Ben Machell on the joy, and relief, of uniformity in fashion

Our columnist's bit on the side
Ben Machell23 March 2017

I love high-street fashion. Never been snobby about it. Not remotely. Ever since my mum took me and my little sister to C&A to buy matching canary-yellow tracksuits with lime-green trim, I’ve had positive associations with mass-produced, competitively priced clothing lodged deep within my psyche.

Part of the reason — the main reason, really — is, when it comes to clothes, I am a total coward. If I’m going to wear something, I need to know other people will be wearing it, too. Ideally my little sister, but anyone will do. This is why I’ve never been able to empathise with the pain some people feel upon discovering somebody at a cocktail party has the same outfit as them. When this happens to me, I just feel relieved. Because it means, however stupid I look, there’s somebody else who looks just as stupid. And that’s a comfort.

This safety-in-numbers approach to fashion is, on reflection, probably why I was so committed to the scouting movement, graduating from Beaver (grey tracksuit) to Cub (green tracksuit top) to Scout (green shirt) and, finally, to Venture Scout (beige shirt). Yes, I enjoyed tying knots and lighting fires, and putting smaller boys in headlocks. But, more than anything, I enjoyed getting to hang out with people wearing the same clothes as me; a warm feeling I’m now able to revisit whenever I hit Uniqlo to stock up on grey, green and beige leisurewear. I sometimes have to stop myself giving the other men near the changing rooms a little scout salute.

Also, buying clothes from high-street shops is a lot, lot better than the alternatives. I had a very brief phase of buying ‘vintage’ clothes but got fed up of looking like an extra from Call the Midwife and smelling like a mortuary. Even worse are actual boutique-type fashion shops. Have you ever been into an actual boutique-type fashion shop when you know you don’t belong there? It’s unbearable: like walking into an off-licence when you’re 14 and pretending to carefully browse the cans of beer you’re too terrified to even touch. And they don’t even have the common courtesy to vanity size things. I mean, come on.

Follow Ben on Twitter @ben_machell

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