Tights of Fancy

Fashion.  Yes, that's right.  Fashion.

You may think that I don't have any fashion sense, as I walk around in my technical tweed breeks (in a rather savvy green with a lilac check), hand-knitted wool socks from the Isle of Arran (dyed to match the aforementioned lilac in the aforesaid breeks), loosely done-up brown leather polo boots (the type with a zip on the front, in case you're interested), a cashmere-mix wrap over a simple white cotton shirt (with the sleeves rolled up of course), fingerless gloves, and a flat cap that belonged to my dear departed father placed firmly on my unruly hair (the cut of which the Duchess of Cornwall has now shamelessly purloined).

Yes, that one.

These items are indicative of my dress-sense – I just threw them on this morning after fighting the dogs to get the wrap back.  Each of them may have been expensive at one time, but they were bought back when I started university, and they're still keeping out the chill and muck of daily life here in Airnefitchie.  You can't argue with the quality.  My clothes are timeless investments.

I still have that hat, in fact.

So, you can imagine my bewilderment when I pop down for a visit to Edinburgh and everyone is wearing... the same thing.  No, not the same thing as I’m wearing; the odds against that are as astronomical as, well, a thousand Russians getting hit by a meteor.  No: the Edinburghers were wearing the same thing as each other.

Very lovely dear, but how're you going stalk deer in that?

It's an invasion of the denim shorts and tights; normally paired only with those odd ballet pump-type shoes, or awful worn-out ugg boots.  Now, that's all well and good, but we're not in Somerset during the spring, we're in SCOTLAND in WINTER.  I have to throw on a fur-lined Barbour just to keep the wind from leaking through the cracks in my heavy-knit wool jumper.  It's bitter and you have your arses hanging out below the hemline of your shorts and a pair of fashion tights on.  It's wet and you have on cardboard shoes, and/or a perfect environment for dry rot.

Mmm, foot fungus.

And, heaven forfend, sometimes they even forget the shorts!  Yes, I know they're 'leggings', but please, when I can see the pattern your knickers or the wrinkles on your wobbly bottom (whether you're fat or skinny), what you're wearing is tights.  Just tights.

Yes, I'd be pigeon-toed with shame too if I forgot my skirt.

One of the problems is that people equate the word ‘bargain’ with the word 'cheapness', and so they shop at the most appalling places.  A friend of mine, who will remain nameless, insists on only ever buying his smart shoes from some hideous discount shoe shop called Foot Zone, or some such, because they're ‘cheap and do the job.’  He usually boasts about getting them for about ten quid.  Henry, at the other end of the spectrum, insists on buying all his shoes from companies such as Shipton & Heneage, and they cost well over £100 each time.  So it sounds like my friend has the bargain, doesn't it?

Well, let's find out.  Henry has two pairs of boots he wears very often.  One pair were bought in 2001 for £140 from Shipton & Heneage and finally wore, not out, but down enough to make even tweed look shabby and so we gave them to a homeless person, as they were still very waterproof and have a few years left in them.  Henry's working boots (pictured below) are also from Shipton’s.  They were purchased in 2000, also for £140, and are still perfect.  That's £280 in the space of thirteen years (so we haven't had to cut back too much on the gin).  They also go with everything in his wardrobe, even his gloves.

And his shoes were perfect.

My friend's £10 shoes, for their part, are always wearing out.  We can normally hear him coming by the 'flap, flap' of his soles.  So, he ends up buying another pair.  Say he buys two pairs a year in the same thirteen year period, he spends £260.  Only twenty pounds less than my dear Henry.  Throw in the lost productivity entailed in always running off to the shoe shop, and the intangible effect of constantly looking like a fool in fallen-apart shoes, and Mr X’s bargain starts to seem rather more like a bargain with the Devil.

My friend's shoes are synthetic.  Everything is synthetic.  Upper, lining, insock, sole, everything.  Henry's boots have an upper of grain calf, a sole of rubber and are water-resistant.  They're also bench-made in Britain.  Even Wikipedia won't tell me where Foot Zone make their shoes.

Areas of pollution associated with the footwear industry have come predominantly from material suppliers.  Chemical processes during the manufacture of synthetic materials and textiles has had a negative effect on the environment, namely water extraction and pollution, although many chemical companies and tanners are working on it, the darlings.  That's not to mention the carbon footprint (no pun intended) of getting the shoes into the UK in the first place.

Be there in a minute!

I wear Harris Tweed for special occasions, Ness tweed for fun occasions and green British tweed for shooting occasions.  My gloves are fur-lined with British fur and made-to-measure at Chester Jeffries in Dorset.  My Regent Hunter wellies (in contrast even to some other Hunter wellies) are made in the UK.

Beyond buying local, why not try old?  Many of my cocktail dresses are from vintage shops.  We frequent eBay for second-hand finds with years of life left in them.  We also peruse charity shops.  You may not believe it of us, but how are we to remain rich if we keep spending money?  And if we spend money why not spend it on our fellow Britons?

Fashion.  Yes, that's right.  Fashion.  It should be timeless.  It should suit you and who you are.  Why walk around in what everybody else is wearing and then throw it out and start again?  It's not sustainable and you're just being a sheep.  No one likes being a sheep – especially in Aberdeenshire or Wales.

Constant vigilance!

Have your own style.  Your fashion is about what you stand for.

Why stand for cold lady-gardens and wet feet?

PS.  Henry wishes to express his deep disappointment that Shipton & Heneage decided to discontinue the 'Abbey' boot style.  Had they not done so, he would never have switched to Charles Tyrwhitt to replace them after he gave them away.