'The whole trouble with Western society today is the lack of anything worth concealing.'

These words of Joe Orton, written in the last half of the twentieth century, may appear prophetic to us now, in a world of close-circuit television, a tabloid press willing to reveal the innermost secrets of the stars of TV soaps as well as the long lenses of the paparazzi.

Pornography is now one of the most profitable global businesses, next to tourism and the selling of arms, but what of erotica? Whereas pornography leaves nothing to the imagination, the erotic is all about the fantasy of sex, but where can it be found in a form that truly arouses the senses?

The phrase 'hide in plain sight' comes to mind whenever I venture out around the city, as men in pinstripe or tweed, promenade themselves, so unselfconsciously. The understated power that oozes from within, but what is most arresting is the sight of a large man in a three-piece suit. A barrister, perhaps, like Leo McKern as Rumpole in the Bailey? Or one of those many villains, which prop up many an otherwise inferior black and white movie from yesteryear, such as Sydney Greenstreet or Charles Laughton?

My time as an outdoor clerk and court logger opened my eyes to the erotic potential of such dress sensuality. Tight collar, a waistcoat, with the obligatory final button left undone, grey trousers, black jacket, an expensive looking signet ring on the left hand. It could be difficult to concentrate at the best of times, as not every court action is as dramatically involving as Agatha Christie or John Mortimer may suggest.

The erotic potential of the suit has been suitably ignored by society, as the beauty ideal has been confined solely to women, especially those that are young, thin and, in some ways strangely, asexual. Beauty is not so much in the eye of the beholder, but an invented tradition, summed up best in the title of Naomi Wolf's book on the subject, The Beauty Myth.

Do clothes maketh the man, though? The kilt, for example, maintains its charge through the masking of nudity, which can be revealed with a stiff breeze. The suit, especially the three-piece, almost becomes part of the person wearing it. It has a mystique similar to that of the uniform, imparting a power and sensuality, which sparks that benign biological upsurge of masculinity.

George Mazzei, one time Managing Editor of GQ Magazine, elucidates on its peculiar power:

"The man's suit, comprised of the jacket, pants and or vest, and enhanced by a shirt and tie, came into its flower during the 1930's. The shoulders then were always padded and the lapels were shaped to work with that padding to enhance the ideal male form of broad shoulder and narrow hips, and to make a man look bigger and taller. These - rather this shape enhanced the beauty of the male form, and pointed up the qualities that made a man sexy."

As George explains, this "armour" was designed to make him stand tall and strong in the eyes of other men. The phrase "high and mighty" immediately comes to mind, which also happens to be the name of a clothes store that caters for tall, or large, men.

The word "attire" has the root in the meaning to make oneself attractive. It originates from the French verb attirer - "to attract" - that comes as no surprise as the Continentals, especially the Italians are famous for their style, and fashion, sense.

In the West, religion, societal pressures and the law prevents us from walking around naked, as God intended, in our birthday suit, despite the fact that no other animal dons the skins of other creatures in order to keep warm. It is possible to protect our bodies from the elements without clothes as certain tribes can do this. The body is able to quickly develop natural protection against the heat or cold. So, inevitably, clothes have become primary signifiers to enhance the illusion of strength or to magnify one's sexual potency.

With the rise to power of the Conservatives and the emergence of the Yuppie in the nineteen eighties the suit reinvented itself. No longer was it a symbol of fusty and arcane manners that had seen better days. Now men strode purposefully through the City in their garish ties, divesting themselves of their jackets to reveal red braces, prepared to take on all comers in a competition that was stiff in the square mile surrounded by enormous erections.

Dressing for power was all the rage from the trading floor to Downing Street. Margaret Thatcher who may have wielded a handbag but who clearly demonstrated through her own sartorial eloquence that she was as tough as her largely male cabinet. Harking back to those selfish times, she was probably the only man amongst them. Geoffrey Howe, Francis Pym and Leon Brittan were hardly any match for her.

Thatcher was far from a trailblazer, however, as Yves St Laurent had earlier shocked the world with his trouser suit for women and setting the trend for unisex, although Marlene Dietrich showed the way a decade or so before the French designer's attempt to cross the dress divide.

The suit is still so bound up with our notions of masculine power and control that any attempts to change it have proved largely unsuccessful. Robert Redford's wardrobe in the big screen adaptation of F Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby is a case in point. As Colin McDowell's explains in Dressed to Kill the suit has altered so little that the 1920's look is still wearable and would be unlikely to cause any adverse comment.

Prince Charles demonstrates this fact to a tee. His style has barely changed from his teenage years. Indeed most of the Queen's son have shown very little interest, even Prince Edward, that renowned heterosexual, who has followed in his elder brothers' shoes and sports pretty much the same look despite their being nearly twenty years between himself and his eldest sibling.

The future king, if he ever does ascend to the throne, which is a moot point altogether, even fails to dress down in sunnier climes, being strangely addicted to the safari suit, which had its heyday in the time of the big game hunter and Ernest Hemingway. It had to be sturdy but light, as well as washable and highly functional.

Indeed, Papa Hemingway, author of Men Without Women, even helped designed model 476 for himself, placing an additional pocket on the arm - for his spectacles. Hemingway's reputation as a writer lay in his cool, crisp prose, apart from when he wrote about sex when he became strangely euphemistic. Of course, Hemingway was much secure in the male world of sport, especially bullfighting with its garishly attired matadors.

Another sport that demands formal attire is snooker with its waistcoats and bow ties, which boomed with the nation's love of colour television. One of the reasons given for its success was put down to female viewers who enjoyed ogling the posteriors of the players from the rake-thin Steve Davies to the somewhat bulkier Bill Werbeniuk. No mention was ever made of whether men did the same.

Unlike the top players, few of us can ever hope to afford a bespoke suit, and enjoy the attentions of a tailor and his chalk. Measuring us up for a double-breasted, as he discusses our figure in that most discreet of codes, DRS for Dropped Right Shoulder or FS for a Forward Stomach. Then, again, not everyone is cut out to wear a suit these days, but perhaps it is better to admire the suit and he who wears it. Or, as someone once expressed in song, whatever pops your collar?

© Howard Watson 2002