'Clothes to lie': What Boris Johnson's carefully tailored mayhem tells us about the man

It's nothing, what Boris Johnson is wearing: suit, shirt, tie, socks, shoes. It's how he dresses that matters, what his clothes mean and our reactions. After all, we accept the societal codes within which he seeks his power.

Johnson's clothes are an easy target: chaotic, slovenly, scruffy. He's been dressed this way since his school days at Eton University, more than four decades of constant insolence. There's a picture of 15-year-old Johnson in the middle of a pillow fight at Eton, disregarding the fancyness of his school uniform. Johnson was the public school's 20th premier (and 55th PM).

Johnson's mess quickly became his shtick, a signature aided by his desire to be a public punching bag. In 1998, he debuted as a guest panelist on Have I Got News For You. Johnson was in his thirties, still just a journalist who had so far failed to win a seat in parliament. Midway through the show, Johnson said as an aside, "Why is everyone wearing sneakers these days anyway?" He then told a story about Eton.

That night his tie was too tight, but somehow it was still loose around his neck, the shirt collar oddly flared. The show made Johnson a celebrity. The messy, posh jester was his natural role and he invited the audience to laugh at him. Johnson always wanted us to find his clothes funny.

It's not a gimmick, performance or exaggeration. Chaos dressing is essential for Johnson. He often saw it prominently. In the 2016 referendum on EU membership, his negligence during the Vote Leave campaign made him look like a man of the people he was not. Once he arrived at 10 Downing Street, his rolled up shirt sleeves and tousled hair told his much-vaunted tale of a hard worker.

But his tailored mess is also a front for a whole load of villains in pursuit of power. These are clothes to get away with lying in. Any slicker, and his Vote Leave 2016 campaign pledges, such as the £350m to the NHS, wouldn't have stuck. Its untruths rest on its disorder. It's like his clothes are saying, “Come on old bean, I lied to your face; don't make a fuss about it, carry on as you were."

It's part of his special emotional intelligence, which some of those who love him might call "the charm". It is also considered. The suit may appear pleated around his body, but it is still a sober, single-breasted, two-button suit, which is broadly understood as the uniform of patriarchal power. His shirts may be sticking out, but they're good shirts The ties are poorly tied, but that's nothing new His hair is getting better and better, but it's still about the same length : someone cut them.

'Clothes to lie': What Boris Johnson's carefully tailored mayhem tells us about the man

It's nothing, what Boris Johnson is wearing: suit, shirt, tie, socks, shoes. It's how he dresses that matters, what his clothes mean and our reactions. After all, we accept the societal codes within which he seeks his power.

Johnson's clothes are an easy target: chaotic, slovenly, scruffy. He's been dressed this way since his school days at Eton University, more than four decades of constant insolence. There's a picture of 15-year-old Johnson in the middle of a pillow fight at Eton, disregarding the fancyness of his school uniform. Johnson was the public school's 20th premier (and 55th PM).

Johnson's mess quickly became his shtick, a signature aided by his desire to be a public punching bag. In 1998, he debuted as a guest panelist on Have I Got News For You. Johnson was in his thirties, still just a journalist who had so far failed to win a seat in parliament. Midway through the show, Johnson said as an aside, "Why is everyone wearing sneakers these days anyway?" He then told a story about Eton.

That night his tie was too tight, but somehow it was still loose around his neck, the shirt collar oddly flared. The show made Johnson a celebrity. The messy, posh jester was his natural role and he invited the audience to laugh at him. Johnson always wanted us to find his clothes funny.

It's not a gimmick, performance or exaggeration. Chaos dressing is essential for Johnson. He often saw it prominently. In the 2016 referendum on EU membership, his negligence during the Vote Leave campaign made him look like a man of the people he was not. Once he arrived at 10 Downing Street, his rolled up shirt sleeves and tousled hair told his much-vaunted tale of a hard worker.

But his tailored mess is also a front for a whole load of villains in pursuit of power. These are clothes to get away with lying in. Any slicker, and his Vote Leave 2016 campaign pledges, such as the £350m to the NHS, wouldn't have stuck. Its untruths rest on its disorder. It's like his clothes are saying, “Come on old bean, I lied to your face; don't make a fuss about it, carry on as you were."

It's part of his special emotional intelligence, which some of those who love him might call "the charm". It is also considered. The suit may appear pleated around his body, but it is still a sober, single-breasted, two-button suit, which is broadly understood as the uniform of patriarchal power. His shirts may be sticking out, but they're good shirts The ties are poorly tied, but that's nothing new His hair is getting better and better, but it's still about the same length : someone cut them.

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