The ADgenda: cold, dead-eyed Kooples

The week's oddest advert.

We've all heard that sex sells. Well, so does shared catatonic boredom if The Kooples adverts are anything to go by. You're sure to have seen them adorning the sides of buses in cities across the country - the hollow-eyed, sullen slouchers who represent a brand with a smugger than smug outlook on life.  The Kooples rely on the assumption that you spend your days coordinating outfits with the ultimate accessory, your impeccably dressed girlfriend/boyfriend. These Kooples also inhabit a strange world where same sex and mixed race relationships are non-existent and women are in thrall to their talented men – Cantona balancing a ball and blondie slouching on his BMX like an oversized child while their girlfriends stand idly by. 

The tagline declares something along the lines of "Stefano and Arietty have been together for five years" – each of those years cooler, hipper and more fashion savvy than the last. No morning breath, snoring, shout-whisper arguments in public places for them. No, the Kooples are here to show us that our aspirations are futile, however hard you strive you will never be as achingly beautiful a unit as these ethereal beings. 

Evidenced by the cool £87m they notched up last year, it seems a few of us are buying into this message. Walk past any of their stores and you're sure to see either an awkward looking couple dubiously eyeing the his'n'hers leather get-up, or a nervously determined singleton, head held high, weathering the "This is not for you" disdain that the brand so effortlessly oozes. Never has an advertising campaign delivered such a hefty kick in the teeth to all singletons, or to the ultimate sinners – a sartorially clashing twosome. Nothing says "relationship on the rocks" like a bomber jacket boy strolling next to a flowery dress girl. God forbid. 

It's hard to imagine daily reality for these impeccably turned-out twosomes. Dinner at a restaurant would resound with the clinking of cutlery – the universal sign for awkward social occasions.  Polite enquiries would be met with bizarre self-satisfaction: "How did you two meet?", "Well, I noticed that the angle of his cheekbones perfectly complemented the shade of my suede trousers and I knew he was 'the one'".  

The Kooples business model revolves around disdain – tapping into that primal need for approval hardwired into our systems since school days spent hankering to be one of the cool kids, left wanting it all the more when our efforts were rewarded with a withering glance. The only difference is now the cool kids seem faintly ridiculous, insistent on our attention as they stare down at us from bus sidings, like precocious children their eyes shout "Look at us! We're the ideal!" To which the average passer-by responds with a bemused acknowledgement. Quick, applaud the beautiful people before they start to stamp their feet. 

GETTY
Show Hide image

It’s obvious why Thais can’t resist our English footballers. But they want our schools, too

The only explanation is . . . our footer must be great and exciting to watch.

At Bangkok airport, sitting in the Club lounge, as I am a toff, I spotted a copy of Thailand Tatler, a publication I did not know existed. Flicking through, I came across a whole page advert announcing that RUGBY SCHOOL IS COMING TO THAILAND.

In September, Rugby will open a prep and pre-prep department, and then, in 2018, full boarding for ages up to 17. How exciting – yet another English public school sets up a satellite in Thailand.

But I was confused. Just as I was confused all week by the Thai passion for our football.

How has it happened that English public schools and English football have become so popular in Thailand? There is no colonial or historical connection between the UK and Thailand. English is not the Thais’ first language, unlike in other parts of the world such as India and Hong Kong. Usually that explains the continuation of British traditions, culture and games long after independence.

When I go to foreign parts, I always take a large wodge of Beatles and football postcards. I find deprived persons all over the world are jolly grateful for these modern versions of shiny beads – and it saves tipping the hotel staff. No young Thai locals were interested in my Beatles bits, but boy, my footer rubbish had them frothing.

I took a stash of seven-year-old postcards of Andy Carroll in his Newcastle strip, part of a set given away free in Barclays banks when they sponsored the Premier League. I assumed no one in Thailand would know who the hell Andy Carroll was, but blow me, every hotel waiter and taxi driver recognised him, knew about his various clubs and endless injuries. And they all seemed to watch every Premiership game live.

I have long been cynical about the boasts that our Prem League is the most watched, the most popular in the world, with 200 countries taking our TV coverage every week. I was once in Turkey and went into the hotel lounge to watch the live footer. It was chocka with Turks watching a local game, shouting and screaming. When it finished, the lounge emptied: yet the next game was our FA Cup live. So I watched it on my own. Ever since, I’ve suspected that while Sky might sell rights everywhere, it doesn’t mean many other folk are watching.

But in Thailand I could see their passion, though most of them have no experience of England. So the only explanation is . . . our footer must be great and exciting to watch. Hurrah for us.

Explaining the passion for English public schools is a bit harder. At present in Thailand, there are about 14 boarding schools based on the English public-school system.

Rugby is only the latest arrival. Harrow has had a sister school there since 1998. So do Shrewsbury, Bromsgrove and Dulwich College (recently renamed British International School, Phuket).

But then I met Anthony Lark, the general manager of the beautiful resort where I was staying in the north of the island. He’s Australian, been out there for thirty years, married to a Thai. All three of his sons went to the Phuket school when it was still Dulwich International College.

His explanations for the popularity of all these British-style schools included the fact that Thailand is the gateway to Asia, easy to get to from India and China; that it’s relatively safe; economically prosperous, with lots of rich people; and, of course, it’s stunningly beautiful, with lovely weather.

There are 200,000 British expats in Thailand but they are in the minority in most of these British-style public schools – only about 20 per cent of the intake. Most pupils are the children of Thais, or from the surrounding nations.

Many of the teachers, though, are from English-speaking nations. Anthony estimated there must be about five thousand of them, so the schools must provide a lot of work. And presumably a lot of income. And, of course, pride.

Well, I found my little chest swelling at the thought that two of our oldest national institutions should be so awfully popular, so awfully far away from home . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Cool Britannia 20 Years On

0800 7318496