John Bishop and Michelle Visage

I called in to see a friend the other day, a country parson in Sussex, and while strolling past the duck pond a couple stopped me, “Didn’t you use to be a pop star?” said one. Yes,” I said.” A long time ago”. You don’t look like someone who used to be a pop star,” said the other. “Madam,” I said, “I didn’t look like a pop star when I WAS a pop star,” and swept majestically past in my new anorak. I took no offence, but it did get me thinking; what should someone who used to be a pop star look like?

Artificially preserved, until reality triumphs, with its palette of greys, and blotchy pinks, and wrinkles, and shade? Already there. Age disgracefully, in unfeasibly skinny jeans, spiky hair, and a bondage jacket? I’d look like I’d been cast in a panto (hang on, I HAVE been cast in a panto). Stylish, age-appropriate, double-cuffed in a well-cut suit, fragrant with sandalwood and musk? I’d look like a 70s bingo caller. So what do I look like? I asked a frank and fashionable friend, who’s known me for forty years. He said, “you look like a geography teacher off Grange Hill”. I used to look the part. I used to wear Gaultier on Top of the Pops, Paul Smith suits for photo shoots, Armand Basi on Ibiza in the Second Summer of Love. What happened? 

I think I hung up my glad rags when I chose Christianity. It was not a conscious thing, but we unconsciously adapt to our circumstances, and wearing Armani to a church jumble sale just looked wrong. Before I knew it I was in cargo pants, then, chinos and check shirts, and then sensible jumpers and trousers with Active Waist Technology (aka elastic). Of course there are dressy Christians, and good luck to them (and when it comes to vestments I am the Gianni Versace of the Diocese of Peterborough). The church is now in the season of Epiphany, when we are led by a star to Bethlehem to encounter Jesus Christ, not a king in glory, but a baby in rags, lying in a manger. That changes us, and our job — when we return to where we came from — is to be that change. I’m not saying that means we should henceforth start dressing badly: among his first visitors were kings, in bling galore. I’m saying don’t be surprised if it doesn’t look how you think it should.