“Good heavens! The commissars of North Korea are on a wild rampage of censorship, brought on by the influence of Western pop culture. Perhaps they took offence to Megan Thee Stallion’s provocative appeal, or Emma Stone’s energetic bursts in Poor Things went down the wrong way in Pyongyang? Surprisingly, it seems to hinge on Alan Titchmarsh’s choice of outfit.
It’s difficult to perceive Titchmarsh, the unassuming Yorkshire-born horticulturalist, as a threat. True, in the years around the new millennium, he gained some notoriety for the risqué scenes in his successful novels, however, nobody seriously thought of him as a modern-day Marquis de Sade. With his practical pullovers and harmless vests, Titchmarsh is the epitome of the warm, cosy feel of mid-afternoon television. Many who studied the character of Alan Partridge cite him as a crucial influence, although Patrick Marber, co-creator of Alan Partridge with Steve Coogan, informed me that the primary inspiration was sports reporter Elton Welsby. It’s an unexpected twist to find him at the heart of a global controversy.
[ Patrick Marber: ‘Each good idea I’ve had, I’ve instantly had second thoughts about’]
Unbutton your cardigan. Cool yourself off with this compact variety of Gardenia. No scandalous revelation has emerged from Titchmarsh’s vicinity. The issue here is the revival of a sartorial battle that the rest of the world resolved four or five decades ago by the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Apparently, a televised showing of Titchmarsh’s ‘Garden Secrets’ in Korea censored the host’s jeans. According to the BBC, these trousers are perceived as a symbol of “western imperialism”. The blurry images don’t appear particularly provocative, as Titchmarsh opted for a relaxed, Clarkson-like jean fit.
“At 74, I find myself being compared to the likes of Elvis Presley, Tom Jones, and Rod Stewart,” he remarked. “I’ve never seen myself as a dangerous, subversive imperialist. Generally, people consider me somewhat warm and relatively harmless, so this has unexpectedly boosted my street credibility.”
It appears that the narrative of the ubiquitous blue jean has come full circle, as suggested by the events of the past week. Once viewed as an emblem of dissent, these garments have transitioned towards a capitalist uniform, replacing their rebellious aura with comfortable mainstream acceptance. Quite the ironic turn of events.
Initially making their entrance into the corporate and political arena nearly five decades ago via Gloria Vanderbilt’s pricey designer line, jeans saw themselves sported by the likes of Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan – albeit primarily during outdoor pursuits such as horse riding or chopping wood amidst the Allman Brothers Band. Come the ’90s, even indoors saw the likes of Bill Clinton and Tony Blair embracing the indigo fabric. Admittedly, there remain certain businesses and golf clubs that maintain a ban on denim, but the idea of it being a sign of rebellion has faded — much like the eight-track cartridge and the closed shop.
Yet, discerning the irony in this evolution is far from irrational. Before they became the talk of every town, denim jeans were meant for physical labourers. The garment finds its roots in Italy and India – the term ‘dungaree’ originates from the South Asian nation – but it was in the US where the now ubiquitous trousers found their footing as the preferred wear of farmers, miners and cowboys in the 19th century. The initial pair of jeans that we today associate with Levi Strauss & Co was first crafted in 1873.
It wasn’t until the ’40s that jeans made the leap from workwear to silver screen fashion, defining the ‘Western chic’ trend of the day. While stars like Joan Crawford would restrict their denim to ranch wear, it was the generation flaunting the style of Marlon Brando and James Dean that catapulted jeans into youthful cult status. Adorning James Dean in ‘Rebel Without a Cause’, the garments, combined with red windbreakers, was symbolic of an attitude and a generation whose aim was to stand out from their predecessors. There was a time when entering adulthood meant parting ways with denim. Forever ingrained in blue jeans – tracing the journey of this enduring garment.
The cultural significance of jeans – once emblematic of anti-war activists and university professors of sociology – sustained throughout the 60s. However, by the following decade, finding any semblance of meaning in their presence became a challenge for semiotic analysts. By the 80s, jeans were so mundane that Levi had to ingeniously revamp the “501” – a term unheard of outside the industry – into a widely cherished classic. Boosted by eye-catching retro adverts underscored by the music of Sam Cooke and Marvin Gaye, these jeans now bore a similar price tag to a pair of quality gabardine trousers. Jeans which once were donned by miners, biker groups, and Trotskyists distributing leaflets at railway stations were now reimagined as high-end merchandise. Therefore, it might be worth considering the stance of the North Koreans. Perhaps Titchmarsh and his pants truly are representations of imperial excess. Feel free to pixelate.