“Wondered if you’d ‘ave the time to assess the sartorial credentials of this dandy in the underworld,” writes London Boy Lou. “What could be more indicative of one’s immense chapability than writing about oneself in the third person, eh?” A decent command of the English language? However, we are actually impressed both by Mr. Boy Lou’s fashionably unhyphenated double barrelled surname and his dapper backstreet gangster ensemble that, for once, is nothing like a character from Peaky Blinders.
“I don’t know whether you would consider any submissions from Germany,” writes Andreas Mandrysch, “but we are earnestly doing our best to keep up with the civilized countries.” Sir, your trouser cuffs fall short of their destination, namely the surface of your shoes. Your chum also displays garter, but he is wearing plus fours so should be. Is he German too? Probably not.
“I am writing to determine whether I am a chap or not,” writes Louis Newman. “I was told by a friend that I should most definitely send an email to your website. If you need to know what brands they are I can happily tell you.” No thanks.
No message accompanied Abra’s submitted photograph – and none was necessary. His flawless outfit speaks for itself and leaves no room for censure. Lack of pocket square – no problem. Earring – permitted. Turn-back cuffs on a Norfolk jacket – oh well, just this once.
In the prison where T.W. Hollier is kept on a life sentence, conditions for the inmates are harsh, to say the least. They are given ill-fitting clothes to wear and shirts with missing buttons. Socks are forbidden, and every inmate is given a conspicuous tattoo on their forearm. On the plus side, the wallpaper is very agreeable.
“Me and my wife at a recent wedding at Wynyard hall,” writes Mark Mountford. “Lovely to get spruced up and looking dapper.” Indeed – so why didn’t you?
“This is me perusing the Baedeker while awaiting the Lisbon city ferry,” writes Mark Bott. “Do I cut the mustard?” We cannot tell in mono whether your shoes are light brown, but given the accuracy and elegance of the rest of your outfit, we can assume that they are.
“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.