The trademark two might seem thick as thieves in the House of Commons, but Prime Minister Rishi Sunak and Chancellor Jeremy Hunt have a divergent fashion sense. Which wardrobe of the two men leading the country do you prefer?
RISHI SUNUK
By Henry Deedes
Why are Rishi’s trousers always a little short?
For Rishi Sunak there could have been no more concrete confirmation of his arrival at the global elite’s top table.
Making his first appearance on the international stage at the Cop27 summit at Sharm el-Sheikh, the Prime Minister found himself being pawed by French President Emmanuel Macron like a long-lost soulmate.
At first glance, the PM’s appearance was immaculate: pearly-white smile, perfectly pomaded hair, while around his neck was an achingly on-point skinny tie which doubtless had the equally style-conscious Monsieur Macron purring his approval.
You might say he looked every inch the international statesman. Not quite every inch, however. Only when Monsieur Le President glanced down will he have noticed — zut alors! — his opposite number’s trousers showing so much ankle that he resembled a schoolboy who’d returned from half-term hols after a sudden growth spurt.
For a man who thought nothing of sporting Prada loafers costing £450, or a £355 pair of white sneakers by edgy brand Common Projects during the summer leadership contest, it seemed a glaring fashion faux pas.
After all, it’s not as if the PM’s suits are run-of-the-mill, off-the-peg hand-me-downs. Each is hand-crafted by Henry Herbert, the fancy-pants tailor based in London’s Bloomsbury, where prices for suits start at £1,295 and soar to as much £3,500 a pop.
The outfitter bills itself as offering clients the ‘gold standard’ of tailoring ‘to the highest standards of Savile Row’. Yet here was their most illustrious customer out on the world stage sporting a pair of ill-cut trews more suited to a Norman Wisdom tribute act.
But a closer inspection of Mr Sunak’s wardrobe shows the PM’s Sharm el-Shocker was no one-off. In fact, ever since he burst on to the political scene in 2020 by delivering a Budget prepared within days of being made Chancellor, he appears to have worn suits with heavily cropped trousers.
I was in the Press Gallery that day and watched as he dazzled the Commons with a confident performance.
As he stood at the dispatch box, it was obvious from the two-inch gap between trouser and shoe that the effect was deliberate rather than the product of thoughtless tailoring.
So what’s the explanation for this sartorial peculiarity?
There are suggestions among the fashion cognoscenti that the short trousers may be a deliberate ruse by the PM to fool people into thinking he’s taller than he actually he is.
At 5ft 6in, he’s our shortest male PM since Winston Churchill. The theory is that longer trousers tend to bunch around the foot, adding bulk to the ankles thus shortening the legs.
Having a close-fitting trouser leg, which breaks well above the shoe, gives the wearer a longer, streamlined silhouette. Meanwhile, Rishi’s thin lapels and super-skinny ties help elongate the upper body, making him look slick and well proportioned.
Of course, Mr Sunak would not be the first leader to show sensitivity about his height.
One of Macron’s recent predecessors, Nicolas Sarkozy, was so touchy about his titchy 5ft 5in frame (not least when photographed next to his pouting 5ft 8in supermodel wife Carla Bruni) that he took to sporting two-inch Cuban heels when out in public. ‘It’s to make him look taller, plain and simple,’ asserts Tom Chamberlin, editor-in-chief of luxury men’s fashion magazine The Rake.
Quite the dedicated follower of fashion, Sunak is a far cry from previous Downing Street occupants such as Harold Macmillan, whose idea of fashionable flair was heading off to the grouse moor in his country tweeds
‘It’s obvious Rishi’s made a very conscious decision to have his trousers made that way to lend his ankles a much longer silhouette.’
Men’s stylist and fashion expert Nick Hems agrees. ‘It’s an old trick tailors have been doing for years to create the illusion of someone having longer legs. I find it doesn’t work usually and tends to look a bit odd.
‘But Rishi actually manages to pull it off because he’s so stylish.’
He most certainly is that. In fact, ‘Dishy Rishi’ has strong claims to being the nattiest PM of modern times. A distinct improvement at any rate on the standards set by Boris Johnson, whom I once saw turn up in Parliament in a jacket and trousers which didn’t appear to match.
As well as his impeccably tailored suits, Sunak favours £160 bespoke shirts from Italian brand The Travelling Artisan and £46 hoodies from modish Californian label Everlane. He’s also been spotted near his sprawling schloss in his Yorkshire constituency strolling around in a £180 waxed coat by Barbour.
Quite the dedicated follower of fashion, then. And a far cry from previous Downing Street occupants such as Harold Macmillan, whose idea of fashionable flair was heading off to the grouse moor in his country tweeds.
All of which prompts pundits to wonder whether Rishi’s trousers are less about trying to appear taller and more about making a bold fashion statement.
It’s worth noting, by the way, that his elegant wife Akshata once owned her own fashion label, Akshata Designs, which may explain why he is more dandyish in his clothing choices than the fashion dullards who dominate Westminster. Meanwhile, Russell Howarth, founder of City-based tailor Graham Browne, who doubles as its chief cutter, suspects the PM’s head might have been turned by style-setters from the Continent.
‘Shortened trouser length is an Italian style which seems to be very “in” at the moment,’ he says. ‘I noticed it started to become popular about three or four years ago when quite a few clients came and started requesting I cut the length of their trousers an inch or so short.
‘It was mainly young people who wanted it that way. It may be, of course, that Rishi’s tailor is quite young and has advised him that’s the look these days. Personally, I can’t stand it. It makes you look like you’ve left the house with your little brother’s trousers on.’
Similarly, style commentator Peter York, who’s been observing fashion’s comings and goings since co-writing the 1980 tome The Official Sloane Ranger Handbook, has observed with despair the ever-shortening length of both jackets and trousers and worries the PM may have fallen victim to the trend.
‘It’s something which is quite fashionable these days among men in their teens and 20s but I’m not sure it’s a suitable look for Mr Sunak,’ he says witheringly. ‘If you’re the Prime Minister you shouldn’t be trying to do “latest”.’
Whatever the reason behind Rishi’s high hems, Downing Street certainly wasn’t prepared to discuss it when I called. No great surprise there. The cut of the PM’s trousers probably isn’t top priority right now.
The cuts likely to be announced in next week’s Autumn statement however — well, that’s another matter entirely…
JEREMY HUNT
By Mark Palmer
My great thatcher: Jeremy Hunt and top snipper Gladys
Jeremy Hunt’s barnet has never seemed anything special. Neat and tidy. Safe, with a traditional but not too pronounced left-sided parting.
But following the revelation by The Mail on Sunday that he’s using the same hairdresser as Brad Pitt and paying £110 for the pleasure, there’s never been more interest in what’s going on with the Chancellor up top.
That’s the sort of price Gladys Lopez charges for a home visit to Downing Street, where Mr Hunt has been working out how to give the national debt a short back and sides.
Ms Lopez, who hails from Colombia but has lived in Britain for 27 years, is style director at the Errol Douglas salon in swanky Belgravia. She’s been there for 21 years and counts models Cindy Crawford and Naomi Campbell, as well as singers Annie Lennox and Diana Ross, among her clients.
When I arrive for my 10.15am appointment almost all of the ten salon chairs are occupied, mostly by women, who — judging by their friendly repartee — are regulars.
A particularly decorative female customer is lying back on a sort of chaise longue to have her hair washed, with a white Bichon Frise puppy balanced on her lap. As the assistant runs her fingers through the client’s locks, the woman does the same to her dog, whose name she later tells me is Martin. A lady from the Middle East has just walked in with her own manicurist. She must be in a hurry because her nails are worked on while her hair is being washed.
I’m shown to a seat by a window looking out on to exclusive Motcomb Street, something I feel irrationally chuffed about. As a new boy, I had assumed I’d be consigned to the rear of the salon, perhaps next to where the towels are stored.
Gladys appears. She’s wearing black jeans and a bright red top, with a pair of designer spectacles on top of her long, dark hair. Her happy countenance speaks of a contented soul and I get the feeling her visits to Downing Street must up the Whitehall glamour quota considerably.
Hunt has been using the same hairdresser as Brad Pitt and paying £110 for the pleasure. Gladys Lopez, hair designer, is pictured
It must be balm for the Chancellor as he stares with growing horror at the country’s balance sheet while Gladys merrily snips away.
Come to think of it, Hunt’s hair and mine (although I am some years older than him) are not markedly different. Let’s just say my salt and pepper is a little heavier on the salt than his.
‘You could go for a tint, but why bother?’ says Gladys. ‘The best look is a natural one.’
This sounds eminently sensible but perhaps some way short of delivering the promise made on the Errol Douglas website about ‘affecting positive emotional change through hair…’
Her assessment of my barbering requirements complete, I am handed over to an underling who applies shampoo then a luxurious conditioner. She takes her time and gently massages my scalp.
Then Gladys gets to work. No clippers. No number one, two or three cut. And no need for any of Gladys’s specialities such as Keratin hair-strengthening or extensions.
This is a proper scissor-cut, lasting almost an hour, including a final rinse before the blow dry, which is interspersed with polite small talk about the unseasonably warm weather.
This gets me thinking about my regular barber, Peter, who operates from premises on a side street in Earls Court, West London.
Mark Palmer visited Hunt’s hairdresser Gladys for a £114 haircut. The before (left) and after (right) results are pictured
Now in his mid-70s, Peter arrived in the UK in the 1960s from Cyprus. When it comes to charging, he’s in a different league to Gladys. He’s just put his prices up from £12 to £15 and feels so bad about it that he’s pinned a notice of apology on a mirror.
I can be in and out within 15 minutes. That’s if Peter is not in the mood for a chat or, rather, an argument. Politically, he is to the left of Jeremy Corbyn.
He’s also a connoisseur of single malt whisky, largely from his wife’s homeland of Scotland. He keeps 12 bottles on a shelf above the washbasin and insists that you join him for a dram even if your appointment happens to be at 9.30am.
We never discuss the weather. Instead, Peter offers a full-on defence of socialism as if addressing an RMT union rally. Mention Margaret Thatcher, as I habitually do just to get some fresh blood coursing through his veins, and he barks: ‘Maaarrrk, are you crazy?’
And if I suggest that, perhaps, it might have been best to have stuck with Boris, the scissors move dangerously close to my temples as he shouts: ‘Maaarrrk, have you lost your mind?’
My interactions with Gladys are placid in comparison.
We’re almost finished. I’ve been given a quiff — and I haven’t had one of those for 40 years. Gladys decides I don’t need any product but applies some serum to ‘give a bit more of a glow’. It’s the last ritual before I hand over a huge £114.
But I still have one important question to ask: ‘I gather you cut Jeremy Hunt’s hair and I wonder…’
Naturally, Gladys takes a sharp pair of scissors to this particular conversation. ‘I’m sorry but I cannot comment,’ she says, ‘Not at all.’
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