We all need a bit of Jeeves in our lives

I’ve been devouring a lot of P.G. Wodehouse recently as his books make excellent summer reading: at once light and substantial. Apart from the masterful prose and subtle satire, what I enjoy most are the sartorial pronouncements of one of his best loved characters, Jeeves. Often seen as the archetypal British butler – although to be more precise he is actually a valet or as he calls himself “a gentleman’s personal gentleman” – Jeeves quite regularly shoots sidelong glances at the wardrobe choices of his employer Bertie Wooster. Whether it’s hats, moustaches, spats or monograms, Jeeves is the standard bearer in the Wooster household.

But before you get the wrong idea, I am not suggesting we set up in ourselves some nasty, judgemental little voice that constantly questions our choices based on outdated Edwardian standards of dress. While I understand that Jeeves’ judgements stem from older, British concepts of elegance, taste and propriety, what I take from him is not a stubborn adherence to irrelevant rules and codes but a mature understanding of balance and understatement in a wardrobe.

Pitti Uomo 90: there I am, in the background, chatting with Ignatius Joseph. In the foreground, Jeeves’ worst nightmare. (Nice watch, though).

This issue really came to mind during my recent visit to Pitti Uomo in Florence where it looked to me like the return to classic elegance is under threat. The twice-annual menswear trade-show features a constant and growing stream of overdressed and over-accessorised men who would have given Jeeves seizures. My first day in Florence I encountered both ends of the spectrum. As I was crossing the Ponte Vecchio I came across a man, clearly heading to Pitti, in an all black suit. But instead of trousers he was wearing shorts, revealing bright green sock garters. On the other side of the walkway, paying no attention to this nonsense, was a septuagenarian Italian in an understated green-brown suit and dark brown suede loafers. Nothing about his outfit stood out, except for how elegant it was. This man’s style is the sartorial equivalent of listening more than talking. And talking instead of shouting.

My personal Jeeves is a voice in my head that suggests a simple linen pocket square instead of a puff, tie and boutonniere in matching neon orange. He is a voice of moderation and restraint in the name of elegance. However, I realise that this is all relative. My understated fedora is another man’s over-the-top straw boater. My bow tie, another’s exposed sock garters. But we live in a world of personal codes, not shared ones. Gone, thankfully, are the oppressive commandments and rules of the upper classes. In their place is…nothing. We are free to dress almost any way we wish. Therefore we each need to fill that void with our own criterion. And that is what this whole journey in style is all about: nurturing, developing and maturing our own personal Jeeves.

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