Edward Green Belgravia


The key to a successful website, or so I’m told by those in the know, is consistently scheduled content. 

Forget what’s in it or where the photos are from, just make sure it’s up and out on the regs.

So, this piece was meant to go up on Tuesday, part of a less is more but keep things ticking over summer.

Then life got in the way. Well, I had a big fancy last minute meeting, then went to look at a car and had some gravel delivered. 

My plan had been to talk about subversion in men’s clothing. I changed my mind, then the gravel arrived and got me thinking.


The delivery was a faff, took an hour and half and three locations, turns out cranes are funny about anything over 5 degrees. 

Weather didn’t help, waterproofs and shorts kind of day. Which coupled with moving stuff and then walking the dogs meant ended up perhaps not looking my best.

Part way through, when watching tonne bags dangling and twirling up there in the sky, I thought back to someone asking me recently where I was summering, vacationing, holidaying. 

The same place I’m autumning and wintering and I’ve just sprung. Here.

This isn’t some pre Brexit show of fortitude, although I do live in a kind of paradise, I’m just suffering from the humbly bragged and ongoing problem common when name is above the door, being busy. 

That said if I was really on the humble brag, I’d be flaunting my negroni skills elsewhere. Struggling to keep the bottles in string bags on my way to friends private beach, whilst watching the ice melt and oranges turn to mush.  

Instead I’m at home covered in dust and muck. And everyone else is away. London is silent. 

Not sure I’ve thought this through properly.

What’s a boy to do? I’m a firm believer in Pete Meaden’s “clean living in difficult circumstances”. So showered and even washed behind my ears, I contemplate what to throw on. 

My clothing taste is as you may have guessed. Especially so given how I keep harping on about how much costume and pastiche annoys me. My taste is away from the ostentatious. That said, the idea of ‘classics’ annoy me, that’s a form of naïve deification of items and people who don’t always mesh with life today.

I mean all of it is confusing, so I stick with this. If it’s good, don’t bother, if it’s truly great, I’ll take one. 

Essentially, I like what I like.

So in summer, depending on where I am, it’s a mix of white Orslow jeans or Anderson & Sheppard swim shorts with oversized shirts from Emma Willis & LEJ, Real McCoy’s 2 pack tshirts, and maybe my trusty Visvim Artifact coverall for evening.

That leaves footwear. In summer, Wakouwa’s reign casually supreme, prince among sneakers, king among daps - the Japan ones obvs.

Problem is, you can’t / I don’t want to wear them everywhere. Which leaves a predicament.

Now of course this time of year is loafer and sandals season, but sandals are not my thing and most loafers, well, again, no.

My solution, Edward Green’s Belgravia on 184 last. 

To my mind, the ultimate in subversive male footwear, because I, the wearer, am none of the things it suggests.

Picked up directly from the factory years ago when there for a buying appointment. I hadn’t meant to: I just couldn’t leave them. 

Look at them, yes, a preppy staple and chaussure du jour of the boys who live round my manor, but also help all of my wide boy playing golf. Furthest got was nearly breaking mates arm off tee aged 14, then going to the pub for the football dreams come true. Or tortured artists.

None of those me.

I could talk about how beautifully made they are, and they are, but you know that already. It’s Edward Green.

But as a thing, an object, they’re beautiful, the best kind of beauty, beauty in that slightly off way. It shouldn’t work, but does.

The not quite almond last, colour with wear starting to look like the best, chewiest bits of crème brûlée. The taut plaited leather and the satisfying click of the tassel which drives the dogs nuts. 

The ultimate, sat, pretending you are elsewhere, shoes. 

Oh and before I forget, ditch the trainer socks, you look like unmentionable words. Actual socks or no socks, easy.