If you’re feeling a little portly around the waist, I have some excellent news. Male corsets, aka waistcoats, are coming back. Partly because this autumn/winter menswear is going all smart (but only for one season), and partly because waistcoats are very big news in women’s fashion at the moment. And that’s bound to remind men that maybe they have a little vest (the tailor’s name for waistcoats; calling them this will show you’re really in the know) in the back of the wardrobe.
Lord Hattersley is ahead of a trend here. “He’s recently started wearing waistcoats,” says the political commentator Alan Watkins. “He didn’t used to, but has taken to wearing them quite a lot.” Sadly, Watkins couldn’t tell me whether Lord H is wearing the classic five-and-one waistcoat, or the more contemporary six-to-close style, or perhaps a heady combination of both on alternate days. Keep a lookout. It’s interesting to note, however, that as Hattersley becomes more anti-Blairite, he becomes more conservative in dress.
That a man should wear a waistcoat is, paradoxically, quite revealing. To Philip Parker, managing director of Henry Poole, erstwhile tailors to Charles Dickens and Benjamin Disraeli, among others, it shows that a man is “sartorially serious, and interested in the way he’s dressed”, but there’s more to it than that. Personally, I would watch a man who needs to double-glaze his belly.
A waistcoat is an excellent defence tool, which is why lawyers still wear them even though they are now un- necessary (men no longer need the pockets to keep their watch in, neither do they need the extra layer of warmth that a vest once so usefully supplied). “There’s something very comforting about them,” one law man said. “I can undo my jacket – which seems to show friendliness, openness – and yet still feel protected.”
One political pundit who must remain nameless said: “Politicians who wear waistcoats are the ones who know that if they drink or eat too much they’re going to spill the beans. The waistcoat almost acts as a reining-in device. Nicholas Soames, for example: if he’s had a bit too much to drink, loves the sound of his own voice . . . who knows what he might say?” (But then, this is a man who thinks nothing of having an extravagant five buttons on his cuffs.) Surely, if this were true, the whole of the House of Commons and the House of Lords would be in waistcoats. And they’re not. “Most politicians wore waistcoats when I started in the House,” says Watkins. “They stopped being worn in the 1960s, although Nigel Lawson wore them until the 1970s. Indeed, he wore a double-breasted waistcoat.” But then, before his diet, perhaps he needed that extra reinforcement.
A waistcoat-wearing man does attract particular attention: everyone suspects he is a bit of a show-off. These days this criticism is levelled at anyone who wears one at all; but historically it was said of a man who was flamboyant in his style of vest. Both Disraeli and Dickens were mad for colourful waistcoats. In those days, men’s clothes were generally all about cut and fit rather than fancy-schmancy fabrics and finishes. So the waistcoat was the only garment through which men could express much individuality. In 1835, Disraeli’s outfit caused one of his peers to say: “He was very showily attired in a waistcoat of the most extravagant pattern, the front of which was almost covered with glittering chains. Altogether he was the most intellectual-looking exquisite I had ever seen!”
Dickens, who was by all accounts the David Beckham of his day, was slated on his lecture tour of America in the 1840s for wearing waistcoats that were described as “somewhat in the flash order”. He was also demoted, being referred to as a “gent”, rather than a gentleman, because of his sartorial showing-off.
Ten years before this, feelings against extravagant waistcoats were running even higher. The Gentleman’s Magazine of Fashion reported that a “dandy” staying at a country house came down to breakfast wearing a “waistcoat of flowered marcella”. A writer from a rival magazine said he would give “50 pounds to see such a beast and 50 more to shoot him”. I’m almost grateful that today’s men’s magazines discuss Kylie’s bum.
Luckily, wearing a waistcoat will not elicit such a fatwa these days. But should you go for the five-and-one or the six-to-close? It rather depends on your pants. The former needs a higher-waisted trouser, otherwise you’ll get an unbecoming flash of shirt. The five-and-one is the style made popular by porky old Edward VII. As he got more and more well-fed, he found he couldn’t quite do up his vest, so he started to leave the bottom button undone (well, he had no choice). All his bum-licky associates started copying him to prove they were part of his gang. And you thought fashion tagging was a modern phenomenon?
The six-to-close is a longer waistcoat and is made to go with the more contemporary – lower-cut – style of trouser. It has six buttons and all of them are done up. But the really daring gent could do as his ancestors did in the 18th century. Then, the waistcoat was left unbuttoned, ostensibly to show the quality of the shirt underneath. But it also had a deeper, saucier meaning. The Tatler of 1710 reported that “a sincere heart has not made half so many conquests as an open waistcoat”. There may not be many sincere hearts left in parliament, but there is certainly room for more conquests. Which party will be the first to vest up?
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