The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 310 - 310 200 The Failed Politician The Successful Fashion Icon 4K

310: Chapter 200: The Failed Politician, The Successful Fashion Icon (4K) 310: Chapter 200: The Failed Politician, The Successful Fashion Icon (4K) Although “A Million British Pounds” is only a novel, if there really were a poor boy who transformed overnight into a millionaire, and if he asked a genuine old Londoner for help on how to dress like a true gentleman of high society…

The authentic old London gentlemen would most likely suggest that he take a stroll down Regent Street or nearby Jermyn Street.

Constructed in 1811, Regent Street was built by order of George IV during his regency, and though he had numerous faults, it must be acknowledged that during his time as Regent and King, he played a crucial role in the development of commercial streets throughout West London.

The design and planning of Regent Street swept away centuries of chaos and narrowness caused by various disasters such as fires, floods, and haphazard expansion, turning this spacious and bright street into London’s most dazzling shopping area since its completion in 1821.

Here, one could find dignitaries shopping with their servants, as well as countless middle-class gentlemen and ladies, eager to emulate the lifestyle of the upper classes, spending heavily to acquire suitable attire.

Of course, some rather traditional old Londoners still refuse to acknowledge Regent Street as the new fashion hub, stubbornly insisting that it is merely a place for women to pick out new skirts and small jewelry, while the true London gentlemen should head to Jermyn Street, just a block away, for custom tailoring and purchasing tobacco for their pipes.

Founded in 1664, Jermyn Street holds a unique status in the hearts of old London gentlemen.

Known as London’s quintessential “men’s street,” you can find everything a man in the 19th century could need—except women—along this three to four hundred-meter-long street.

Indeed, in recent years, Jermyn Street’s status as a sanctuary for men has faced a formidable challenge from Savile Row, but over the past decade, the two have gradually developed their distinctive characteristics.

Savile Row is famous for its morning coats, dinner jackets, short coats, and smoking jackets, while Jermyn Street staunchly defends its reputation for having the highest standards in men’s shirts, top hats, and leather shoes.

Arthur, puffing on his pipe, stood at the intersection of Jermyn Street and Regent Street, listening to the beside him, defeated actor-turned-politician and editor of “The British,” Mr.

Disraeli, as he recited an exhaustive account of the history of these two men’s streets.

Arthur merely knocked his pipe downwards, flicking the ash with his fingertip.

At this, Disraeli merely frowned slightly.

“Arthur, you need to pay attention to how you discard your ashes, and look at what you’re wearing.

Who is the genius that told you it was a good idea to show up here in uniform?

I don’t expect you to dress as fashionably as Royal clothing advisor Beau Brummell, but at the very least, you should wear something that fits.

Couldn’t you spend some of that fee money instead of hoarding it all in the bank?”

Arthur looked down at his tailcoat and white gloves, then lifted his arms, finally nodding in affirmation.

“I think this suits me well enough—it doesn’t restrict my movements nor impede handling special situations.

On the other hand, the outfit I wear to galas is truly uncomfortable.

I can throw a thrust punch, and before my enemy falls, my shoulder seam would already be splitting.”

Hearing this, Disraeli shook his head disdainfully.

“That’s because you haven’t chosen something right.

Anyway, there’s nothing urgent today, let me take you to pick out a suitable leisure jacket.

Otherwise, I’d lack the courage to roam the nearby streets with you dressed like that.”

“But I didn’t bring much money today.”

“If you didn’t bring money, I’ll cover it for now, and when we settle the fee and profit share next time, I’ll just deduct it from your share.”

Without waiting for Arthur’s approval, Disraeli pushed him from the back and led him straight into a nearby clothing store.

Shortly after, the shop’s door was opened again, and the police officer Arthur had vanished as if into thin air, replaced by a figure resembling a London banker: wearing a tall top hat, a black tailcoat, a simple black vest and a buttonless white shirt underneath, mustard-colored tight breeches, and brandishing a walking cane.

Disraeli, following behind Arthur, admired the masterpiece he had meticulously selected, tapping on the shop’s display window and saying, “Look, Arthur, with this outfit, walking on Regent Street just got a lot more convenient.”

Arthur looked at his reflection in the window, bent over to adjust his hair, before looking around twice.

Seeing this, Disraeli couldn’t help but look around as well, asking while he searched, “What are you looking at?

Any beauties around?”

Arthur simply replied, “Where’s the lamp post?

I need a rope.”

Disraeli burst into laughter at this reply, patting Arthur’s chest with the back of his hand.

“What?

You think you look so dashing you need to hang yourself?

Don’t worry, Arthur, the ladies have already taken over the lamp posts.

You might as well jump into the Thames.”

Arthur just shrugged and said, “The Thames?

That place is full too, chances are Alexander is down there right now.”