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30 Articles

JON SAVAGE is a longtime contributor to Esquire and the author of numerous books on pop and youth culture, including the definitive account of punk, England’s Dreaming. His new book, The Secret Public: How LGBTQ Resistance Shaped Popular Culture (1955-1979), will be published by Faber on 6 June. For this issue, he writes about Oasis. ‘POPTIMISM’, PAGE 80 WILL SELF is an Esquire editor-at-large and the author of numerous works of fiction, including the trilogy Umbrella, which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, Shark and Phone. ‘FEELING SLIGHTLY RUFF’, PAGE 71 FINLAY RENWICK, Esquire’s former deputy style editor, works for Drake’s, the men’s outfitter. ‘THE GRIT FACTOR’, PAGE 104 JESSE LAITINEN’S photography has appeared in Vogue Italia and Luncheon magazine. ‘GOING UNDERGROUND’, PAGE 138 MICHAEL DONKOR’S writing has appeared in The Guardian, The Daily Telegraph and the TLS.…

Russell Norman, 1965–2023

This issue of Esquire is dedicated to the memory of our friend and colleague, Russell Norman. The founder of the Polpo restaurant group, which began with a tiny, high-spirited Venetian-style joint in Soho before spreading its tentacles across the capital, then the country, Russell was a restaurateur of genius. After his exit from Polpo in 2020, he opened an even more atmospheric and inviting restaurant: Brutto, in Farringdon. He was also an accomplished writer. He published a series of beautifully illustrated books displaying his deep knowledge of, and fierce passion for, food and cooking and the culture of restaurants — predominantly but not exclusively Italian. And he was Esquire’s “Accidental Cook”: our food columnist for five years up to 2018. When that column came to an end, he and I stayed in touch.…

Russell Norman, 1965–2023

A tinderbox in a Savile Row suit

Esquire is a style magazine with a literary bent. We believe in being well dressed, naturally. Also, in being well read. You don’t have to be a decorated man of letters to cut a dash, but erudition, lightly worn, is every bit as chic as a sharply tailored jacket over a crisp white shirt. This issue, as ever, we offer a distinctive look at the latest in men’s fashion — check out our troglodytic spring/summer collections shoot, from page 138, and marvel at the best-dressed cavemen since Fred Flintstone knotted his last necktie — alongside new work from some of the most accomplished writers currently putting fingertips to keyboards. Andrew O’Hagan’s Caledonian Road, which publishes in April, is a big, ambitious, rambunctious story of modern London life, and it will surely prove…

A tinderbox in a Savile Row suit

The decoloniser

On the ground floor of Yinka Shonibare’s east-London studio, two imperious figures from British history have been scaled down to slightly-smaller-than-life size. The statues are painted in bright patterns, an unmistakable signature of the artist’s work. For a moment or two, it makes them unrecognisable. Soon, you realise you are staring down Winston Churchill (the hunch is a giveaway) and William Pitt the Younger (this one, admittedly, takes a little prompting from a studio assistant). The British-Nigerian artist, 61, identifies them as “decolonised structures”, inspired by statues of people who have links to an ugly past — the slave trade or colonial administrations, for example — and now watch over London streets. With his reimagined effigies, Shonibare wonders: “Are they being celebrated, because they have all these wonderful colours on…

The decoloniser

Colour by numbers

Richard Benc doesn’t know where the idea for the watermelon watch came from. “I wish I could say there was a eureka moment,” he says. He allows that it may have been born out of rebellion; that, after six years as the product developer and designer for Braun watches, it was a way of doing something not minimalist, tasteful or black and white. (“Or, if we were feeling particularly adventurous — grey.”) Or, perhaps he was inspired by the watch website that published an eight-year-old’s crayon drawing of a fantasy Rolex, based on a can of Sprite. (“I liked the idea of poking fun at an industry that is typically very serious.”) Either way, he hardly expected the pink, green and lime watch he launched in a “colourful and playful” series of chronographs…

Colour by numbers

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Insta gratification

You know Leica. German maker of lust-worthy high-end cameras. Shorthand signifier for Serious Photographer at Work. The brand beloved of such storied names as Henri Cartier-Bresson, Robert Capa and Walker Evans. Professional photographers, photojournalists and art photographers all — artists who knew their way around a darkroom, not the sorts you’d imagine would have much truck with snapping a quick selfie for the ’gram. Now, Leica’s new Sofort 2 aims to bridge the gap between museum-standard photography and on-the-spot gratification — its latest model is essentially a printer with a lens that also takes digital images. The hybrid camera uses a CMOS sensor to record digital pictures but also comes with a physical lever attached to its compact body, one that lets you turn your images into dinky little Instax…

Insta gratification

In the raucous basement bar below a hip Mayfair restaurant, revellers wedge themselves in, clamouring for soft cheese and Beaujolais. Waiters scurry and squeeze, and a barrel-chested man doles out oysters as quick as he can shuck. In one corner, grand chefs regale hangers-on, while a woman opposite distributes pig-shaped balloons. In a glass-fronted side room, judges cast their expert eyes over the evening’s quarry: slices of pâté en croûte, made variously by the city’s leading cooks. For it is the third Thursday of November, the occasion of Maison François’s annual “Croûte Off”. Pâté en croûte — which translates as “pâté in crust” — is characterised by its loaf-shaped pastry shell containing cured meats, preserved fruit and nuts, meat pâté and jelly. It is not dissimilar to a classic pork pie…

Eclectic grandpa

Kurt Cobain never washed his, and an auction house later sold it on for over £260,000. Steve McQueen wore his with a shawl collar — brown in The Cincinnati Kid, maroon in Bullitt and navy in real life. And the man who gave the garment its name, the Earl of Cardigan, was a cantankerous womaniser who led the British Army in The Charge of the Light Brigade. Yet somehow the cardigan’s cuddly image persists — knitwear for retirees. This season, the cardigan has been reimagined as something more fashion-forward. On the spring/summer 2024 catwalks, it appeared everywhere from Fendi to Dior, made of everything from tweed to fine cashmere and doubling as a scarf (ie: worn around the neck) at DSquared2. SS Daley followed up its hit “Harry” Jasper Cardigan, created for…

Eclectic grandpa

Genuine question on the r/Watches subreddit: “Why is a large part of the watch community so hateful and unhinged?” Hold on there, Redditor, you might think: some of Esquire’s best friends are in the “watch community”. Then Audemars Piguet goes and releases a line of merchandise with Travis Scott’s streetwear label Cactus Jack and the reaction is so, er, strong, you figure… maybe they’ve got a point? The problem, as some people saw it: that the 149-year-old Swiss manufacturer of luxury watches and clocks would team up with the 32-year-old American rapper and serial Air Jordan collaborator. This, from the creators of the world’s first minute-repeating movement! Sure, it was a stretch to imagine Jules Louis Audemars in a $60 Cactus Jack dad hat, or Edward Auguste Piguet protecting himself…

Dunes: part two

In 1977, Frenchman Thierry Sabine got separated from his competitors in the Libyan desert on his Yamaha XT 500 motorbike during a section of the Abidjan-Nice rally. Alone for three days and nights with only a lucky amulet for company, he was eventually rescued, in bad shape, by the Algerian Air Force. The experience left its mark, and we’re not just talking tan lines. Sabine quickly decided he wanted to give other people the chance to get lost in the desert too, and the following year, in Paris, over 170 vehicles joined him at the start of the inaugural Paris-Dakar rally. In its early years, tales of dilettante derring-do helped to put Sabine’s race on the map. In 1980, a team of four took on the unrelenting 10,000km course on Vespa…

Dunes: part two

Back to the Garden

Hatton Garden’s links to the jewellery trade date back to the late 16th century when Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Chancellor and consul to Elizabeth I, renamed the garden of his London estate, Ely Place. On his death, relatives sold parts of the estate off to local wealthy merchants and businesses. It’s where Hatton Garden’s reputation for trusted jewellery experts and quality craftsmen was born. It has remained London’s jewellery quarter and the centre of the UK’s diamond trade ever since. Five centuries on, Hatton Garden, which runs between Holborn and Clerkenwell Road, on the western edge of the City of London, is bristling with an influx of creativity. “You can feel its old energy here,” says Alec Doherty, a jeweller specialising in gem-set gold and silver rings and pendants. “I really love that.”…

Back to the Garden

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Travelling right

As befits the storied Italian fashion brand whose most instantly recognisable product is its suede Gommino driving shoe, Tod’s is all about travel. Specifically, travelling in as much comfort as possible. Its summer wardrobe is usually the best place to see this idea executed with class and verve — this year in its “even more relaxed” casual tailoring, featuring technical shirt-jackets made of structured cotton, versatile fabric bombers and super-soft shoulder bags, all in a variety of warm browns and creamy ecrus. For 2024, Tod’s has paid particular attention to its belts — notably its Greca belt. Can a belt be relaxed and comfortable? Of course it can. Built from strong canvas and supple leather, with its distinctive leather snap buckle, stamped monogram and branded loop, the Greca has been…

Travelling right

FEELING SLIGHTLY RUFF

YOUR EYES UN-GUM AT COCK’S CROW, and there’s a bleary view of dawn through the dormer window: you may be a knight of the realm, but you’re a pretty damn lowly one, so your room is in the attic of the Le Grand Commun, the building the King has allocated to those nobility who, at his command — and dependent upon his sinecure — are permanently resident at court. It may be early, but you go straight from languor to ardour. And for what? Not the nubile coquette sprawled beside you in the lit bateau, whom you waltzed away from the festive fun late last night; and chased, laughing, between, the fountains bubbling with champagne, but preferment, of course — because at court, all is preferment, achieved principally by taking your…

FEELING SLIGHTLY RUFF

FOUR IS DEAD MAN

THE FIRST THING I KILLED with intention was a house gecko. I was four years old then. I had trapped it in a plastic bowl and I’m not sure how to explain the way I had killed it except to describe how cats sometimes kill their prey — I played with it to death. I hadn’t beheld death before but as soon as its jaw slackened, I knew it had passed. I presented the dead gecko to my disappointed mother. “That is a sin you do there, killing that thing for no reason,” was all she said. I felt immense regret then — and it was probably the first time I’d felt such a thing. Twenty-five years later, I am driving home from work, two streets away from the turnoff into…

FOUR IS DEAD MAN

NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS

IN THE SPRING OF 2004, there was only one book being published. At least, that was how it felt to me. The noise around Helen Walsh’s Brass was ambient, inescapable. The author had been breathlessly profiled in a number of broadsheet papers, as part of the carefully co-ordinated PR campaign I’d once assumed to be the due of any debut novelist. Walsh was catnip to journalists, for obvious reasons. She was young and beautiful and clever. She came with an intriguing back story and a suite of provocative opinions. She was an early exemplar of the author-as-brand, a person more interesting than the writing she produced. The book itself occupied a tricky hinterland: insufficiently complex to be classed as literary fiction; too smart to be dismissed as chick lit. But…

NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS

FRAYING TUTELAGE

YOU NEVER WANT TO BE ON THE BACK FOOT with a 10-year-old. But on a nightly basis between the years of 2007 and 2009, notwithstanding a certain swagger I felt I had earned on the poorly attended alternative-comedy circuit, I would succumb in secret, behind the well-buffed front doors of Notting Hill, Kensington and Mayfair, to the whims of awful children. “If you don’t like me I’ll have you sacked.” This from a boy of around eight, whose face of seraphic innocence, adorned by well-kept blond curls, was but a distraction from a frankly indomitable sense of self. It was a time of provisional identities, when ambition and fantasy were close neighbours: two years after leaving university, it was still unclear whether I would be a comedian, auteur, national treasure, novelist or merely…

FRAYING TUTELAGE

A FISH AND A BIRD

A DECADE AND A HALF AGO, when I was in my early twenties, careening between weekdays of surreptitious FaceBooking at my entry-level publishing job and weekends throwing shapes at rickety warehouse parties, hangovers were a doddle. They were reliably slayed by two cures: gallons of (all the rage!) coconut water and rewatching Whoopi Goldberg’s performance in the eminently watchable, heartwarming and unashamedly perky classic rom-com Corrina, Corrina. Whenever Whoopi’s stellar, ground-breaking career is the subject of discussion, it’s usually The Color Purple, Ghost and the Sister Act films — the sequel far better, of course — that are cited as evidence of her acting or comedic chops. But the overlooked Corrina, Corrina should be in the mix too. It was my absolute favourite film as a kid. To me, there was…

A FISH AND A BIRD

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IT’S LATE JANUARY, 1994. Alerted by a friend, I go to see a new Manchester group, Oasis, at The Water Rats near King’s Cross in London. There’s a buzz: the smallish venue is packed, which makes it difficult to see what is happening on the low stage. A couple of numbers in, I get it: they’re good. The four musicians, dressed in scally/baggy/sportswear, erect an overdriven wall of sound, while the vocalist — wearing what looks like a Marks & Spencer’s pullover — commands the crowd with a definite attitude. The frontman’s swaggering demeanour suggests confrontation but, at the same time, he embodies a curious precision: I’m going to stand just here, place the microphone just so, and sing the lyrics exactly this way. He elongates various vowels and phrases in…

TOO BIG FOR ACTING

The story so far: surrounded by members of the British aristocracy, fashion designers, Russian money and a corrupt art world, famous young British actor Jake Hart-Davies takes on a new kind of role, standing in for the celebrity art historian Campbell Flynn, and pretending to be the author of a cult new self-help book. Then it all goes wrong. Massively wrong… IT WAS WHILE FILMING THE FINAL EPISODE OF Aethon’s Curse, ‘Dance of the Blades’, that Jake Hart-Davies realised he was too big for acting. He was in Belfast Harbour Studios at the time, preparing to wrestle with a giant prehistoric frog called Beelzebufo, when he remembered that he had been born to play Hamlet or to write an era-defining novel. Instead, the make-up and costume girls were coating him in…

TOO BIG FOR ACTING

It’s about heart and soul

HE REMEMBERS A TIME IN FRANCE in the 1980s, turning up on a Monday lunchtime at a restaurant a well-connected Parisian friend had recommended, south of Avignon. The place was closed. “We told them our friend’s name and they said, ‘Oh! You must come back tomorrow.’ And we said, ‘We can’t, we have to leave.’ And they said, ‘Well, join us then.’ This was their day off. This was their family meal. And we sat with them. And they produced pâtés and stuffed mussels. They cooked lamb in the wood-fired oven. They brought out freshly made goat’s cheese. And rosé wine. And the mistral was getting up. And it taught me so much about the difference between the French and English approach.” The generosity, the conviviality, the warmth. He hasn’t…

It’s about heart and soul

THE GRIT FACTOR

IF THERE’S A DEFINITIVE ITEM OF MEN’S CLOTHING RIGHT NOW, it’s probably the humble chore jacket. Invented by the French to outfit 19th-century railway workers, the chore has become ubiquitous among a more contemporary set of earners: architects, designers, creative directors, chefs (who used to be creative directors) and Monty Don on the TV, pottering around the garden in Blundstones and a ragged bleu de travail, a golden retriever weaving between his feet. It’s the perfect hybrid garment — a bit of blazer and a bit of outerwear, with loads of pockets and a simple silhouette that can be manufactured in wool, cotton, denim, canvas or suede. It epitomises the style of clothing known as workwear. You don’t have to wear it to work in. But you can, especially in…

THE GRIT FACTOR

THE DEATH AND LIFE OF TOP BOY

IN OCTOBER 2011 I WAS AT STANSTED AIRPORT with my wife — the journalist and editor Georgina Henry — and our two children for an early flight to Berlin, where we had rented a flat for the half-term holidays. Georgina ducked inside a WHSmith’s and bought an armload of newspapers. This was before the internet had transformed our consumption of news, and the week before the first season of Top Boy was due to air on Channel 4. I was excited, about Berlin and the show. We boarded and settled into our seats. Georgina started to go through her reading with the speed and ruthlessness of a seasoned newspaper professional, turning the pages swiftly, her practised eye scanning for items of interest and moving on quickly if she couldn’t find anything.…

THE DEATH AND LIFE OF TOP BOY

A LINE OF BEAUTY

“I CAN’T,” SAYS KIM JONES. HE’S BEEN ASKED TO PUT INTO WORDS a famous silhouette created by Yves Saint Laurent, one of his predecessors at the house of Christian Dior, in Paris. “You have to see it to understand it.” He slices the air with his hand, fingers slightly curved to form a serpentine line. “For me,” Jones says, “there’s a fluidity to his line that makes it very, very sensual. I think that’s what’s so appealing about his work.” Saint Laurent was celebrated, as was Christian Dior before him, for his tailoring, among other things, which borrowed the structure and conventions of formal men’s clothes and applied them to womenswear, most famously in the case of Le Smoking, his dinner jacket, first seen in 1966 and a staple of elegant…

A LINE OF BEAUTY

OUTSIDE THE WHITE HORSE IN STONESFIELD, on a triangular green island in the middle of three roads, there’s a gigantic horse chestnut tree. We’re in Soho Farmhouse territory here, deep in the Oxfordshire Cotswolds. Stonesfield is a one-bus-an-hour sort of place. It’s the last day of September and slightly chilly, and there’s a windfall of conkers underneath the tree. The smell of wood smoke drifts over the village. In a bus shelter on the green island, a laminated poster advertises the new Stonesfield Village website. “What’s new in the village?” it asks over a stock image of hands typing on a keyboard. “Log on to discover more.” It’s Saturday afternoon and a steady stream of people walks past the tree and into the White Horse pub. It looks a little like a…

STRANGERS ON A TRAIN

“I remember writing in this journal that I would capture father later — I meant to do a brilliant character sketch. Capture father! Why, I don’t know anything about anyone!” — Cassandra Mortmain in I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith Prologue train: London St Pancras Intl to Paris Gare du Nord, 2h 24m On the Eurostar from London to Paris on a morning in late September, as I listen to three small children on the next table enjoying three different AI-generated nursery-rhyme cartoons on three different iPads, their parents seemingly having forgotten to pack even one set of headphones, I start to wonder what I was thinking. I am on my way to meet my dad, who lives in France, to begin a train trip across Europe that I have proposed and…

STRANGERS ON A TRAIN

GOING UNDERGROUND

STYLIST'S ASSISTANT: Dominik Radomski. PRODUCTION: Laura Nicholson. CASTING: Tom Casey. GROOMING: Yoshitaka Miyazaki, using Oribe. MODELS: Jean-Luc at Established Models, and Yuto at Next Model Management. With special thanks to Dryrobe…

GOING UNDERGROUND

Simpson’s in the Strand was once one of the great London restaurants, and soon it will be again. Next-door to the Savoy Hotel on one of the capital’s most famous thoroughfares, Simpson’s has a long and gilded history. Opened in 1828, it became best known for its roasts, carved table-side from trolleys, and for its illustrious clientele: both Charles Dickens and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle dined there. But in recent years, the grande dame has fallen on hard times. A victim of Covid, Simpson’s closed in 2020. On a frigid morning last December, Esquire’s team — photographer Chris Floyd, art director Lauren Jones and interviewer Alex Bilmes (that’s me) — were allowed inside to meet the new proprietor of Simpson’s, Jeremy King, for the feature that begins on page 92 of…

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