As our current and future PMs have shown, it’s never too late for dressing up

Dressing up is all the rage. You’ve got Boris Johnson, outgoing PM, joining the police to raid a house in south London – much to the surprise of the occupants. Meanwhile, the probable next occupant of 10 Downing Street, Liz Truss, has been sighted as a tank commander and various iterations of a Margaret Thatcher lookalike. And in California there is poor old Leonardo DiCaprio dressing up as a 25-year-old to keep in step with his youthful other half.

It’s all good for a laugh of course, but really, who doesn’t like to don a uniform from time to time, or make as if they’re a figure from history (avoid the Nazis)? Especially in these challenging times we all need some catharsis, so if channelling an officer of the law is your thing, well eat your heart out and ignore the haters.

For children, dressing up is practically de rigueur, encouraged as it is by the myriad companies that will be delighted to sell your little darlings any number of flammable superhero outfits over the internet.

I had three distinct phases as a kid. Inspired by my first favourite book, James the Policeman, I – like Bojo – initially fancied myself as a cop, donning a full uniform and helmet, before sitting at the window overlooking the high street in our village to dutifully jot down car numbers. Occasionally I would stand outside trying to direct traffic, which thankfully didn’t go as badly as it might have done.

After the policeman phase, I turned my attention to Robin Hood, donning a pair of my friend Emily’s green tights and a tunic fashioned by my mother. To ensure he wasn’t left out, my mum made a Little John outfit for my brother too.

The army called next, and I spent many happy days dressed in combat fatigues, firing off a range of cap guns and digging trenches in the garden.

But as Boris has shown in recent days, playing dress-up needn’t be the preserve of children – although it’s a little sad that he’s still stuck at the policeman stage. I, on the other hand, have continued to evolve my dressing-up approach in adulthood, with memorable moments including a fine portrayal of Art Garfunkel at a popstar-themed party, and a turn as an escaped convict at a bash where the concept was “inside out”. Everyone else just did the obvious for that one.

After a barren spell, another opportunity presented itself last weekend, in the form of a friend’s birthday party – theme: the 1980s. For a while I had felt unsure how to approach it, but a couple of weeks before the event, I had settled on the idea of going as 1980s TV icon, Hannibal Smith, from The A-Team. I planned to turn my hair white, don a white jacket and pop a large cigar in my mouth; all nice and simple.

open image in gallery

But as we got ready, things began to go wrong. My daughter’s white hair chalk just wasn’t doing the job: my tresses looked a little greyer than usual, but Hannibal-esque they were not. The outfit itself was only a vague imitation of the great man’s day-to-day garb, so hardly distinctive. And even the cigar – a fake one from Amazon – wasn’t quite of the proportions I’d hoped for. I looked in the mirror and saw merely a slightly older version of myself. It was a disaster, and we had to leave in half an hour.

Deciding that it was better to cut my losses, I washed the streaks of grey from my hair, coloured it purple instead and asked my daughter to hand me her make-up box. I put on some washed-out jeans, a bright T-shirt and created some arm-warmers from a pair of striped tights. I added a red headband, some of my wife’s necklaces and a clip-on earring, then chucked on a flowery tie for good measure. I looked in the mirror again – madness, but I kind of liked it. Somewhere between Adam Ant and Pirates of the Caribbean: not pure Eighties perhaps, but it was colourful nonsense and that’s what mattered.

Sure enough, when we got to the party, I felt suitably at home – although put somewhat in the shade by the family that had come en masse as characters from Labyrinth. They even had their baby in a red and white one-piece, which was a touch of genius.

Another couple, well into their sixties, had come as Danny and Sandy from Grease, that smash film from 1978 about America in the 1950s, but dates, shmates. They looked incredible: proof if it were needed that you are never too old to dress up; and thank goodness for that.

After all, dressing up, creating a character, is all about joyfully losing yourself to an alternative existence for a moment. And we all like to escape reality from time to time – just ask Boris Johnson and Liz Truss.