Readers submit themselves to the ultimate sartorial assessment. Please send photographs to chap@thechap.co.uk
“Why of course I am,” writes Gary Horsfield, “except once a week I let my Chap tie clip down and go Tap Dancing with the Jolly Boys.”
Sir, patch pockets on a blazer with no badge, no pocket square and no shirt cuff showing suggests you have let down a lot more than your Chap tie clip, which incidentally is on a rather nice swing tie.
William Walker is combining dangerous weaponry with alcohol – he must be in training for The Chap Olympiad. He also reads books on Chinese interior design and plays music on CDs, so he must be a Chap.
“I submit this candid snap,” writes Nick Thomas, “taken by my good lady wife at the recent Oxford Saturday of Eights on the bank of the river Isis. She was there for the racing. I was not.”
Sir, your lack of interest in allowing the observance of sporting activities to interrupt your consumption of Pimm’s automatically qualifies you as a Chap. Your combination of linen, club tie and co-ordinating (but not matching) pocket square merely rubber stamps the whole qualification.
Lord and Lady Fook
“Purchased your fabulous publication whilst on hols in Sheringham,” write Lord and Lady Fook of Fook Hall, Nottinghamshire, “which we confess was purchased entirely on the strength of the glorious Joan Collins adorning your cover. At least consider us for our fabulous GSD Taser Von Rocka, still a pup at 10 months old.”
We are as curious as Von Rocka about what is in that canvas shoulder bag worn by ‘Lord Fook’. Could it perhaps be his missing epaulettes, insignia and pocket square, or just some tasty bones?
“I happened to bump into this group of gentlemen,” writes Dominiek Dendooven, “at the daily Last Post ceremony at the Menin Gate in Ypres, and they willingly posed in order to spread their sartorial standards.”
The standards of these gentlemen is impeccable, especially the chap holding the wreath with his rakishly angled vintage Fedora and detachable collar. Why they allowed themselves to be photographed with a man standing on a pair of house bricks is a complete mystery.
“Please find enclosed a few snaps of me on a recent holiday on the Nile,” writes Adrian Sensicle, “on board the glorious Steam Ship Sudan.”
Sir, we are pleased that you adopted local costume during your Egyptian voyage; one should always return from the land of the pharaohs with at least one fez.
“Please appraise my attached photo taken at this years Royal Regatta at Henley,” writes Paul Nancollas. “I was there in the pursuance of my duties of (in the common parlance) producing content for Mr Logie-Baird’s infernal machine. Please excuse the matching tie and square, I dressed in a hurry.”
Sir, your pantaloons are dangerously close to de Nimes, your shirt has an unpleasing collar fastening and no cufflinks, and you aren’t wearing any socks (nor proper shoes, for that matter). Thus attired, you may have been granted ingress at a youth hostel in Bled, Slovenia, but we are surprised that Henley let you in.
“My name is Shehla Choudhry and I would like to share some pictures of my boyfriend Neil, who I have been with for 4 years. Since the first time I met Neil, I have always been impressed with his great sense of dressing and they way he carries himself. However, he strongly disagrees with me on this subject, so he challenged me to contact you and send his photos to see if you feel same as me. Of course I’m keeping this a surprise until I get a response back.”
Madam, I think we are with Neil on this one.
Russ and Sara Nash looking cruise fabulous aboard the QE2, hopefully on their way to somewhere that fine tailoring and debonair accessories are appreciated, ie the Captain’s Table.
Richard Edmonds is something of a beachcomber. On this occasion, having emerged from a bracing nude swim and finding that his clothes had been stolen, he had to cobble a temporary outfit together from bits of debris found along the shore.
What could be more pleasant than a pint of iced water on a windswept beach in the middle of winter? In Randolph Taylor’s case, it would be a jacket that matches his trousers, a pair of braces and a set of cufflinks. Nice bow tie and boater, though.
“My wife took this picture of myself (with buttonhole flower) and my friend Smythe (he is holding Sadie dog’s lead) at our friend Clarke’s wedding,” writes ‘Tinker’, providing reams of useless information. He went on to inform us that, “whilst it isn’t visible, the lower button on the waistcoat is of course undone.”
Smythe is trying to alert the photographer to the fact that Tinker’s waistcoat is a formal one, and therefore the bottom button should not be undone. Good old Smythe. He’ll spot the brogues with Morning Dress next.
“For her 21st birthday my eldest wished for a holiday in Ibiza,” writes Dean Temple, “so her mother and I duly obliged and here’s a pic of me by the pool. I wore this rather natty shirt because it meant I could forgo my necktie. Jacket by Alexandre of Savile Row, silk pocket square from our friends at Suiter Bros of Belfast.”
And from whence, sir, may we ask, did you acquire a cravat fashioned from pubic hair?
