one but one of photography. Could this would-be gentleman not have stepped away from the plastic children’s toys and the smelly dog cushion? Then again, would it have made any difference?
“Having married several years ago, and thus having formal daywear in my wardrobe, I have been wearing morning dress to pay my respects to the fallen on Remembrance Day for some time now. I think it appropriate. The morning dress is standard, but in fitting with Armistice, it is rigged with my corps tie, service medals and obligatory poppy.” We didn’t realise Oddjob could speak, let alone write.
These gentlemen have made a passable stab at Chappishness. But what is more impressive is their invisible waistcoats and ties, allowing the curtains of a rather shabby B&B establishment to show through their bodies. Well done!
“Came across this chap perching at the local rugger club,” writes Philip Jackson. “I couldn’t help but notice the attention to detail, with the co-ordination of the toe warmers and the handkerchief; I do believe the only improvement that would enhance his chappishness would be some well groomed facial hair.” We do indeed believe some rather more extensive improvements could be made, both to this man’s attire and to your life. You could start by finding better things to do than photograph strangers at rugby clubs.
Is this a game of Cluedo that has gone disastrously wrong, and resulted in Major Douglas Vincent Yant (Ret’ard) being shot point blank in the drawing room? Or are we simply getting our hopes up?
Richard “Richie” Paradise was so ashamed of his wedding attire that he couldn’t even face the camera. Quite right too. This is the sort of suit one might get divorced in – if one wanted to impress upon the beak how years of marriage had severely impaired one’s sartorial judgment.
Imagine being upstaged at your own wedding by the chauffeur of the vintage car you hired for the day. That is exactly what happened to Mark Hutchinson-Lyons. When the bride throws her bouquet after the ceremony, it is supposed to be caught by one of the bridesmaids, not land on the groom’s lapel, missing his buttonhole by several inches.
“This photograph was taken of me during a lull between pheasant drives,” writes Huw Mitchell. “Where is your manservant proffering the freshly loaded partner to your shotgun?” I hear you ask.” More to the point, where is your tailor? Did you shoot him too? If so, he fully deserved it.
“Our friend Mr. Moment,” writes Carol Tennet, “turned 50 this year and decided, perhaps with your influence, that he needed to be more of a grown up.” Yes, and when is he going to start that?
At a vintage festival on the South Bank in July 2011, this young fellow declared himself to be 17 years old and a devotee of this publication. He had turned up to the event on a scorching July day wearing a top hat and a fur coat. We knew then that Zack Pinsent would retain an important role in the development of this publication, and he has. He now, aged 23, runs his own bespoke period tailoring company www.pinsenttailoring.co.uk
Good heavens. The eye, naturally repulsed by every item of this man’s clothing, is drawn away, to anything else in the room…and alights on some sort of rodent enclosure, a print of one of the lesser St. Ives School artists, and a Ken Follett novel. Life in this household is just one endless round of misery, it would seem.