I have temporarily stolen two of the props quite ordinary-looking people trying to look meaningful use on stage – sunglasses and what’s called a pork pie hat. This was not a conscious decision but I was caught a few weeks back having to do press about Andy Burnham’s commitment to end rough sleeping. Outside in the fierce sun for the interview in the park, I had this jazzy garb on.
The first time I wore sunglasses without the sun, the obvious sign that you are courting the idea of hidden importance, was at the age of 15 when I was rough sleeping and hiding from the police. For 65 years I then avoided sunglasses. The first time I wore them was to fit in with other wearers of ‘shades’, as we called them in the bohemian cafes of Earl’s Court in West London; in Chelsea and Soho. I’d hoped they would make me significant looking. But once the glasses were off I was again a rat-like rough sleeper and beggar.
However, a few weeks back I stumbled onto the television screen looking, as one friend said, like the lead singer in a ska revival band from the ’70s, or a saxophonist from the ’50s.
The feedback was not about what I said but the way I looked, decorating myself without increasing my appearance of substance. A lack of substance in appearance swept away the last elected PM, Keir Starmer. Could he have increased his presence if he had got people thinking about what he wore more than what he said? Could he have remained in power if his wardrobe had been addressed more jazzily?
Certainly I did not increase my significance by a hat and shades, but a remarkable amount of people noticed me. In the same way that Mr Binface did well wearing a bin (his significance though was to underline his disdain for Nigel Farage and his politics).
Andy Burnham’s attire also drew attention, with right-wing commentators transfixed for a short while by his love of black T-shirts. But that soon melted away as it became obvious that there was much of a trying nature to attend to on the governmental plate. And that’s what critics could focus on more productively. The summer passes, black T-shirts and bins – and my hat and shades – disappear with the scorching sun. Now business is to be done seriously.