Thursday, May 18th, 2006. The Chap.
Since 1999, The Chap magazine has offered advice on personal grooming, elegance and modern manners, being light-hearted yet firm in its stance against vulgarity. Chappism is all about maintaining dignity and panache in the face of penury; donning a silk cravat to claim benefits, spending your last fiver on a dry martini and claiming that S, M, L or XL, as a method of size delineation, should only apply to the poncho.
The magazine’s manifesto urges followers to turn ancient rituals of courtesy and etiquette into revolutionary acts. There is nothing elitist about good manners and nobody is going to object to being treated more civilly. By adopting the dress code of the upper classes - and ignoring the rules about brown in town and so forth- they are rejecting the rules of the class system and proposing that anybody and everybody can be a gentleman or a lady.
Its editor, Gustav Temple, holds that it is time for gentlemen from every walk of life to stand up against the declining standards of the public and be counted. Naturally unsuited to all forms of exertion, he proposes a charmed uprising based on excessive languor and delivering pleasantries such as “How do you do?” and “A very good day to you, madam!” with revolutionary zeal. The methods will be stealth, civility and charm, the targets, the behemoths of corporate blandification. He urges sympathisers to assist the cause by engaging in revolutionary acts, as offering “gentlemen of the road” (hobos) not money – which they might spend on food – but a nip of cognac from your hip flask.
I could not agree more. There is not a radical counterculture that better flies in the face of the bland, inanimate busybodies than celebrating the English eccentric gent. My contribution for today, that air of insouciance of an esteemed thespian: David Niven.
The letters to the editor of the magazine, make for convulsive laughter. A sample:
Sir,
It is my duty to report the behaviour of a chef at a road-side eatery belonging to Messrs Burger and King. Having made my choice from the menu, I asked of the chef if I might have some pepper. “We don’t need pepper here,” he replied.
Have things really sunk this low?
Yours despairingly,
Squadron Leader Pipkin Cholmondely-Crevice













Reader Comments (3)
Yours
Rear Admiral Sir Eric Clivenden
I am desolated at your comment. I sense some level of antagonism with other, more stoic, branches of the service. Still, your letter left me dumbfounded at your distressing manners, far from the propriety expected from men of your birth, yet not unusual in the Royal Navy, dearly inclined to gesticulating and shouting colloquialisms.
On the horrendous level of service of this lunching house, I believe that Squadron Leader Pipkin to be spot on. There is such a establishment in a village neighbouring to my manor, where I chanced to walk in. Upon entering, a pimpled knave ignored to take my hat and cane, and dared to instruct me to extinguish my pipe. I demanded to see Mr King immediately. To my horror, a deranged simpleton dressed with matching cap and vest, was produced. It transpired that this manual labourer wanted me to leave the premises!
The plague spreads.
Major Angus Munro. Duke of Gordon
Royal Highland Regiment