Am I Chap?

Send us your photograph and we'll assess your Chappist credentials. Your picture, along with our comments, will either be posted here or published in the next edition of The Chap.
The address is: Am I Chap? P.O. Box 39216, London SE3 0XS, or chap@thechap.net

(Right) Mr. Philip Donnelly writes to us from Ireland, which he refers to as "this green and pleasant former colony that continues to stubbornly hold out against acrylic jerseys and participative democracy." That's as may be, but Mr Donnelly, while sporting a nice Donegal Tweed jacket, whose bottom button he has left correctly unfastened, is himself guilty of stubbornly holding out against wearing proper shoes, purchasing shirts without button-down collars and knotting his tie with any flair or imagination. Oh and wearing jean-style trousers. The angle of the hat is nowhere near rakish enough, either. Mr. Donnelly should visit the nearest race track and learn from the masters.

(Above) Miss Anna Holm wrote to us rather plaintively decrying the lack of lasses on these pages. She sought to rectify this by sending us a number of photographs of herself, dressed in a variety of costumes. This was the one in which she was revealing the least, with a veil that one longed to gently lift and...ah...
Well, enough said. Chapette, one.

(Above) "My good friend Ludwig Hiscariot recently returned from his travels through Bulgaria and Turkey," writes Joel Cradle. "Although he returned with the expected hookah, he completely forgot to pick up some Turkish slippers." He did not, however, neglect to purchase a rather vulgar tablecloth and a nasty dose of razor-burn. If ever the role of the cravat was under question, this picture should provide the answer.

(Right) It would be ungentlemanly to retract our favourable comments regarding Miss Anna Holm, but this second photograph reveals another side to her character. This sort of behaviour is not at all what a Chap would hope to find behind a lady's veil. Is this really what Emily Pankhurst chained herself to the railings for, ladies?

(Above) Jens Meinusch has a nice face. He has also had access to a gentlemen's clothing hire company, who have provided him with a top hat and also, for reasons known only to them, some sort of pin-striped covert coat and a white silk tie. These facts in themselves add up to nothing offensive nor illegal, nor even consequential. They do not, however, qualify Mr. Meinusch as a Chap.

(Right) Michael Turley writes, "My middle name is Chapman and I've gone by the Name 'Chap' since March 21 1969. Here is a picture of me being a Chap in Afghanistan in 2004 right after an engagement with the enemy!" The details of nomenclature are irrelevant, since this man's sartorial assemblage is composed of elements that have clearly been gathered from the rocky terrain in which he finds himself, in the service of Her Majesty's Army. In themselves they do not compare to some of the fine fabrics elswehere on this page; however, in the way he has thrown them together, his posture and in his choice of tobacco product, Mr Turley is a Chap.

(Above) "I am writing to have my chappist credentials assessed by your expert staff," writes Ryan Jack Arthur Oakley. "Please understand that I am am hindered by my location, living far from the bosom of civilization in the wilds of Canada, where the tie has just recently been discovered." It looks as if the suit, the waistcoat, the pipe and the lady have yet to be discovered in Canada. Even the horns are of an inferior quality to those available on Jermyn Street.

(Right) Jonathan R Fowler hopes that his photograph will "help the sartorially challenged and stir the loins of our lady readership." We couldn't possibly comment on the latter, not being sure whether we have any lady readers, but Mr Folwer nevertheless carries himself with a certain elan. Quite what a morning coat is doing twinned with a Homburg is a mystery, and there is evidence of facial hair that is neither beard nor moustache, so we can only assume that Mr Fowler is a Freemasonic Chap.

(Above) This lot also hail from Canada. While they have clearly found superior outlets of gentlemanly clothing than Mr Oakley, they are nevertheless guilty of the heinous crime of trying too hard.