By Christopher Moorby. Chris is the co-founder of Commission Studio, a branding agency in London working with the likes of Lacoste and Zegna. 

David Hockney was always a hero of mine. I first saw his work at Salts Mill in Bradford around the age of 13.

Among the overpowering scent of lilies was an eclectic body of work ranging from the exquisitely observed and masterfully drawn, to the naively and graphically painted, and then on to boundary-pushing photo montages. Here was an artist who could seemingly do it all, who attacked every medium with creative vigour and excitement.

The thing that I loved most about Hockney’s work was that once you’d witnessed his incredible ability as a draughtsman, you knew that anything you saw was exactly how he wanted you to see it.

If a painting was childishly executed it was because that’s how he wanted to convey it to you. His work was a total window into his imagination because he could realise his imagination physically. He wasn’t capped by ability. 

Experiencing the work at Salts Mill and my introduction to pop art at that age definitely helped form my own graphic eye and helped set the course for an interest in graphic design.

In later years as my interest in clothing and dressing grew, I was inspired by another example of Hockney’s creative eye: his wardrobe.

On his person Hockney wore clothes that were totally in tune with his art. In his prime his combinations of clothing were a saturated version of everyday colours and patterns. A pin stripe, but a super pinstripe. Pumped up polka dots. Jumbo windowpane plaids. Bright blues and candy pinks.

Classical choices, but the exaggerated version of them. In the 60s and 70s this approach was supercharged.

For me, his dress sense was in its prime in the eighties. He’d hit his stride. Long gone were the days of the try-hard 70s, where proving your sartorial expertise and taste was to wear everything at once. No need to peacock anymore in the 80s.

The glasses were still statemental and iconic, but more refined than the chunky rims that had overlapped his face in the sixties and seventies, when he was developing his voice and identity.

The classic British sartorial eccentricity is displayed in my favourite picture of him that leads this article: red socks and patterned slippers start the party, while up top horizontal and vertical stripes put him at risk of looking like an optical illusion. The pastel blue cardigan could be one colour too many, but Hockney’s relaxed confidence put it all at ease. An outfit that felt ‘thrown on’ by someone with a great instinct for colour and pattern. 

On to his later years and the harsh frames had been sacked, but my memory of them put them on his face regardless. The power of such an iconic look. As an old man with nothing left to prove there was little need to try too hard anymore.

Echoes of his sartorial flair were present in carnation button holes and patterned braces, but there was no time to worry himself too much about dressing when there was so much painting to do, and new techniques to embrace before his age caught up with him. Painting in fine suits had rarely looked more comfortable.

There was also something quintessentially British about his style. We see traces of these eccentricities in people such as King Charles, who has a particular panache for unexpected pattern combinations. Prince Michael of Kent has a similar eye and adds to it with his signature full windsor tie knot. We can also file the likes of Gilbert and George in this category.

An appreciation of British tailoring seems to be a fundamental part of this, but a daring approach to it comes from characters who have confidence in their own taste and creative eye. Mistakes will be made, but that’s all part of developing your sartorial voice. 

I think there’s something wonderful about getting things a bit wrong too, but done with a laissez faire attitude. This was a speciality of Hockney’s: a pocket square cascading from the chest pocket a ridiculous amount, but seemingly because it was stuffed it in without much thought.

I don’t know what we call this British nonchalance, but it’s certainly different to Italian ‘sprezzatura’. It’s not studied at all – it’s a type of flair without care. I really admire anyone who can pull off this spirit. It’s a rare quality, but certainly reflective of someone who is comfortable in their lane.

A final reason I liked Hockney’s wardrobe and dress sense was that it always reflected him and where he was in his life.

He dressed to suit his age and experience, without ever losing his flair. It was an outward reflection of personality, from an artist who always wore his imagination on his sleeve.

He put quality clothing to good use too. He lived and painted in it. Tailoring should be worn hard in my opinion – exquisite, but not precious. This is something I really value. Buy the good thing; have a good time in it.

As I enter my mid-forties, I’ve started to implement some of the lessons I learned from observing Hockney’s style over the years. I want clothing to reflect my age and how I feel, but I want to dress with the confidence of knowing more about myself and my taste and – also – not be too precious.

Maybe that means getting things a bit wrong, but it makes dressing oneself more fun; it certainly always looked like David was having a good time. 

The English painter and designer David Hockney passed away recently, aged 88. RIP.