Ralph Lauren, and the World We Wanted to Step Into

Writing about Ralph Lauren in a menswear journal is a little like recommending the sea to someone who enjoys a swim. It is a cliché, and I know it. Somewhere, as you read this, another magazine is describing an Oxford shirt, a weathered leather chair and a man who appears to own both a horse and an exceptionally beautiful Labrador.

But some subjects become clichés because they have shaped so much of what came after them. Ralph Lauren is, to my mind, one of the most influential artists on the planet. His medium just happens to include jackets, advertisements, rooms, restaurants and the rather difficult art of making a stranger feel nostalgic for a life they may never have lived.

It is easy to recognise a Ralph Lauren image. The remarkable thing is that, quite often, you can recognise how it makes you feel before you have noticed a single garment.

A dream beginning with a tie

Ralph Lauren was born in the Bronx in 1939. The world that would later become associated with his name was not simply handed to him as an inheritance. The country houses, old sporting clubs, open roads and beautifully imperfect libraries were part of a vision he would create. It was something he observed, collected in his imagination and gradually made his own.

In 1967, he began with a line of ties under the name Polo. It is a wonderfully modest place for such an enormous world to begin: a strip of fabric, chosen carefully, capable of changing the mood of an entire outfit. From there came menswear and, over time, a company whose vision extended well beyond the wardrobe.

The familiar version of the story is an American success story, and it certainly is one. But what makes it compelling is not only the distance between the Bronx and a global business. It is the imaginative act in between: the decision that a boy could fall in love with images of another world and then create his own version of it.

He made clothes feel like a life

A great many designers can make a beautiful jacket. Lauren has an unusual gift for suggesting where that jacket might have been worn, what book might be waiting in its pocket and who might be expecting its owner for dinner.

His work draws from a generous collection of influences: English tailoring, American sportswear, Western clothes, military pieces, old Hollywood and the ease of garments that look as though they have already lived a little. A tailored blazer might find itself beside worn denim; a formal shirt may be accompanied by a sweater that has no interest in standing to attention. The combination feels considered, but ideally never too pleased with itself.

That is a difficult balance to achieve. The aim is not to look as though you have purchased an entire room from a catalogue and then dressed to match the curtains. It is to choose things that begin to feel like yours: the jacket that improves with wear, the shirt that finds its way into every suitcase, the sweater you keep reaching for when the evening turns cool.

Lauren's ability to build that sense of a complete life has been central to his influence. Clothes became part of a larger atmosphere that could include home furnishings, photography, fragrance and hospitality. At the Madison Avenue store in New York, the building itself seems to belong to the story. A room in his world might tell you something about the person in it before they have said a word. It may also suggest that they own more cushions than strictly necessary.

The romance of the ordinary

The best of Mr Lauren's work does not require an actual country estate to make sense. Its appeal can be found in smaller moments: an Oxford shirt worn on a quiet morning, a knitted tie chosen for no particular reason, or a weekend bag packed for a trip that lasts only two nights but has somehow been discussed for three weeks.

There is romance in these things because they invite us to pay attention. They suggest that the everyday need not be treated as the waiting room for a more glamorous life. Breakfast can be worth dressing for. A table can be laid nicely even when only two people are coming. A favourite coat can make the walk to the station feel a little more purposeful.

This is perhaps why the imagery has travelled so far. It offers an invitation to imagine not merely how we might look, but how we might spend our time. The dream may be carefully constructed and, at its most luxurious, very expensive. Still, the emotional idea can be much simpler: make room for beauty, comfort and a little ceremony in the life you already have.

A world others made their own

Lauren's influence also extends beyond the world his campaigns first presented. People and communities have taken his clothes, colours and symbols and given them meanings of their own. That is part of what happens when an idea escapes the designer's hands: a polo shirt or a piece of sportswear can become personal in ways no campaign could have completely planned.

Not every version of the Ralph Lauren dream will appeal to everyone. Its polished nostalgia can feel exclusive, and there is a fair question to ask about who gets to feel at home in images of old money and inherited leisure. The most interesting response is not to pretend those associations do not exist, but to notice how individuals reinterpret the clothes and make the style their own.

You do not need the house, the horse or the family history. You may not even need the dog, though it would probably improve the afternoon. You can borrow what speaks to you and leave the rest: a sense of proportion, an affection for things that age well, or the confidence to dress for the day you would like to have.

Beyond the cliché

There are many reasons to write about Ralph Lauren: the ties, the tailoring, the polo shirts, the films associated with his clothes, and the enormous influence of his imagery. But the reason I return to him is the feeling that runs through it all. His work understands that style can hold a little longing: a wish for warmth, adventure, belonging or an evening that lasts longer than expected.

Perhaps it is a cliché to admire him. I am quite comfortable with that. If a person's imagination has helped so many of us look differently at a jacket, a room or an ordinary afternoon, there may still be something worth saying about it.