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Why 'casual' means you just don't care

Stop the 'casual' madness, says Annabel Rivkin...

24 Apr 2014

An invitation with the dress code 'Smart Casual' has always triggered a certain social judgement. So golf club. So green belt. So very Hyacinth Bucket. Clearly from a person too socially insecure to just... get dressed.

And now weird things have started happening. A recent invitation to an oligarch's birthday decreed that we should wear 'London Casual'. WTF is London Casual? I suppose one theory might be that it's an alternative to what country folk over 80 consider to be casual: namely, a brushed-cotton shirt, a tie, a sports jacket and - one supposes - moleskins. So is London Casual a pea coat and a polo neck? Is it an open-necked white shirt and a jacket with non-matching trousers? Is it ironed jeans? Can you be bothered to care?

Next, there'll be Mustique Casual: arrive on the island by private plane but then ride to the party on a bicycle. New York Casual: a T-shirt printed with highlights from your personal art collection. Gstaad Casual: fur and diamonds - then arrive in snow boots made of baby-otter skin and laugh about how it's the first time you've worn flats in 10 years, because you even work out in those trainers with built-in heels. And Hackney Casual: a beard, a chicken and a passionate reluctance to use your title.

Because casual is silly and dull. Nothing fun happens with 'casual' attached. Casual sex is better in theory than in practice. And a casual affair is usually only casual on one side - while the other sobs, names the children, gets drunk and ultimately humiliates themselves.

Nowadays, 'casual' is the arrogant addendum to the humblebrag. 'Not a big night: just 5 Hertford Street till four, then back to mine and bed at seven. Casual.' Or 'St Tropez was so laidback last weekend: Kanye turned up. Casual.' That's what the kids are up to. They should stop it and go to their rooms. And get a job. And shut up.

Remember casuals? From the early Eighties? They were men who wore white socks with grey loafers and rolled up the sleeves of their leather jackets and had crystal-tip highlights and no women wanted to sleep with them, which was just as well, because they were mostly a bit George Michael. Do the people writing 'London Casual' realise they are harking back not to Brideshead Revisited and well-loved corduroy, but to Loadsamoney and pinky rings?

'Casual' is toxic in the least exciting, least compelling way. It's a device for the privileged and the naff to pretend that they're keeping it real. Somewhere in Belgravia right now, someone is typing an email saying that Anastasia would love to have tea with Tatiana. 'But let's keep it casual.' Anastasia and Tatiana are four. And this is apparently code for 'Nannies only, no mothers expected.' Stop the casual madness. It's over.