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The puffer jacket is the enemy of sartorial refinement. The other morning, the thermometer hovering at 3 degrees in the hinterlands of the north, I put on my black puffer jacket over a Black Sabbath t-shirt.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought, “WTF! I am old man dressed like teen.” A character in a bad sitcom.

The puffer jacket: ubiquitous winter wear. Credit: James Brickwood

David Bowie’s Young Americans was the soundtrack of my youth, which reminded me that I once paid homage to the elegance required of that song.

For years I vowed to never ever wear one of those horrid little doonas. This a fall from grace. What next, socks and sandals?

Sure, the puffer is warm, it’s light, it’s durable, it’s functional. And? I am no trekker. The outdoors is just that – outside the door.

Even as a toddler I was a stickler for sartorial elegance.

From three generations of Greek haberdashers, dressmakers, tailors and shoemakers and I have come to this?

We had no cash as a migrant brood, but we dressed. My father said, “A tweed jacket should not look too new, it smacks of aspiration.” My mother was an extraordinary dressmaker. My uncles were shoemakers. Classic Greek lower middle-class work.

Our house was full of hardcover Vogue pattern books. We found what we liked, and they – the elders – made it, if they had time. Time meant somewhere between 9am and 3am. They were the hours they kept bent over sewing machines, cutting patterns, stitching, sewing buttons, sticking on soles, buffing and so on. Ceaseless work. But we all looked good.

At the boys’ school I attended, I raised the ire of some teachers for not wearing the school tie in preference to my own ties. At uni I was subjected to taunts by friends in tracksuits, AC/DC t-shirts, and skin-tight black jeans. I wore sports jackets, ties, cravats and brogues.

I have seen first-hand the unhappiness on citizens’ faces brought on by bad tailoring when, as a faux socialist, I visited communist European and Balkan republics in the mid-1980s.

It was after that I turned to Keating. Great economics and fashion sense. Sadly, it all seems for naught now. Politicians again wear badly cut suits and farmers’ shoes as they seek to engage with “ordinary Australians”. Too often, also seen in puffer jackets.

Who needs communism when, regardless of class, we all look like subordinates of two major outwear brands. Mao Zedong must be laughing in his grave.

Worse, regardless of postcode, many of us have decided that “activewear” should be worn out, and often. We must again rise against this new collectivism brought by outwear brands. Go for gabardine, for tweed, even a stylish Mod parka or duffle coat.

Abandon the puffer for we have nothing to lose – except our bad taste!