“When I first wrote the book, it was because this was an untold story, and one which I firmly believed (and still believe) had come to an end. A wondrous tale of guttersnipe dandies rising out of post-war Britain to create incredible scenes and styles,” Robert Elms explains to Clash. “I also realised that both myself and my family had lived all these looks so I had a personal tale to tell.”
His memoir, ‘The Way We Wore: A Life In Threads’ was initially published in 2005 and was met with high praise from the likes of Paul Smith (“A bloody brilliant book”) and Tony Parsons (“The Fever Pitch of urban street fashion”), as well as members of the public who wrote to Elms to express their gratitude for sharing what they saw as their story.
“It was as if they had never expected anybody to actually chronicle this stuff in a proper book, as if clothes were not deemed worthy of such exalted attention, and their passion was unimportant,” he writes in the recently republished edition.
In the decade since, nostalgia for scenes and trends past has continued to infiltrate modern culture, from Buzzfeed lists that demand you see these '26 Things That Will Remind You Of Being A Grunger’, to J.W. Anderson reclaiming Steven Miesel’s 1997 Italian Vogue editorial for his Loewe campaign debut; on screen, Shane Meadows’`This Is England’ (and the Channel 4 mini-series’ it spawned), and Elaine Constantine’s ‘Northern Soul’.
Similarly the release of Viv Albertine’s memoir last year, ‘Clothes Clothes Clothes Music Music Music Boys Boys Boys’, in which The Slits’ guitarist narrates her life pre, during and post band. While perhaps a more personal affair, like Elms she recounts the clothes that accompanied the life, even closing it with a list of songs that soundtracked each era (something Robert too did, on the suggestion of Independiente records’ David Boy).
“I think there is so much nostalgia because in terms of street style, music and fashion, it was better back in the day. Everything else was worse, but clothes and clubs were so much better,” he offers. It’s an argument asserted throughout the book, which begins with the definition of his brother as a Mod.
Reminiscing is nothing new though, of course. Indeed The Face – the style title Elms joined three issues in at the beginning of the 80’s – covered ‘The Seventies: The Decade That Taste Forgot’ as early as February 1988; Robert Elms was still noted on the masthead as a contributor. In the fashion section, similarly dubbed ‘The Way We Wore’, Jon Savage writes of individually sewn names (on blousons) as “a Seventies idea of the Fifties”.
For his part, Elms focuses on menswear, 1965 to the beginning of the 90’s: “Because I am a male, but more importantly because true street style was always male driven. From Teddy boys through mods, skins, soul boys, etc, the trouser tribes were defined by what men, or more accurately teenage boys wore, usually on council estates and football terraces.”
“It had very little to do with designers,” he continues, “It was rising up from the streets not down from the catwalks. I have little or no interest in designers, whereas I love tailors. Savile Row is still the benchmark.”
Towards the end of the book he describes late 80’s club culture as “a mass market coffee of a youth culture, with the sloppy gear to match” and he stands by that today.
“I haven’t set foot in a nightclub since house ruined everything, but as far as I can see there has been little in the way of creativity,” he states, “Lots of interesting retro stuff and some nice beards, but nothing new and coherent to add to the lineage of great British youth cults.”
You get the impression the man who gave Spandau Ballet their name might classify Richard Mortimer’s BoomBox (2007) primarily as imitation, and the London School of Economics alumnus (p199 recounts sleeping in the library in full Blitz attire), would surely be disappointed by After Skool Club, the former indie night that packed out the university’s student union every Saturday until 2009.
“Were I a teenager now I suspect I would be deeply conservative,” he reasons, “and I would definitely despise all the big global brands. I would also avoid suits which are too tight and make you look like a Saturday night TV presenter or a footballer. Tattoos too are just too tacky.”
The one time voice of Covent Garden tube station (which falls in the borough of Camden, of which he proudly resides today), Elms isn’t a fan of technology but does have Twitter (one ‘official’ account for his BBC London radio show, another private account on which to talk Queens Park Rangers), and reckons the internet is disastrous for teen creativity.
“Youth cults are like mushrooms, they grow best in dark, dank places out of sight,” he muses. “Everything is now put instantly into the glare of social media and killed off. The Blitz could not have germinated in the way it did if people were posting it on Facebook. The Internet has made everything too easy and egalitarian, everybody can get everything.”
Instead, he believes, youth culture should be tough and elitist: “It needs a good Steve Strange like doorman keeping the unfabulous out.”
Clothing too, of which TWWW is filled with corresponding anecdotes – where you bought which item, what would give you cause to avoid a certain area – no longer possesses the power to shock: “We live in a much more tolerant, inclusive and peaceful society, which in general is a very good thing. But very bad for stroppy teenagers who want to upset people with what they wear.”
Asked if he kept any of the gear he says not, responding instead that, “they were made to be worn, and worn out. It would have been financially wise to look after my McLaren/Westwood Seditionaries stuff though. I had loads, bondage suits, boots, T-shirts.”
Their fate? “All left in a squat in Tottenham.”
Words: Zoe Whitfield
'The Way We Wore: A Life In Threads' by Robert Elms is available now, published by Indie.
—-
Buy Clash Magazine
Get Clash on your mobile, for free: iPhone / Android