Daily Telegraph Magazine: Nov 72

A rule of thumb for party dressing in 1972 is that one should dress as for an occasion though preferably not the occasion one is about to attend. Thus full hunting pink, say, although a trifle predictable for a hunt ball in Berkshire, would be suitably lively for cocktails in Belgravia; the dress uniform of the Waffen SS would do quite well almost anywhere except at a reunion of the Old Comrades in Bavaria. Both outfits would need amendment to make them a mite more casual: wide velveteen flares with the uniform jacket, perhaps, the high collar unbuttoned to show chest hair and a chunky steel Star of David on a slim aluminium chain. The hunting pink might have a matching trouser, thigh-hugging in brushed denim, and tucked into patchwork suede boots with a tall Cuban heel. Or anywhere except signing on first day at the Liverpool Docks, one might simply wear a vest and Levis with a wide belt; although here care would have to be taken to include accessories not entirely germane to the true Scouse image: a shoulder bag and a Mickey Mouse watch, perhaps.

A useful pointer to party fashion in 1972 is that all these modes - with the possible exception of the chest hair - may be worn with equal effect by either sex. It is also true to say that, in 1972, there are no rules whatsoever for party dressing except the avoidance of the dullness and predictability of, say, the 1950s. At that time the concepts of the "decent suit' and - heavens! - "the little black dress" were still in being. The party appearance was almost totally indistinguishable from the accepted turnout for funerals, approaches for bank loans and interviews for jobs.

Today it is perfectly possible to approach another. chap at a social gathering and exclaim "What a pretty ring" without the risk of being shunned or biffed; and it is in this tolerant climate that individuality has returned to party raiment.

Indeed, some kind of singularity is essential. A party without a proportion of young men looking like Charles II, or the navvies who built Aldershot; young women in the garb of the American Frontier of the 1880s and jockeys, or customers at a maternity clinic, is a dull thing and no tribute to the giver of hospitality. Moving against this background the more mature guest in decency . and gratitude should attempt the modes of an Edwardian seafront. The buffer, his hair now in interesting grey locks, may tincture his decent suit with his old co-respondent's shoes, freshly pipeclayed, and display to the younger set the chic of a wing-collar worn with panache. The dowager should note that. most of her trousseau is now high camp and that ostrich feathers are available at Biba.

In practice, of course, 1972 has not entirely shrugged off the tedium of some I awful year like 1957. There is often an uncomfortable melange of vintage Burton and late Renaissance, see-through and cashmere twinset. There remains a detritus of the downright reactionary and, in some ways worse, the half-hearted. What more depressing than charcoal grey with narrow lapels bearing, in the single machine-stitched buttonhole, a Model Railway Club badge? The same ensemble with a brightly-coloured shirt and matching tie and the expression, half-proud, half-shy, that so often accompanies such boldness. Or such relics as the miniskirt or hot pants worn with a nautch-girl's recklessness?

In 1972, however, more than in 1971, hopefully even more in 1973, these lapses of taste are diminishing. There is growing recognition of the party as an arena, an ideal venue for self-expression via the raiment, for letting it (to use a phrase already as antique as wet-look footwear) all hang out. At a gathering one evening recently I saw this man in a purple nightshirt with a fantastic great cross on a chain round his neck and a lovely big ring on his drinking hand. A bishop as it proved ... but this year he might well have been a groovy accountant, and that is nice.