Lovely stinging article about "dressing down" in the latest Spectator. Makes me feel a bit guilty for even owning a pair of jeans and polo shirts.

There used to be such a thing as a sense of occasion, and those participating in the occasion — whether it be a night at the opera or an invitation to dinner or to a religious ceremony — would avoid insulting their hosts or diminishing the event itself by not turning up for it dressed as if for an afternoon in the garden or at the dog track. That now seems to have gone by the board. Formality at recreational occasions is regarded as utterly absurd; and, indeed, conservatism of dress in the workplace is now increasingly frowned upon, as indicating a range of unsavoury attitudes including a hidebound mentality, political incorrectness and class-consciousness.

If it means I'll be frowned upon, then I'll definitely begin dressing up. Life's all about making the right enemies, isn't it?