THE JOURNAL

From left to right: Raf Simons, photograph by Raf Simons/IMAXtree. Ermenegildo Zegna, photograph by Ermenegildo Zegna/IMAXtree. Fendi, photograph by Fendi/IMAXtree. Rick Owens, photograph by Rick Owens/IMAXtree. Louis Vuitton, photograph courtesy of Louis Vuitton
The history of art is littered with men wearing green. Many of them are covered in robes and leaves. Mythology, after all, loves its knights and pagan gods clad in verdant shades. It’s not all draped fabric and laurel wreaths, though. Some of the clothes are a little more practical.
In two portraits completed in 1906 in Collioure, Mr Henri Matisse focuses on a young sailor lounging on a chair. In one portrait soft brushstrokes and shades fill the canvas. In the other, the sailor’s features are opaque and angular, rendered in thick lines. In both, the eye is immediately drawn to his trousers, which are an audaciously bright shade of green. See also Mr Vincent van Gogh’s “Self Portrait With Bandaged Ear” (1889), in which the artist depicts himself in a robust deep green overcoat run through with blue brush strokes.
More recently, Ms Lynette Yiadom-Boakye’s mesmerising “Complication” (2013) features four men standing with arms slung easily around one another’s shoulders. Their matching fern green jumpers echo the background, the richness of the shade offset by slivers of white in the form of underpants and T-shirts glimpsed beneath their tops.
Elsewhere, in Mr Salman Toor’s “Bar Boy” (2019), the green glow of the central figure’s phone screen radiates out to encompass his rakish clothes and the febrile scene around him.

Vincent van Gogh, Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear, 1889. Photograph by The Courtauld Gallery/Bridgeman Images
In these paintings, green signifies many things. It can be fertile, lush, almost paradisiacal. It can be relaxed. It can be suggestive. It is the colour of mother nature and artificial lighting. Some of the time, it is rich; at others, sickly. In popular culture, it is often the colour of outcast creatures – a snot-coloured Shrek and luridly irascible Grinch come to mind. Or ancient, hairy wisdom (Yoda, anyone?). Green can let you get away with a lot, or, like the emerald city in The Wizard Of Oz, forever beckon you towards it.
Ultimately, green’s meanings are as many as its shades, stretching from palest sage to brightest lime. Run any of these paintings or pop culture figures through one of those handy iPhone apps that identifies colours for you, and it will yield an entire palette of possibilities with all sorts of pleasing names. Bottle. Viridian. Forest. Khaki. Mint. Chartreuse. Pistachio. Malachite. Matcha. Apple. Pine.
The sheer scale of variety seems to render it both a rewarding and slightly elusive colour, particularly when it comes to clothing. In the world of menswear, the word “green” has many applications. It is used to refer to incredibly neutral fabrics that look grey or brown at a squint, and jewelled textiles that draw the eye the minute they enter the room. It suggests both understatement – even mundanity – and extreme flamboyance.

A$AP Rocky in Bottega Veneta pre-Fall 2021 Collection. Photograph by Mr Cam Hicks, courtesy of Bottega Veneta
Recently, it seems the appetite for green clothing has expanded. In fact, the AW21 shows featured more green than a Wicked cast party – though thankfully there were many other hues available beyond emerald or Elphaba. At Botter, the greens were zingy. At Rick Owens, they were satisfyingly sludgy. At Tod’s, they came in the form of a series of hardy, outdoorsy tweeds and wools finished off with Wellington boots. At Ermenegildo Zegna and Fendi, they were found in top-to-toe loose suits and separates. At Raf Simons, they resembled, at times, architectural hospital scrubs. At JW Anderson, they were present in a sweeping coat replete with enough pockets to fit every odd end and gadget you could imagine. Wherever you look, green in all its many forms is the stylish thing to wear. But why?
One could reasonably blame Bottega Veneta’s creative director Mr Daniel Lee for this sudden growth. After first appearing last year, “Bottega Green” – that punchy hue that covers even the brand’s shoeboxes – has maintained its presence everywhere. In the guise of sharp-shouldered blazers, woven backpacks, soft slippers, or the fuzzy fleece jacket recently worn by A$AP Rocky fresh from Lee’s Wardrobe 02 collection (pre-fall 2021, if you want to give it the standard label). Its applicability to both loungewear and tailoring is notable. This is a shade of green, Lee implies, just as suited to loafing around at home as it is being seen out on the town.
Another shot of influential green came from Louis Vuitton’s AW21 menswear collection. Inspired by Mr James Baldwin’s 1953 essay “Stranger In The Village” and melding aspects of Western dress with West African textiles, Mr Virgil Abloh’s show featured bright green varsity jackets, draped Ghanaian Kente cloth, and a leather motocross suit inspired by wax fabrics from the creative director’s childhood.

Mr David Bowie performs in Minneapolis, 01 October 1991. Photograph by Mr Jim Steinfeldt/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images
Lee and Abloh’s greens have something in common. Both are crisp and commanding. They ask you to stop and look. An attention-grabbing green is a powerful tool in the hands – or rather wardrobe – of the canny dresser. One just has to think of a sullen, sultry looking Sir Mick Jagger in white loafers and a pale green suit by Mr Tommy Nutter to recognise its star appeal.
Indeed, many performers have fallen for its viridescent charms: picture Mr David Bowie’s neon costuming, or Mr Jimi Hendrix’s teeming florals, or the dark, narrow silhouettes of Mr Nick Cave’s tailoring. In more recent years, green’s showier possibilities have seen a renewal. In 2019, Lil Nas X wore a highlighter green Christopher John Rogers tuxedo with matching shoes and neon zebra print to the AMAs. Earlier this year, Mr Harry Styles performed at the Grammys in a leather Gucci ensemble topped off with a zesty faux fur boa.
This is green at its most extreme: vibrant, assertive, sumptuous. It doesn’t have to be quite so gutsy, though. Green can also be unassuming. Delve back deeper into the history of men wearing green and you’ll find slightly quieter examples to draw inspiration from: Mr Cary Grant’s pyjamas in 1963 caper Charade, say, or Mr Paul Newman’s incredibly comfy looking sweater in 1971 drama Sometimes A Great Notion. These greens have a softness to them; slightly luxe, but without being brash about it.
Look elsewhere and green’s capacity to camouflage the wearer quickly becomes apparent, whether achieved through the flattening effect of militaristic garb or natural shades that blend in seamlessly with the landscape.
To put it another way, green is what the wearer makes it. It symbolises many things (luck, wealth, fecundity, jealousy) and has an almost infinite number of practical applications. Want to be centre of attention? Go for an emerald velvet tuxedo or carry one of Gucci’s eye-catching embossed bags. Fancy something earthier? Try a light khaki coat, or a pair of corduroy trousers that suggest you’re ready to take a long, blustery walk at any moment. Want to be wholesome? Make like Mr David Hockney in a seafoam green cardigan or keep things simple in a forest-coloured cashmere sweater. Simply want to camouflage yourself? There’s an upcycled jacket for that.
That’s the great beauty of green. It can render you a peacock or a chameleon: offering up the centre stage, or letting you melt happily into the background.