I own a motorcycle riding jacket that is unabashedly a fashion piece. It contains armour made of a space-age material that hardens on impact but that is hidden away. The outside is constructed of ‘pull up leather’ which was tanned in such a way that the jet-black colour artificially fades in places that see a lot of motion, like the cuffs. With its quilted shoulders and sharp angles, the jacket suggests a history of ownership dating back to the café racers of the 1960s, despite only being five years old. Although it looks cool as hell and helps keep me safe, I always feel a bit sheepish wearing the thing. ‘Motorcycle rider cosplay’ is what I sometimes call its forced authenticity. An old friend had another take: ‘It’s cool that it has a history, even if that history isn’t yours.’

On the other hand, I never feel sheepish when I wear my Barbour coat. It’s an autumn staple that has made its way from the sheep-herders and sportsmen of the United Kingdom to the department stores of the United States. It has a history, to be sure, but I am a part of it. Participant more than pretender.

One intriguing thing about Barbour is that the brand links the late Steve McQueen and the late Queen Elizabeth II. It is seen as a fashion item, but unlike my riding jacket, it wears its workhorse practicality on the outside. Both McQueen and the Queen, although they were fashion icons, valued their Barbour pieces for function more…