Maketh the man

I don’t mind admitting that one of my most consistent pleasures of the last awards season was Mickey Rourke’s wardrobe. Seriously. In an industry where “who are you wearing” has been allowed to become a legitimate question, Rourke’s wholly individual, tongue-in-cheek and occasionally (okay, maybe it’s just me) pretty damn stylish ensembles came to symbolise his entire rebel stance within the circus. If only more stars would let their freak flag fly so proudly.

So I was tickled by this good-humoured ribbing of the man in the Guardian’s fashion pages recently:

While I wouldn’t dress like that myself, there’s something oddly laudable about Rourke’s one-man war against dignity, especially in the styled-to-perfection world that is Hollywood. There’s always the chance that Rourke is being styled, too — possibly by someone in the throes of a nervous breakdown — but I doubt it. I think he’s dressing to make a statement. OK, that statement seems to be, “I have crossed the boundary that separates ‘being an individual’ from ‘being a maniac’ — stand well back for your own safety.” But you can’t deny he’s getting his message across loud and clear.