In spite of not considering himself a global fashion trendsetter (though readers are welcome to challenge this view), the Diarist sometimes struggles to keep a steady grip on the ebb and flow of male fashion trends. The recent front-page image of Paul Mescal left him contemplating whether the stylist should have confessed their involvement in an encrypted phone call to the editorial desk. Concurrently, he grapples with the evolving style of the King of Spain, Felipe VI, who has been seen sporting short trousers with bare ankles.
Usually, the Diarist wouldn’t take note of such things. However, “Sarah,” a friend with a pronounced knack for fashion critique, had pointed this out – considering the king a style inspiration for many. “Fascinated with King of Spain’s fashion sense and his striking ankle,” Sarah had texted on a group chat alongside a snapshot of the king stepping out from a car, revealing a noticeable amount of bare skin between his cropped trousers and footwear.
King Felipe VI is unquestionably a handsome man, and his ankles, whether stunning or not, celebrated their 56th year in January. In the past, it was a commonly held belief that middle-aged or older men should consistently wear socks and should prioritize the overlap of trousers and socks for fear of exposing bare flesh.
Now, paradoxically, it’s acceptable for a middle-aged dignitary to publicly display his lower legs, while a youthful film star is urged to conceal his ankles with knee-high white socks, black patent-leather shoes, and excessively short shorts that hark back to the fashion trends of the 1989 FA Cup Final – as in Mescal’s case.
Sarah, whom we find basking on a beach in Algarve, sees herself and Felipe’s fashion motivations running on parallel tracks. She claims being on a beach holiday provides the most effective means to tan her calves. “Sun-kissed calves. Beautifully shaped ankles. You’ve got to put in the effort,” she remarks. Regarding Mescal’s attire, it did not witness approval from Sarah as she did the king’s. Upon sharing it with her, she simply responded: “Oh Lord.”
The distressing footage of a law enforcement vehicle mowing down a lost farm creature in England was difficult to view without further attention being drawn to every news item wrongly identifying the young beast as a “cow”. Despite being a considerable matter, it’s less significant compared to the intentional crash. Such lack of understanding about life on a farm could incite officers to resort to ramming a panic-stricken ruminant with an SUV as a way to control the situation. Furthermore, the animal involved – often incorrectly referred to as a “calf” – was in fact a 10-month-old female, a “heifer”. Yet this term seems to have fallen out of usage amidst city-dwelling English folk.
Fortunately, this particular heifer didn’t suffer a fate in the tanning process of leather production. The creature is, at present, noted to be hobbling but overall in good health.
Distressingly, this occurrence coincided with the bicentennial of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) establishment, an event I had recently documented (Diary, June 13th). Richard “Humanity Dick” Martin – a Galway-born founder of SPCA – would have correctly identified the animal impacted by the police vehicle. His significant 1822 legislation “Ill Treatment of Cattle Act” detailed “ox, cow, heifer, steer, sheep, or other cattle” as species no longer permitted to be treated cruelly. However, bulls weren’t included in these species, a wrong that had to be rectified in a later Act amid their suffering in the guise of amusement.
On a related note, while at The Hague the previous week, I reflected on adding an International Court for Crimes Against Fashion to the city’s existing legal bodies. I’m acquainted with someone who would be thrilled to preside over such proceedings. Readers might remember a recent image of me taken outside the International Court of Justice, featured in last Saturday’s Diary.
Feeling appropriately attired in a semi-formal coat procured from Massimo Dutti, coupled with a loosely buttoned shirt, and navy trousers with a 32-inch leg length that overlapped the hems above my dark socks, I was of the impression that my outfit was fitting for any honourable circumstances. Ensuing this, I shared a snapshot of myself, resplendent in this outfit, on our mutual group WhatsApp, making sure to include my critical friend. Not long after, she quickly responded with a critique from her sun lounger in Portugal, demanding in no uncertain terms that I should ‘shine your shoes!’