Hieronymous the Anonymous

Ode to winter woollies

Winter has hit Brisbane – winter being a relative term. My readers in Melbourne will have a different idea of winter, and those in the frosty parts of the northern hemisphere a different conception again. Still it’s official, the Courier-Mail says so: winter has struck.

Winter, as I look out my office window, is a blue skied day of around 19 degrees. To be fair, it is a chilly 19 particularly when the sun disappears behind a stray cloud. And the cool wind takes it degrees lower again. Still, it is no Melbourne winter.

I guess there is much to be grateful about that. You can’t complain at sunny 19 degree days in the dead of winter. Still there is something I am wistful about: winter fashion. I have, during this brief ‘cold’ snap taken full advantage of the conditions and swabbed myself in the vast collection of jumpers and jackets I brought with me from Melbourne. Being a thoroughly Melbourne boy, I love them, love all fashion really but winter fashion most of all for the expressive scope it allows.

I guess it’s reasonably well known that Brisbane is not a fashion spot. It’s not bogan-ville, but there is not really much call for fashion: some nice short sleeve shirts, the formal shorts, a few sets of long pants and the odd jacket is just about enough to get you through. In a way I feel out of place – someone actually said to me the other day that I dress like a Melbournian. You mean stylishly, I almost said in response.

I don’t mean to be disparaging. People here dress fine, it’s just that I miss the elements of Melbourne that make fashion more important; and I miss the excuse to get out and dress that way. I look upon the piles of winter woollies stacked up in the top of my wardrobe and know most won’t get a wearing until I get back to Melbourne again. I am wearing the same coat today that I took to NY, but I’m wearing it with only a shirt under it. The window of opportunity for clothes like this is pretty small I gather, another fortnight maybe, maybe less. And so I have to make the best of it and rug up as if I was in Melbourne.

It’s odd, never figured I would miss those polar days in the outer at the MCG – but right now just the thought of slipping on the extra thick woollen jumper and a winter coat seems very comforting.

Fashion nazi

When you think about it, there are million different ways people can be categorised. Some are morning people, and some night. Some like mayonnaise on their sandwich, while the rest avoid it like the plague. Some people prefer having a bath to a shower (or if you're a Pom, neither). Some say tomayto and some say tomarto. And there are those who wear chinos, and those who don't.

I'm very much a non-chino wearer. There is something about the very existence of them that gets on my goat (to use a phrase I've never quite understood). Chinos are the very embodiment of bland mediocrity, neither casual or formal, nor indeed fashionable, they are worn by those with limited imaginations and neat hair. It is that aspect that most riles me. Why, oh why do people strive so for relaxed and comfortable nothingness? I find it hard to believe I have much in common with serial chino wearers, no matter how pleasant they are. It's a look: chinos with a neatly pressed polo tucked into them, boat shoes perhaps, and a glib, superficial smile as if the shares are doing nicely.

And yet I have a chino dilemma.

It's unusual that chinos would ever really figure in my thoughts. Ever since this Brisbane thing has come up though I've found many odd trains of thought passing through my mind. This one is apt though, something I must ponder. I am now a consultant and about to move to Brisbane. Brisbane is a city with a less formal fashion culture than Melbourne; and consulting often goes hand in hand with a more relaxed attitude to dress. The reality of this is that I've now got to create a 'smart casual' wardrobe.

Smart casual is a concept I've always struggled with a little bit. Maybe that's because of my personality. Like my driving, which is either flat-out or cruising, my fashion sense has always been high end or bum. Anything in between has always seemed a bit of a waste of time.

And so I have about three active suits in my wardrobe, which I am very fond of. I have about twenty shirts to got with them. And I have nearly thirty silk ties, all of which I am unnaturally attached to. Eyes may be the window to the soul, but ties are an expression of personality - and mine, I hope, express style and flair. I have a pair of shiny black brogues, and a gorgeous pair of chocolate brown lace-ups with a blunt toe. When I dress I do so thoughtfully, putting together the ensemble with care. By the time I walk out the door I feel almost as if I have donned a suit of armour, so impregnable do I feel.

That's the high-end. The bum is the rest of the time - jeans, t-shirts, favourite jackets, maybe a favourite pair of Merrells, very casual with maybe a very subtle hint of style. And though sometimes I may dress it up a little, the focus is always comfort (though I love clothes).

Now, though, I must find something in between. Something stylish in that bland middle-ground, something individual. I don't know exactly how I'm going to do that, but I know I won't be buying any chinos.