What Archibald Leach Taught Me About Individual Style

uly/August 2005 -- My first role model was Cary Grant.

In the Age Before Cable Television, when my life was solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short on preprogrammed entertainment choices, I spent rainy Saturday afternoons watching old movies on the UHF channel. (If you don’t remember UHF, ask your father.) It was either sports, sports, sports, sports, or PBS, or old movies. So I went for the old movies—and quickly discovered that I wanted to be a suave Englishman who made American movies with beautiful women.

Understandable, of course; but what about my individuality? Is trying to become someone else the best route to defining your own personal style?

Of course it is. But it’s only the first step.

Good taste and a singular personal style don’t have to be expensive propositions, and they aren’t necessarily exclusive. Yet they remain as rare as a lightly grilled rack of lamb.

The good news is that finding your personal style isn’t that hard to do: all you have to do is look around. Doing so in good taste is easier still: all you have to do is follow a few simple rules.

The best news is this: we’re Americans; we’re individualists; our stylistic choices aren't limited by birth or class or station or ethnicity—or even by nationality.

But where to begin?

Start with the Superficial

Cary Grant admitted that when he was just starting out, what he really wanted to be was Fred Astaire. Can you imagine two actors more different from one another, with the possible exception of a Gwyneth Paltrow/Hume Cronyn pairing? And yet . . . by modeling himself after Astaire, the young Archibald Leach transformed himself into the quite singular Cary Grant.

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Imitation is the first step to finding your own style.

Ludwig von Beethoven stood on the shoulders of giants, such as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, who during childhood worshipped and imitated his own idol, Johann Christian Bach. Plato begat Aristotle, and Aristotle begat Rand. Rare is the genius who didn’t learn from—who didn’t at first explicitly copy from—those who went before him. And yet each of those geniuses was, in the end, unique.

That means there’s no need for you to start completely from scratch. Look around you. See things you like? Imitate them. But won’t that make you an imitation? No. Because you are an individual, and because you won’t ever be exactly anyone else, you’ll soon make those imitated things your own . . . and eventually part of your own, singular style.

The corollary is to not fear failure. Did I ever measure up to Cary Grant? Hardly. I grew up too skinny, not WASP-y enough, and was never once seduced by a single Hepburn—Audrey or Katharine. And twenty-plus years after my first go-round with The Fountainhead , I’m still trying to get my hair to do that unruly, sexy Howard Roark thing. If nothing else, I provide my wife an endless source of amusement.

And yet, by trying to be more than I was, I made myself into a much better Steve.

Don’t fear failure. After all, without aiming high and occasionally hitting something else entirely, we’d never have discovered just how tasty Northern Spotted Owls can be.

Like What You Like--Like, Really, Really Well

It’s a fine thing when, at any age, you finally decide exactly what you want to be. It’s quite another to actually be it. An individualist who isn’t actually good at anything is little more than a mass-media product with pretensions.

Competence is the art of putting your knowledge to useful effort. Sure, Cary Grant ended up just dandy trying to emulate Fred Astaire. But even Fred Astaire would never have been Fred Astaire had he been too shy to ask a girl to dance. You won’t become a fine chef by reading cookbooks; you’ll do it in the kitchen, like newlyweds.

In other words: good style requires practice.

You also have to be realistic about your innate capabilities. Sure, Beethoven went deaf, but his pitch was always perfect. American Idol contestants included, the best advice to give to most would-be karaoke artists is: Don't.

In other words: good style requires you to choose wisely.

But having chosen something suitable, dive in with both feet. Do you want to be known for your fine taste in literature? Then be sure never to confuse “your” with “you’re” when writing your (ahem) thank-you notes, and people just might take your opinions seriously. Do you consider yourself an authority on food? Then please don’t burn the salad at your next dinner party. Self-proclaimed musical geniuses ought to play at least one instrument with some small degree of skill, sports enthusiasts ought not to throw like a girl, and health nuts should keep themselves physically fit—but even they shouldn’t wear Spandex to weddings.

Two Cheers for Conservatism!

Which brings me to another matter: finding your singular style should never, ever, mean leaving the Pale of Good Taste. Here are three simple tips.

Learn from the past. Seventies fashions were ugly then, and they’re ugly today. Thirty years ago a fashion victim could at least claim ignorance: no one had ever before tried matching big hair with a big collar with a big belt and big bell-bottoms. Today, no one can claim such ignorance. The next time you’re at the department store, don’t even look at those wide-wale corduroy pants with the patch front pockets.

Learn from the mistakes of others. I once spent two entire years wearing torn jeans and combat boots. I’d seen others doing it, and thought it was cool. Around that same time, millions were listening to Vanilla Ice and fretting that Japan was going to own us all—which should have told me everything I needed to know about “cool.”

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It’s a fine thing when, at any age, you finally decide exactly what you want to be.

Fashion and style are two different things. Fashions come and go, and most people try desperately to fit the passing trends. Your personal style, on the other hand, is something that should fit and express you—not the other way around. Authenticity matters. Even Sean Connery eventually gave up trying to hide his bald head—and many women now find him sexier than ever.

Avoid extremes. Moderation in the pursuit of individuality is no virtue, but extremism in the pursuit of style is almost always a vice. I know, I know: individualists hate to follow rules. But some rules are written simply because they’re correct. If you’re rich and eccentric and talented enough, like Elton John, then—and only then—can you get away with a top hat and rugby shirt. Everyone else—you and me included—should stick to the rules.

Have Some Fun

Trying out new styles is more fun than trying on new clothes—even for a clotheshorse like me. Really, there’s no sense in being an individualist if you’re not going to get some enjoyment out of it.

You know the person I’m talking about—the one who speaks in casual conversation in the same manner Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence. Jefferson’s words look great on paper, but when spoken sound like (at the risk of being redundant) bad Star Wars dialogue. That person used to be me: so serious about being The Perfect Individual that what I mostly was, was perfectly alone.

Don’t be that person. In search of your individual style, have some fun. Show some flair. Try on Samuel L. Jackson for a week, just to see if he fits. If not, so what? After all, it’s just style.

But “just style” is something everybody wants, and only a few true individualists manage to achieve. Take it from the man who was born Archibald Leach. “Everybody wants to be Cary Grant,” he once said. “Even I want to be Cary Grant.”                                                            

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