What follows may appear somewhat petty and that’s because it is. Initially, I was going to say how important clothes are to working-class men. Especially young ones. However, I then recalled an oft stated fear of Lord Hortio Nelson. One of England’s greatest sons and it would appear, best ‘dressers’. Lord Nelson’s fear was not so much dying, that came as a cost of doing business but of doing so, whilst badly dressed. The thought of which, apparently plagued him. Moreover, I’ve read enough by the wonderous Sir P. G Wodehous, to know how important a man’s attire was to Bertie Wooster and, possibly more importantly, to his Valet, Jeeves. Then, we’ve got Churchill who had Turnbull & Asser make his self-designed ‘Siren-suit’. Sir Winston had a few made in different fabrics, for different occasions. It would therefore, be illjudged to to believe that pride in one’s ensemble is restricted to the working class. So, with that done…
Here’s a scoop. It’s half a century late but as no one else has ever come to light with it, a scoop it remains. Fifty years ago, they, all too briefly, floated around the clubs of the West End. It was primarily Soho’s Gay clubs where these heterosexual youngsters, danced the night away, in vintage clothing and, sporting the first sighting of The Wedge. I’ve done a few Google searches and, on keying the words in, all that comes up, is a company selling children’s clothes. So, somewhat belatedly, here’s the exclusive on ‘Roxy Kids’. The subculture that the media missed and that time, ignored.
Almost a decade before ‘The Blitz’ and ‘New Romantics’ came into existence, there were Roxy Kids. Subcultures, are often depicted as ‘underground’. Equally often, these things are being promoted by record companies or other neferious parties, with a vested interest. This one wasn’t and the term is applicable to Roxy Kids on two fronts. Firstly and most obviously, in fifty years this is the first time they’ve been mentioned. Secondly, half the clubs they attended, were subterranean. The name stems from the pop group ‘Roxy Music’ and I’d imagine their concerts attracted great swathes of youngsters, dressed in all manner of weird and wonderful garb. I can only imagine as I never went. I’d happily nod if anybody asked me if I liked Roxy but you know, real Roxy fans were devasted when Eno left the band. I meanwhile, was highly delighted… Thus, the subculture’s name, is misleading. It was coined or at least used, by the Spivs who sold tickets and came across all sorts of concertgoers. Roxy Kids was used as shorthand. It was an all-encompassing term to describe anyone in vintage clobber…
As a teenager with aspirations of being “half-a-boat” I understood that going to gay clubs might prove problematic. While I wasn’t “Out of the buildings”, I wasn’t a Poofy Kid either. Meaning that, as ever, I was caught between two ideologies. On the one hand, I could see why frequenting a gay establishment might considered a no-no but on the other, slightly more enlightened hand, I had nothing against homosexuals and knew I’d not catch “Gay” by going to a club. Yet, explaining that to a few gents around me, may have proven difficult as some, held quite firm views on the topic. Two things swung me in favour. The first was, that nobody had to know. The second was Andre…
Andre was a local cat who not only dressed like a dream, but danced like one too. Going with him normalised things and, as a few other black kids came along and, as all of them could row, nobody ever said a word. I’m glad I went because those clubs were a lot more fun than The Sundown, “The Straight Goers Arms” of clubs and perfect if you were hoping for a punch-up, with a mob from Hoxton or Southgate.
I can only relate events from the perspective of an insular boy in his mid-teens and I barely understood what was going on in my world, never mind anything outside of it. So, I’m not sure if ‘Roxy Kids’ emerged due to the Biba-inspired nostalgia sweeping London in the early-70s. Roxy Music themselves. Or, simply a rejection of the unrelentingly horrendous fashion of the day. Look at any catalogue and you’ll be accosted by an array of horrific designs, in a plethora of hideous man-made fibres. Either way, if you had any sense, you were definitely looking for an the alternative.
It’s entirely possible that this thing wasn’t documented due to it being too small. Or maybe, having not lasted long enough? Despite my involvement, it’s impossible to put a number on participants and equally so, on how long it lasted. It was just there and then, it wasn’t. I can tell you when the death knell sounded though. That would have been in 76, when Chaguramas reopened as ‘The Roxy’. Chaguramas was a special club. I only went a handful of times but even I, as ignorant on clubs as it’s possible to be, sensed that. My abiding memory is of the dancefloor clearing, for Andre to lead a young lady around it, to Ester Phillips’s rendition of ‘What a Difference a Day Makes’.
The DJ at Charguramas, despite the false claims of other individuals, was a cat named Benny Wilson. Benny was a friend of a friend and, a real cool dude. Mr Wilson was happy to share his knowledge of music. You know, Benny wasn’t scatching labels off.
Judging the number of Roxy Kids is difficult because a club, say ‘Rod’s’ on Kings Rd, may have had five hundred punters in but the vast majority of those were gay men. The percentage of straight kids in vintage clobber, was relatively small. The nearest thing Roxy Kids ever came to having a ‘home’, was Chaguramas on Neal Street. Now days, that’d be fixed in a jiffy. It’d be all over that internet and there’d be a venue catering exclusively for them- pronto. Yet, back then, the nomadic and unformed nature of the thing was part of the attraction. Word was spread, purely by mouth.
Years later, I recall speaking to a guy who’s spent his life jumping from one ‘artistic’ endeavour to the next, with no discernable talent for any of them. Anyway, he was whining about being picked on by yobs, for wearing vintage clobber- in the 80s… Hmm, Try standing on the CBL in 74, in a 1940s suit, twenties shirt and thirties shoes. Pre-punk London was brutal and it took an inordinate amount of front to step out from the norm. Besides my immediate circle (four of us- two blokes, two girls) I can tell you exactly how many kids I knew who were going out, dressed in forties clothing. Three… Two sisters and their friend. All three, I believe, were from the Cally. This is aside, of course, from those one encountered in shops and clubs and suchlike.
During the 70s, there was another scene exhibiting a yearning for the past. That one though, only went as far back as the 1950s. While there were kids around our age dressing up as ‘Teds’ they were in a minority as, even amongst the fifties nostalgia adherents, most seemed to be infinitely more interested in emulating James Dean. I can’t deny having gone through a period of that but, on reading a book about him, I came across things that were quite off-putting. So, at that point, the fifties scene held little interest for me. Plus, the kids from my youth club were forever bashing up Teds.
There was, however, one aspect of the fifties revival that I found most intriguing. The girls involved did their hair in ponytails and wore fifties frocks, along with fifties shoes and, in their quest for authenticity, sported stockings and suspenders. There’s no doubt that the film American Graffiti played a part and I, like many others, will be eternally grateful to George Lucas for making it. The snag there though, was that these chicks, tended to go for guys who jived and ran around acting like Arthur Fonzarelli. I did hit the fifties garb at one point (see Luton away) after that initial phase of trying to dress like Humphrey Bogart. ‘Here’s looking at you, kid’. My revisitation of the era was less influenced by Dean/Marlon Brando and more, by William Holden.
Those fifties fanatics were jiving to Bill Haley and all that, while, we were digging-
If it wasn’t funk… It was Disco.
There were very few ‘Vintage’ shops back then and, in truth, I don’t know if the term even existed. I remember going to Antiqurious on Kings Road for stuff but most of our clobber was sourced from jumble sales and the stick I got over that, was incessant.
Younger readers may be confused by the term Jumble Sale as there’s no modern-day equivalent. Some may suggest the car boot but that’s people selling their belongings and, quite rightly, trying to get as much as possible for them. Charity shops? No. These are often staffed by those who, on checking the internet for the item’s original price, proceed to try and get as close as possible to it. This is despite the garment having been shrunk, stained and littered with cat hairs. There’s an Oxfam near me that charges more for stuff second-hand, than it costs brand new. I’ve grown to resent this shop so badly that I go in looking for things they’ve mispriced and buy them, out of spite. I don’t do it often but it has occurred, more than once. I heard an old dear berating them, by saying that she donated to help the poor, not to make Oxfam rich. She was particularly upset over the prices they were charging for books and she was right, they were astronomical. Right so, with jumble sales, Person A) donated stuff they didn’t want. Person B) sold it, for as little as possible. Thus, a win-win situation…
I was usually accompanied to these jumble sales, by three pals from school, who were equally committed. Two girls and Max. We’d scour the jumble for gems and then go out, decked in clothes from various decades. We didn’t know any better initially but as time progressed, our understanding of the look each sought, became more defined. As previously stated, I settled into a kind of William Holden/Rock Hudson vibe. It wasn’t flashy but then, neither was Holden. I’ve no doubt there were fashion designers of the day knocking up modern versions of what we sought. Probably sold in shops like Browns or Joseph but I didn’t know about them and even if I had, I couldn’t have afforded it. Andre got a lot of his clobber out of Browns and he dressed… impeccably.
Stolen Valour and Pegs…
Roxy Kids, myself included, were jumping around in ‘Pegs’ in 74. Yet bizarrely, they’re now associated with Northern Soul. As are, and equally strangely, bowling shirts. Look, it’s possible that they wore the gear but if so, it was long after we had stopped.
Those cats were running up walls and effectively ‘break-dancing’ ten years before anyone in the USA but… they weren’t doing it- in pegs and bowling shirts. With that out of the way, let’s continue… Pegs. These trousers were often marked by mail-order companies as ‘Bowie Pegs’. Another load of bollocks David didn’t catch on until he switched up on the release of ‘Young Americans’ which came out in 75. Though in fairness, the artwork was done in 74. Either way, Bowie had zero influence on those of us sporting pegs because, until that release, we didn’t know that he was. As a few months previously he’d been dressed in an eye patch and his hair was still spikey…
The next thing we knew, David had joined the Roxy fraternity.
While unacknowledged and seemingly meaningless, Roxy Kids played a big part in what was to come. Punk, Soul Boys and New Romantics, all took big bites out of it. The ‘scene’ was fun, friendly and inclusive. It was all about dressing up and having a good time. I’m pleased to have been involved and part of me still remains, a… Roxy Kid.
Forget it Jake. Peace Out!