Vested interest

Favoured by Byronic bluesmen, Eton pops and rotund royalty, the waistcoat and its later iterations are an integral part of the Englishman's wardrobe, says Simon Mills

- Simon Mills

EVERY man has his gilet avatar, his sleeveless idol, his waistcoat warrior. Sartorial inspiration may come by way of Robert Redford, resplendent in a dreamy cream three-piece, double-breasted suit in the 1974 film The Great Gatsby, or Michael Douglas's fearsome financier Gordon Gekko, matching a Wall Street waistcoat with a fat Cuban stogie. Or Sir Gareth Southgate, all shirt sleeves and Peaky Blinders styling in the dugout for England's 2018 World Cup campaign. Perhaps Woody's cow-print number in Pixar's 'Toy Story' series, Tom Kitten's hand knit, German artist Joseph Beuys's fly-fishing vest or, if you don't mind going trouserless, the fetching, plum-toned option favoured by New York alley-dwelling Top Cat?

When I was 14, back in the 1970s, the waistcoat GOAT du jour was one Francis Rossi, Status Quo frontman and a committed vest lifer. During the 12-bar boogie of his 60-plus-year career he has rarely been seen without one, its reliable presence in his wardrobe suggesting a certain formality, but also an honesty and an endearing jackets-off, sleeves rolled-up, let's-get-down-to-this-ness. In his torso-defining waistcoat and collarless shirt, his long silky hair flailing like a supermodel's in the wind machine, his peak era—let's say 1974-75—was half Byronic bluesman, mostly stevedore, part Lawrentian gardener. The young me was smitten.

I raided my father's wardrobe for one of these mysterious items and emerged with a very un-rockin' mustard melton variant that was, of course, about three sizes too big. It was styled, à la Rossi, with a plain white T-shirt, blue 'loon'-cut jeans and—oh, dear—my Clark's school shoes (how I longed for square-toed cowboy boots).

Of course, Mr Rossi and Top Cat weren't the first waistcoat devotees (Depeche Mode's Dave Gahan has now taken over Mr Rossi's mantle as rock music's