Tory chic: the return of poshness
By Andy Beckett
Country pursuits . . . pheasant shooting in the Cotswolds. Photograph: Janine Wiedel Photolibrary /Alamy Yet early on a raw weekday morning, with some neighbouring shops not even open yet, there is already a steady flow of Barbour customers. Some are the sort of people you might expect: middle-aged, prosperously dressed, pinkish Horse and Hound complexions. But others are quite different.
A man of about 30 with fashionably rolled-up jeans, angular hair and a manbag strides in. He flicks through the rails, then lingers over a rack of quilted country jackets that look like something the Queen would wear. "I think he wants that kind of old-style, boxy one," murmurs one sales assistant to another. The man lingers for several more minutes, but doesn't find quite what he is looking for. Yet he can probably live with the disappointment. As he passes me on his way out, I realise he is already wearing a Barbour.
"We opened in September and we have already had to shut for a week to re-stock," says a sales assistant. "The heritage styles – the young people want them. They wear them really fitted. Small sizes." She gives a faintly incredulous look: "It's funny to see the Barbour become a fashion item. I always associate them with hunting and fishing."
Perhaps not for much longer. Over the last few years, in trendy parts of London, at music festivals, and among clothes-horse celebrities, Barbours have become so ubiquitous that there is even a half-mocking nickname for the look, referencing the London borough where it is commonest: "Hackney farmer". The boom is even affecting sensible old John Lewis: this year, national sales of Barbours there are up more than 80%.
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