Louis Wise on choosing clothes for life's big moments

The clothes one wears are important, even at life’s toughest times, says Louis Wise
The importance of the right shirt
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Louis Wise13 June 2019

A few weeks ago my dad called me and said that my grandmother, nearly 101 years old, had suffered a fall at home. It was a bad one and I should probably go see her. The word ‘goodbye’ was floating in the air. I hung up and pondered the big question: what to wear?

The world, I think, is made up of two categories: the ones who think clothing matters, and those who don’t. To some it’s an essential, enjoyable language; to others it’s frivolous noise. I’ve always been the former, and I’m sorry but I’m very much right. I do have a logical rationale for it, a sequence of very serious arguments about how what you communicate visually matters — from the tribes deep in the Amazon to the ones in Glasgow’s shopping centres — but none of these was in my mind as I started casting around for an outfit. What do you wear to say goodbye? Especially to one of the most important and influential people in your life?

“‘It’s blue corduroy’ is probably not what I wanted our last words to be”

Louis Wise

I needed something serious, but not grim; something joyful, but not glib. Something as comforting as she had always been, but also as stylish and full of life. So I plumped for a big blue corduroy shirt — navy blue, mainly, but splattered with patches of sky. A white T-shirt underneath — never black. Some grey cords, too. I don’t know why on that one. I just assume that grandmothers really like cords.

Anyway, I got to her bedside the next day. She was very frail. She smiled, and said my name, and then managed in broken words: ‘What a lovely shirt!’ ‘THANK you,’ I replied, slightly shouting to be sure it got through. ‘It’s BLUE CORDUROY.’ As I said it, I realised this probably wasn’t what I wanted our last words to be. Clothes do matter, but there are limits. Whatever next? ‘It’s a DIFFUSION line, by a VERY COOL Berlin magazine called O32c, Nan. THEY SHOT RIHANNA ONCE.’

So then I got to the essentials. I told her that I loved her, and I thanked her, and that she had changed my life; actually, she hadn’t changed it — she kind of just was my life. I told her other stuff I won’t bore you with. And when she died the next day, at a quarter past seven in the evening, we had many consolations to choose from: a long life, a full life, a passing watched by loved ones. Also, I wore the right shirt.

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