The enormous, unavoidable importance of clothing.

I love everything about this: the clothes, the beards, the individuality, the attention to detail, the beauty, the tableware, the way it’s shot, the idea that 25 men would come together for a lunch based on what they wear…

But I have an internal tussle about the idea of clothes having any kind of importance. Once you’re warm, they’re just decoration, but then that opinion is somewhat disingenuous. Of course we imbue clothing with enormous importance; it creates a large part of our initial impression of every single person we meet. But the celebration of clothing reminds me too sharply of how much we obsess over things that have so little inherent value.

Then again, the only TV show I watch regularly is Fashion Police (if any of you think I’m joking, I am deadly serious), so I get to spend an hour a week bringing that tussle to fever pitch while listing to Joan Rivers being catty about Hollywood stars and their genitalia.

I suppose Western life has just come so many miles beyond the bottom rungs of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs that the only things that have any importance are those which don’t have any intrinsic value. Many of us just assume the basics are taken care of then continue to scrabble higher and higher up that pyramid until we’re caring about the most ridiculous nonsense available.

And if you’re shaking your head at this, wondering how anyone could be so shallow, ask yourself if you’ve ever cared about the result of a football match.