Tweed is the most noblest of fabrics, a cloth which without doubt should be given a special place in the constitution of any enlightened nation. Sadly no nations at the time of my writings have done such a thing, and furthermore the general population knows little of Tweed’s true power. In this short article I will now, in point form, attempt to make known the eldritch powers of Tweed, in an attempt to educate the public and lobby the various nations of the world to adopt it as their national fabric. However, unlike the Brothers Koch I have little in the way of capital and therefore doubt whether an astro-turfing operation shall be all too effective. I rely on you, the readership, to take my words and to fabricate a Tweed Revolution.
1. Definition: Wikipedia, which is a certified religion in Belgium, defines Tweed as such: “Tweed is a made-up, rough, unfinished woollen fabric, of a soft, open, flexible texture, resembling cheviot or homespun, but more closely woven. It is made in either plain or twill weave and may have a check or herringbone pattern. Subdued, interesting colour effects (heather mixtures) are obtained by twisting together differently coloured woollen strands into a two- or three-ply yarn.”
If you can not immediately extract any meaning from the above paragraph and have a pressing engagement on the High Street that prevents thorough research, you are by no means alone. Put simply and concisely Tweed is much like a gentleman’s chin. It is both rough and symmetrical in shape, a jutting peak of virility. It is unfinished, yet simultaneously sophisticated, much like the dark shadow of stubble that sweeps over come tea-time. This analogy should prove useful in later life. Memorise it word for word and impress both your fellow chaps and prospective paramours once the heady aura of gin begins to cloud their more advanced faculties. Let us now look at its effects.
2. In The Wilds: Tweed is excellent for the outdoors. Its primary and traditional purpose was as a garment in which a gentleman could stalk the withered northern moors in search of game, yet still retain a certain savoir-faire and panache should a lady and or gentleman chance upon him on some lonely path. Built to combat harsh conditions, Tweed coincidentally makes a perfect alternative to the crass, utilitarian horror that is lycra when a spot of cycling is in order. For the practical cyclist Tweed is a sturdy, rough fabric that provides valuable protection in the case of an accident, and also reduces road rage. A cyclist in Tweed is undoubtedly more pleasant to regard in the midst of peak hour traffic than an arrogant lycra-clad fool, whose very presence makes obvious one’s own physical detractions.
3. In The Social Jungle: Tweed was invented by the Scots, a proud people whose other forays into fashion have brought the world the rustic delight of kilts and woad. Tweed is therefore imbued with certain traits and characteristics, a peculiar Celtic je ne sais quoi. Tweed radiates a simple uncomplicated charm, coupled with the vague scent of mystery, that disarms opponents and attracts potential suitors, male or female, like wasps to the proverbial picnic. I learned of Tweed’s fantastic wiles first-hand a few weeks before the writing of this emeritus tract, but that is another tale, and one that a gentleman can never tell, except of course to fellow gentleman, barmen, and disinterested dinner guests once the Gin and Tonics begin to take their saintly toll. All I can say is beware. Providing of course that one has not hardened one’s heart to follow the noble Way of the Cad, Tweed can be a dangerous substance ladies and gentleman, use it with a sense of awe and caution.
4. Famous Fellows of Tweed: I as a Gentleman and a Radical would appreciate and applaud any lady who dared to wear the Holy Cloth and pull it off with the required flair, but one cannot help but acknowledge that for better or worse society, and perhaps even the Creator Him/Herself, has dictated that Tweed be the preserve of males. This uncomfortable example of blatant patriarchy aside, here are some distinguished and celebrated gentleman who have worn, and even continue to wear, the holy fabric of Tweed.
Sherlock Holmes: The Great Detective of Baker Street. It is perhaps not too careless an assumption to make that Tweed gave Mr Holmes his famous powers of deduction. Without it he would have been just another gnarled opium fiend huddled in a small East End flat, relying on the charity of his estranged family and friends.
Doctor Who: Several iterations of the Time Lord have clad themselves in Tweed, hinting perhaps at the high status of Tweed in the highly advanced Gallifreyan society. Also, it is almost impossible to imagine how a man, with neither sophisticated facial hair or any real social skills, could lure so many unwitting women into a small police box without the roguish influence of Tweed on his side.
Edward the Eighth: Before he gave up the throne of the Empire for the hand of a charming American divorcee, Crown Prince Edward was quite the Womaniser. Like one of his more modern contemporaries, our dear Eddy cut a swathe through the British social scene between the wars. While we are not entirely sure whether Crown Prince Edward did indeed wear Tweed on a regular basis, one must ask ourselves the familiar refrain, how could a gangly man, with a comparatively weak jawline, penchant for Nazism, and constant outbursts of racism, curry such favours among the ladyfolk without Tweed’s miraculous influence?
In conclusion I believe that Tweed and Gin form the most holiest of Sacraments. It is only from these two substances, adding perhaps fine shoes, a sense of effete detachment and a suitable hat, that we as humans can gain any sort of meaning from this absurd reality in which we find ourselves. I have said my piece, paid my dues time after time, so now, I fear, the onus is on you, to absorb Tweed into your everyday life. A grassroots Tweed Revolution. To topple your Tweed hostile governments. To make denim history.