The Last Peacocks — Loneliness in Men’s Elegance
True elegance is personal, risky, and unapologetic. In a world of safe, lookbook-approved outfits, daring to dress for yourself is an act of resistance.
There is a particular kind of loneliness that belongs only to the well-dressed man.
Not the kind born of heartbreak or the lack of company, but the kind you feel when you realise you are the only living creature in a desert of copy-paste style.
Walk into a room today — even among so-called enthusiasts — and you will see the same suit cut, the same safe tie, the same lookbook-approved combination that a thousand others have worn before them. They will be neat. They will be competent. They will not risk.
It’s as if the very thing that should have been personal has been outsourced to the algorithm.
Even among “the initiated,” you rarely meet a man with the guts to fail magnificently in pursuit of his own taste.
True elegance is not about perfection — it’s about fingerprints. Imperfections that are yours. A pocket square fold that’s slightly off but chosen by instinct, not rule. A shoe colour that should clash but doesn’t because you decided it wouldn’t. A tie that speaks louder than the rest of your outfit, not because you read that it should, but because today it needed to.
That kind of dressing makes you visible, but visibility comes with solitude. Few understand it. Fewer still dare to live it.
Sometimes it feels like being the last peacock in a world of pigeons — admired from afar, avoided up close.
And yet, there is a strange peace in this exile.
You are no longer dressing for their approval. You are dressing because without the ritual, without the armour, without the statement, you would feel less you.
To dress well — truly well — in 2025 is not just an aesthetic act. It is an act of resistance.
They call us peacocks like it’s an insult.
They roll their eyes, clutch their navy blazers, and stick to the lookbook gospel — safe suits, safe ties, safe everything. The “enthusiasts” who swear they love menswear, yet fear the glare of genuine style like it’s a spotlight they never asked for.
Today, I wore a khaki double-breasted suit that doesn’t apologize for existing. A paisley tie in green, red, and blue — more personality than most wardrobes combined. Brown loafers because elegance doesn’t need laces to walk tall. And in my breast pocket, a square bearing a mask — because every room is a stage, and I don’t mind playing the lead.
Peacock? Fine. I’ll take it.
