I was not expecting much from Richard Anderson’s Bespoke. The accompanying press release from the publisher carried an endorsement from that cynosure of male style, that arbiter elegantiarum, Simon Cowell. Moreover, the word ‘bespoke’ is now so overused that it risks becoming utterly exhausted; everything these days is bespoke – it is the Pierre Cardin of adjectives applied indiscriminately in the hope that a little bit of its magic will stick.

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