This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
In the early 1990s, designer brands were everything to a young lad like me, growing up in a small middle-class Midlands town in the heart of England. Thanks to two friends, I discovered style—and with it, the lure of brands that showed there was a more colourful and luxurious way of life than the cold, grey routine of nine-to-five drudgery and Friday night fish and chips.
It was thanks to those two Britpop-loving lads that I received my early education in the luxury. We were strictly entry level at this point, and thus confined ourselves to purchase what our meagre budgets would allow—T-shirts and fragrances by Calvin Klein, Paul Smith, Versace & Gaultier. We were not brand loyal: we just loved the allure of it all. As soon as payday arrived we would hit the streets of Birmingham and make a beeline for stores like Autograph, who is still trading in the same spot on Ethel Street all these years later.
Spending £45 on a designer t-shirt was a big deal back then, yet I did one Saturday when I picked up a Dolce & Gabbana that I loved to bits and eventually lost somehow in a house move years later. I do remember my hand somewhat shaking as I handed over my credit card to pay for that thing of beauty: after all, it was a lot of money. Add a zero onto what I paid and you’d have its market value now.
At the time, I was happy buying whatever I thought looked cool and I could show off to my mates. It was less about the brand and more about one-upmanship. And then, everything changed when I discovered Giorgio Armani.
To me, with my limited knowledge, it was style. Everything about the brand was cool. The design, the softly constructed silhouettes, the effortless tailoring, the subtle colour palettes, the logo, even the man himself—who seemed not of this earth.
I knew I couldn’t afford everything I wanted, so I pestered my dad, who was living out in Valencia and had a relatively well-paid job, to buy me Armani Jeans t-shirts, socks, and denim. Begrudgingly yet lovingly, he did. I may not have expressed it well enough at the time; but looking back now, I was absolutely grateful.
One purchase I remember very well was a pair of Emporio Armani blue cotton board shorts that dad bought me from a shop called Alfredo Esteve in Valencia. I still remember his disparaging look as I stepped out of the fitting room: “What on earth do you want those for? They look like potato sacks!”. But want them I did, and thirty years later (almost to the month), I still have them. The shop may have closed and I’m probably a size larger but they still fit and I wear them every summer. Quality always lasts.
Fast forward to when I first started working for an independent menswear store in the mid 2000s, and I was given an Armani suit by the owner as a sweetener to sell more of them: I couldn’t believe my luck, and wore it with pride for a number of years. Sadly—and rather foolishly—I sold it when I was short of cash one month, and still regret that I did.
To me, Giorgio Armani is the true inspiration to any man out there who wants to dress well—especially someone in his middle age as I am. It’s not about flashing the brand for all to see, and it’s not necessarily about dressing head to toe in it either. It’s the look he beautifully crafted for us gentlemen that we should all aim for. Keep it simple: wear a plain crew neck T-shirt in black or navy Supima cotton, a well cut suit with unstructured shoulders in a soft navy or grey flannel, and a quality pair of loafers in brown or black—or, like the man himself, a pristine pair of white trainers.
You’ll never look as good as Mr Armani did, and that’s not the point, but at least his inspiration and legacy will be a good starting point, as it was for me all those years ago.
Rest in peace, Giorgio, and thanks for the inspiration. I’m the gentleman I am today because of you and your style.
