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Who Is a Dandy? : Dandyism and George Brummell
Who are today's dandies? Why do modern dandies hate suits and love attitude? Do dandies prefer ecstasy? Can women be dandies? Are you a dandy? When people began to take the Regency Dandy Beau Brummell seriously, modern fashion started. Now history has come full circle. Dandyism, once the preserve of male aristocrats can put on stle and be a modern George Brummell: rock stars, rappers, chat show hosts, film stars. But, writes George Walden in this scintillating essay, in these two hundred years it has not become any easier to be a genuine dandy. One only needs to read teh seminal essay on Brummell by Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly, he argues, to understand what is happening in the world of style today.
Paperback
First published January 1, 2002
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April 25, 2022
The Kinks, with Ray Davies the singer, recorded a song at the height of their fame as the the pop-music exponents of 'Carnabetian' style called 'Dandy' (not the children's comic either!) about a vain young man in the manner of Beau Brummell, Regency London's most celebrated man-about-town. Always something of an enigma, Beau Brummell's statuette can be seen today, without a face-covering, in Jermyn Street in the heart of St James...still an enigma to many of us stylish, male but stale and pale, Londoners, now being sidelined by new trends in social behaviours.
Beau Brummell wasn't a 'dedicated follower of fashion': no; he was the epitome of fey, foppish fashion!
This strange concoction of a book helps to uncover something of the true figure, with an introduction by George Walden of a minor French celebrity's pen-portrait of an archetypal English dandy, who Jules Barbey D'Aurevilly first encountered in Caen, Normandy, exiled & almost destitute, but still playing the part of a dandy (now down-at-heel!) in the 1830s.
D'Aurevilly's cold, Gallic contempt for the English in general is slightly warmed by his assessment of Beau Brummell's effect on early 19th century fashion, both social & sartorial. He writes entertainingly enough about the true influence of dandyism on upper-class, male, English manners, and the extraordinary regard in which Brummell was held by gaggles of blushing women - though the iconic but ridiculous man never married & seemed indifferent to the rampant, sexual urges that seemed to percolate & penetrate through his social circle.
"Who's your fat friend?", Brummell was alleged to have said, referring witheringly to the Prince Regent while in the ballroom at a large gathering in London. Fatal words: he was never again to float above the throng of male vanity...and was soon in a rapid decline to hard times & eventual madness...in France...where mad Englishmen often flee with social fleas!.
I enjoyed this short duet (with an odd final addition that seemed an indulgence!) & it helped me to further grasp the point of having such unique characters in the public eye...if only for the lifespan of a dragonfly. Here today, gone tomorrow. But Beau Brummell's name is still synonomous with individuals who break a mould & flare & flutter & flatter themselves...only to perish on their own vanity. Oscar Wilde was perhaps a fan: but a green carnation was only a detail as he surpassed Beau Brummell by producing more than a brief, bright light...& Dorian Gray was an example to all vain men. Stay away from mirrors!
Beau Brummell wasn't a 'dedicated follower of fashion': no; he was the epitome of fey, foppish fashion!
This strange concoction of a book helps to uncover something of the true figure, with an introduction by George Walden of a minor French celebrity's pen-portrait of an archetypal English dandy, who Jules Barbey D'Aurevilly first encountered in Caen, Normandy, exiled & almost destitute, but still playing the part of a dandy (now down-at-heel!) in the 1830s.
D'Aurevilly's cold, Gallic contempt for the English in general is slightly warmed by his assessment of Beau Brummell's effect on early 19th century fashion, both social & sartorial. He writes entertainingly enough about the true influence of dandyism on upper-class, male, English manners, and the extraordinary regard in which Brummell was held by gaggles of blushing women - though the iconic but ridiculous man never married & seemed indifferent to the rampant, sexual urges that seemed to percolate & penetrate through his social circle.
"Who's your fat friend?", Brummell was alleged to have said, referring witheringly to the Prince Regent while in the ballroom at a large gathering in London. Fatal words: he was never again to float above the throng of male vanity...and was soon in a rapid decline to hard times & eventual madness...in France...where mad Englishmen often flee with social fleas!.
I enjoyed this short duet (with an odd final addition that seemed an indulgence!) & it helped me to further grasp the point of having such unique characters in the public eye...if only for the lifespan of a dragonfly. Here today, gone tomorrow. But Beau Brummell's name is still synonomous with individuals who break a mould & flare & flutter & flatter themselves...only to perish on their own vanity. Oscar Wilde was perhaps a fan: but a green carnation was only a detail as he surpassed Beau Brummell by producing more than a brief, bright light...& Dorian Gray was an example to all vain men. Stay away from mirrors!
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