‘Lounge suit’ is normally a reliable signifier of supine gentility. But there it was on the invitation to Richard Rogers’s 80th birthday retrospective. Can this be the same architect once praised by a president of RIBA for his admirable ‘sod you’ approach to the public?
The same man the Parisians sniffily called an ‘English hippie’ when working on the Centre Pompidou? Surely not the architect who had to buy a cheap suit and borrow a tie to visit his new client, Lloyd’s of London?
And there he was at the head of the receiving line. Balsamic brown face, steel-grey buzzcut like a Florentine cab-driver, baggy grey cargo pants, signature violent-green collarless shirt and DayGlo pink sneakers with some sophisticated ventilation thing going on. ‘What happened to the lounge suit?’ I asked. His Lordship grinned and shrugged.
The dress code anomaly is a small matter, but illustrates larger anomalies in Richard Rogers’s illustrious career.
Comments
Join the debate for just $5 for 3 months
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for $5.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just $5 for 3 monthsAlready a subscriber? Log in