It's no surprise that Mark Ronson is being hailed as a men's style icon. Fashion is about attraction and Ronson seems almost irresistible to womankind, as I discovered when I interviewed him a few years ago. I arrived already perturbed by the number of female acquaintances who'd asked me to pass on proposals of varying decency. Seconds after we were introduced, he was mobbed by screaming teenage girls. Whether this was down to his clothes seems a moot point: it's just a guess, but I suspect his being handsome, rich, talented and successful may have had something to do with it. To make things worse, he was also really nice.
He's recently had a succession of ridiculous haircuts: a huge quiff, a pudding basin with a lopsided fringe. This is hair that says: my hotness is such that I can make myself look stupid and still live a life of wall-to-wall deep-pile shagging.
But just as you or I would look even worse than normal with those haircuts, so Ronson's signature look is emphatically not transferable. On him, the plaid jacket and skinny tie combo works, a witty reference to the clothes worn by band leaders in the 50s. On me, it's unspeakable. The only pop star I resembled was the ubiquitous "crazy guy" in a 2 Tone-era ska band: I looked like I was about to fly around the room on wires while playing the saxophone.
