May 18, 2011
Usually (and let me stress that being invited to Awards ceremonies is not a common occurrence) the only panicking I partake in when I have an event to go to at short notice, is the rushing through my phone book for a possible date. But this time, my perspective partner had to fulfil some rather possessive requirements. 1) They wouldn’t be allowed to leave my side and mingle, 2) they had to be exactly the same height, width and circumference as me, and finally 3) they would have to be willing, nay, happy to be on top of me whenever I required…Yes, you guessed it, I was on the search for a suit.
Charles Tyrwhitt were my savour. As my frantic ‘call for well-dressed arms’ wasn’t being answered by anyone else, the chaps at CT were not only willing to partner me to the ball, but were delighted at the prospect. As you can see from my pictures on here, I am not a man of average stature, so by just being able to provide a garment that I could pull of fas the correct size was an accomplishment to take note of.
This was my first EVER Red Carpet invitation, so although I am never one to shy from any form of public eye line, let alone lime light, the nerves were setting in. Anticipation was building with the fans hanging on the boards, eager to catch the briefest squint of someone recognisable. Armed with a ST black number, switched together with brown shoes (always recommended for the risqué), black bow tie and light blue shirt, I took to it. Far too well in fact. The poses were posed, the struts were strutted, and even though my face has never even been within a stubbles-length of a TV screen, people shouting ‘Who are you?’ and ‘Are you famous?’ To be fair, both questions are equally contradictory to the notion that the Charles Tyrwhitt suit made people think I was worthy of note, but still, they persisted due to my confidence spurned directly from the threads covering my skin.
We stepped inside, and as I did so, with a bottle of Becks in hand, Football’s most Sartorial of gents stepped through. Frank Lampard is a man of substance, intellect, and a keen eye for fashion. Standing at least 2 foot taller than myself though, and at least 91 times more important, I knew a picture with the England star would very much put me in perspective. But I strolled over, 3 beers down by this point, and told ‘Lamps’ of my admiration of him. He agreed to have a picture. So me, a short, slightly podgy, over confident Midlands lad was about to be in a portrait with one of the finest specimens of manliness on the market. But, to my surprise, Charles Tyrwhittt not only saved me, but propelled me to the status of actual looking like a mildly belonged in Lampard’s company. Dare I say it, but the general prowess of Lampard’s suit, appearance and swagger didn’t overshadow the Charles Tyrwhitt number, even on me.
So as that happened at 8:30pm, my night had to have peaked. And to be fair, it did. But not without some glamorous faces and embarrassing conversations. I told This Morning’s Showbiz Journalist Ashley Pearson that she was gorgeous, I was flirted with by X-Factor star Katie Waissel (she’ll deny it, but that neck stroke wasn’t born from animosity) and I congratulated ‘The Inbetweeners’ star Blake Harrison on an award that didn’t exist. Yes, anyone who knows me will testify to my general ballsyness, but my suit enhanced my traits ten-fold.
So with my body filled with food, embarrassment, giddiness and beer, we left for the tube at a rather horrendous time of 12:34am, which is far too late on a Wednesday. I returned the suit Friday morning, entering the store with both legitimate sadness that the black number was leaving my side, ,and complete gratitude that Charles Tyrwhitt agreed to do this for me.
I leave knowing that my next date for such an event will be unbelievably and inevitably disappointing.
ctshirts.co.uk
Teamed with tailored shorts and fitted shirts, Lacoste Espadrilles look uber cool. Go for bold colours, long-sleeved shirts with the sleeves rolled just below the elbows and Aviator sunglasses.
