Morning Protocolics. Despite his habitual vitriol, that blessed Bryan Ferragamo raised an interesting issue yesterday during sartorial-question time, reminding me of a moment at the Grammys in 1975. Art Garfunkel turned up trompe-ing madly all over the dress code and making poor Dave feel awfully awkward about over doing it in the style department. Trick of the eye? Can't you see they don't even match, damn it. Dreadfully unfair. Thats the thing with these New Yorkers. Too busy modernising, they forget us Brits are married somewhat to tradition.

Garfunkel: Taking 'penguin style' to a new level

Or, in the case of dear Mr.Lennon, somewhat married to Yoko Ono. Regardless, Garf's clever snub at the dress stipulations underlines neatly that style rules are there to be bent, ignored or adhered to, to the point of parody. Right? Look, he's shocked Dave back into mime mode.

Hannah in Mosch' in Kill Bill

I'm also reminded of a Moschino Mac I used to love and wear with Mickey Mouse's gloved hands embroidered on the outside over the front outer pockets. Wore it everywhere and found it solicited the warmest, most human reactions from passing strangers. Interesting that. Had to give up that shift in the end, but still. Think it's in the luxury cellar as it goes. Might wear it to Basel. Oh yes, the Basel watch 'All-Dayer/All-weeker' is on from tomorrow I can confidently inform you.

Genta persuasion.

Reminds me of that time I last went to Basel... and that time before. A tromp l'oeil watch face, now that would be funny/chic.

Stubbs out.

PS. Paul Simon's my new collar muse.

PPS. Ferragamo and I are to meet soon. In public. At the Opera. White tie all round.

Grammy winners 1975. Garf' smoulders- Bowie over compensating, again.

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