I adore loud patterns; I can’t afford them though. Let me explain. Regardless of fiber, quality cloth is never inexpensive, and regardless of the source (ready-to-wear through bespoke), quality clothing made from quality cloth is an expensive proposition. To squeeze the most value from the resulting garment the owner would hope for durability, an acceptable range of performance, and, most importantly, an appearance not so distinctive as to become familiar to those who regularly witness its use. Put another way, a loud garment is a poor investment if worn sparingly, and embarrassing if worn too regularly.

The obviously sensible approach, then, is to build a wardrobe comprised of tastefully restrained quality garments. This is a well understood principle in classic menswear writing. I can also personally attest to the satisfaction felt in slowly accumulating clothes expertly made of high-quality ingredients. Importantly, satisfaction in a restrained wardrobe is derived from two sources. There is the austere beauty of neatly hung garments in harmonizing shades, a result that appears functional and efficient. But there is also the sense of security that originates from being prepared; nothing rattles the owner of this wardrobe, from unexpected business functions to splashy social occasions. This is a mature wardrobe, but one built upon propriety rather than desire, and perhaps even fear rather than confidence.

A conservative (but vibrant!) blue tropical worsted.

I’m starting to wonder if the rubric has changed. I have a friend who works in a conservative field, but not one that requires the daily wearing of a suit. In fact, he is explicitly encouraged to wear nothing more exciting than chinos or slacks and tie-less button-front shirts. He is a repressed soul while on the clock; once released, however, he blossoms in lilac checks and grass-green socks, tan brogues and electric plaids. His tastes are far more adventurous than my own, but his comfort with color and pattern is obvious. Most notably, though, he enjoys his clothes immensely, and because they are worn exclusively for social occasions, he is unconcerned with colleagues who might snipe at seeing some bold jacket for the third time.

What he is, it should be clear, is a weekend dandy. But I suspect not one of his own making. He is, instead, a product of his environment—an American phenomenon that has concentrated propriety down to a rigidly anonymous and yet still casual uniform. Of course some professions still expect conservative suits and accessories, but they are few, and fewer still are individual holdouts from previous generations who wouldn’t dream of relaxing their habit. But generally the level of professional formality is greatly reduced in the US, while expectations of dress for social occasions have all but disappeared. I suspect these are precisely the conditions that have given rise to a new breed of clothing enthusiast. This new man might be somewhat repressed for much of the week, but the weekend unveils a wardrobe conceived in contradistinction to propriety: his is a collection grounded in confidence, exuberance and self-gratification.

Have garment makers responded? Paging through some of the season’s better look-books reveals a steady diet of bold color and loud pattern, elements of costume and precious styling. Some men may wear these things to work, but I suspect most wouldn’t dare in the combinations suggested. And most retailers would rather oblige than force fashion; these bolder expressions, then, are surely reflections of where tastes are headed, one oversized plaid at a time. Further up the chain, mills do seem to produce more exuberant cloths today than in recent memory. Mills are an ideal advance indicator; quality cloth is not just expensive to buy but to produce, so if they are willing to bet on bold, then surely change is in the air. As I glance at my own modest collection of semi-solids, the real question becomes: am I?