11/11/11: The Day Which Most Closely Resembles Corduroy

“Wet trousers in the washing machine, but I’d rather be damp then seen in jeans” Art Brut-‘Nag Nag Nag’ 2006.

As an early 30’s male, a regular wash day is hardly my top priority. But a sturdy pair of pants is, and jeans simply don’t cut it. Denim conjures flashbacks to cold itchy childhoodde Nîmes cladlegs and visions of Top Gear’s middle aged weariness. Plus, growing up In the 80’s, jeans weren’t an Easy Rider two finger salute to The Man, they were the stone washed U2 approved granddad of shell suits.  501 adverts bugged me to.

Corduroy, on the other hand, oozes comfort and style and a gentlemanly elegance, and the discerning trouser wearer’s fabric of choice celebrated on 111111: The Day Which Most Closely Resembles Corduroy.

My affair truly started with teenage thrift shopping and a £2.75 tan brown corduroy jacket resembling Jarvis Cocker’s attire. This set me straight (obviously) in to a world of Corduroy: slippers, waistcoats, ties, hats and, of course, trousers.  The horrendousness of London Shopping becomeseffortless by the corduroy trouser: I know my cord of choice; a 32w34l flared cord, £30 from a Covent Garden boutique – I don’t even need to try them on.

Yes they are practical; suitable for work, pleasure or fine dining, but corduroy is less a fabric and more a social order. Corduroy wearers acknowledge one another with a knowing appreciation of their style and integrity. Indeed a recent interview I conducted with Guillemots singer Fyfe Dangerfield started with a five minute homage to our similarly worn black cords. It’s a fabric which instigates conversation and fuels interaction.

In 2009 corduroy was finally gifted mainstream exposure as the fabric of choice for the Fantastic Mr Fox, arguably the greatest film ever for its melding of cord, wiley foxes, cider and Jarvis. Its director Wes Anderson is himself a conspirator in the advancement of corduroy with his impeccable two piece cord suits.

The fellowship nature of corduroy is headed by The Corduroy Appreciation Club, a society founded in New York by Miles Rohan in preparation for what has been officially declared, The Day Which Most Closely Resembles Corduroy, or The Greatest Day Ever: 111111. It started after Rohan experienced a “corduroy vision” on the streets of La Paz, a city strewn with vintage 70’s corduroy, in 2000. He then moved to New York to spread the corduroy message. The first Great Meeting took place on November 11, 2005 and grew into an annual conference with extrapolating membership.

This year’s Greatest Meeting employs a compulsory three items of corduroy rule and an inclusive ‘All Wales Welcome’ philosophy-wale being the count of cords per inch. The messiah will also be revealed, a child who turns 11 on 111111. All we know so far is she likes size 7 Converse and chocolate truffles.  Chapters have sprung up around the US with each requiring a minimum membership of 11.Velvet, the poor man’s relation to cord, has never garnered so much support.

Honourably The Greatest Meeting is likely to be the last meeting of the Corduroy Appreciation Club. In an age riddled with anniversaries, custom and nostalgia this is in indicative of corduroy’s nobility. Not that it would dream of belittling Remembrance Day’sperenniality.

Fortuitously, corduroy appreciation harbours the date from unimaginative Tweeters who will no doubt ‘LOL’ and ‘smiley face’ over the palindromic nature of the date: “It’s #111111 it won’t happen again for 100 years. LOL smiley face”, ignoring the fact every date won’t happen again for a century. (Tweets about Desmond Tutu’s brother on 22/2/22are acceptable though).

Since most of our clothes are from mass producing factories there has been a detachment from the fabric we wear with garments simply covering us rather than bonding with the wearer. Corduroy counteracts this. It’s noticeable, soft to the touch and pliable. Its brashness cannot be avoided as it stands out from standard flat fabric, like a future wife at a crowded party. No wonder we fall under its spell. You touch it, it’s sexy.

It’s taken many years of anticipation to get here, but finally there is a day where corduroy appreciators can step out proud of our wales, and skinny indie boys can feel their addictions justified.  It doesn’t matter if there’s still a spot of dampness in certain trouser areas, it’s our day and we shall all Hail The Wale.

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