BY STEWART SLATER

Every so often the world gives you a sign. A portent that it is all about to go wrong. The ravens leave the Tower. The dead rise from the grave. Nigel Farage pairs trainers with a suit.

For, whatever you think of Nige, whether, to you, he is a gammony agitator or a patriotic freedom fighter, you must admit that he is always well dressed, never seen on TV without a suit and tie. Perhaps he overdoes it, his suit too immaculately pressed, his tie too “just-so” (as Bertrand Russell witheringly said of Anthony Eden, “Not a gentleman. He dresses too well”) but he is always, in the words of a silver-years female of my acquaintance (not one of his greatest fans) “well turned out”.

People who are “well turned out” have not, traditionally, worn trainers or sneakers or plimsolls or “sand shoes” or whatever you wish to call them outside a certain, limited number of circumstances and, since these generally involve some form of physical exertion, they are not occasions on which one would wear a suit.

And yet, here we are. Nigel chose to pair his well cut (a “tailor’s dummy” is my silver-years female’s favourite description of him – as I said, she’s not a huge fan), well pressed suit with a pair of Adidas.

He is not the first to do so, of course. Rishi Sunak was recently pictured with a pair of what I understand are called Adidas “Samba”. But Rishi is Rishi. He is, at heart, a Californian tech-bro. If he has a vision, it is the Silicon Valley ideal of the tech future and the maths lessons which underpin it. He dresses today for the job he will have tomorrow (or whenever he loses the election/vote of confidence). Farage’s vision is, not being unkind, more backward-looking although whether he situates utopia in the ‘80’s or the ‘50’s is unclear. Rishi’s trainers were, much though his fellow customers may dislike this, “on brand”. Nigel’s were not.

The footwear choice of a former (and future?) politician is a small thing. But small things can tell us a lot. People have long used clothes as a method of signalling. Sometimes this is overt – the width of the purple stripe on a Roman’s toga (if he had one) told others which of the social orders he belonged to – sometimes it is more subtle – school/college/club/regimental ties identify the wearer to those who know what they represent, but to others they are just stripy neckwear.

Beyond such matters of embellishment, however, one’s whole outfit can be a way of signalling to others. We all know that wearing a tracksuit or, shudder, a “onesie”, is more comfortable than wearing a suit, tie, and proper shoes. And so when we see someone wearing them, we know that they are willing to bear a certain amount of discomfort. They have enough respect for their task or those they are meeting to forego the seductive allure of soft, Chinese-sweatshop cotton. They are telling us that there are things they value more highly than their pleasure. “For the sake of fashion, freeze” a modish lady of my former acquaintance would regularly say. While in the tropics…

In the total war of politics of course, no front is too small to be ignored, and so the War of Farage’s Footwear has started. “Cringe” say his opponents (this, I understand, is a bad thing) before vowing to bin their Adidas. On the other side, partisans flock to defend their former (and future?) leader. Trainers are comfortable. We should all wear trainers. We are, one feels, not far from “two trainers good, four trainers better” being heard across the land. Or at least on GB News.

This is, of course, wrong.

For what is Nigel telling us with his trainers?

That he wants to be down with the kids? Really? Well, there’s a first time for everything…

No, he’s telling us he wants to be comfortable.

But leaders don’t want to be comfortable. Alexander the Great, after several parched days in the Bactrian Desert, poured the water skin offered to him by his scouts on the ground declaring that he would drink when the army drank. Voluntary discomfort was, he knew, the price of leadership.

Nor do we want others to be comfortable. We have invented all manner of initiation rituals which allow individuals to show to the rest of the group that they are willing to pay a price to be members. By doing so, they demonstrate that, when push comes to shove, they can be relied upon. When the going gets tough, they will be there. The discomfort of a suit, tie and proper shoes is a small, if ongoing, version of the hazing rituals in American frat houses, or the “cocktail” served to freshers. Those who do not participate are telling us that, at some level, they are unwilling to belong.

Many years ago, at that point of the Christmas party when bartenders dust off the lurid liqueurs on their shelves, knowing that the annual opportunity to sell them has arrived, the Vice Chairman of a City institution saw one of the directors in his shirt sleeves at a table. Winding his way through the throng of employees all desperately hoping they were in the sweet spot of being merry enough to socialise with their colleagues, but not so merry they would lose their jobs, he reached his colleague. “Coat off?” he leant forward and said. “I don’t really think so. Do you?” before gliding serenely on into that Midori-hued midnight.

For he knew the importance of standards. He knew that those in authority set the tone. He knew that if those at the top were not willing to bear a little discomfort, then neither would those at the bottom. And he knew that organisations and societies in which individuals prioritise their own comfort are not organisations and societies which flourish.

So.

Trainers, Nigel? I don’t really think so. Do you?

Stewart Slater works in Finance. He invites you to join him at his website.