Footballers’ enthusiasm for restocking their wardrobes every payday (ie, every day) has not gone unnoticed by high-end retailers keen to capture their loose change. Witness the tech-savvy efforts of Harvey Nichols, which recently launched an invitation-only private Twitter feed, so that its biggest male spenders could get tip-offs about new arrivals in store.
But perhaps it was ever thus. As demonstrated by The Class of ’92, the recently released film about Man United’s team of all-conquering wunderkind, swanking about off the pitch takes its toll; David Beckham notwithstanding — and Victoria, the sarongs and Sam Taylor-Wood’s vision of him asleep were still a way off — Fergie’s kids were a fairly unshowy bunch. For Giggs, Scholes, Butt and Nevilles P and G, the hairdryer treatment was something to be avoided rather than booked in at a fancy-schmancy salon. The team’s most memorably eccentric piece of clothing? That Starsky and Hutch-style chunky belted cardigan favoured by Cantona, football’s philosopher-king
In the 1960s, George Best did not confine his off-pitch activities to drinking champagne in nightclubs with a succession of beautiful women. He also went into business with his great pal, Manchester City’s Mike Summerbee, to open a series of boutiques with names such as Rogue and Edwardia. Put aside the fact that George was once snapped in a sombrero on the way home from beating Benfica, the rest of the time he was the epitome of style, a dedicated follower of fashion. And a visit to the King’s Road wasn’t the same unless you spotted one of Chelsea’s on-trend team members, such as Alan Hudson and Peters Osgood and Bonetti.