Bill Murray's Links Style Makes Me Want To Take Up Golf
Style Archive: a series in which we celebrate the stars of the past that made menswear what it is today. This week: the man that brought a boring sport back from the dead.
Tyler, the Creator, has recently rebranded himself via the golf course. These days, he steps out in fisherman hats, argyle knits and polos in tangerine and candy-floss pink, and we swoon and put it on Instagram and say, "Wowee, isn't he stylish?" And rightly so – he is. But his brand of clubhouse cool was born long before Odd Future. And unlike Tyler, who airs his golf threads to Gucci parties, this look was perfected, as Arnold Palmer intended, on the golf course. No red carpets. No visa rejections by the Home Office for inflammatory lyrics. Just Bill Murray swinging his golf stick. Or whatever it is golf people say.
Now, I'll admit that golf has passed me by. In my youth I might have smoked a herbal cigarette and unsuccessfully swung at some balls at a driving range. I might even have played a bastardised golf-football hybrid at a Brighton stag do. But golf proper? With the clubs and the bags and misogyny? Not for me. The wardrobe, though? Yes, absolutely, especially when it's modelled by one of cinema's greatest treasures.
Because Murray, everyone's favourite dour papa, spent much of the Nineties grimacing, glaring or cheering as an ambassador on the pro-am golf circuit. Unlike his beloved on-screen career, he came under fire for his performance on the links, likening the conservative sport to a Nazi state, signing autographs between rounds and, really, treating the whole thing like a Caddyshack sequel.
That's not for now, though. While I couldn't give a flying birdie as to what constitutes proper golf etiquette, I am enamoured by Murray's choice of kit: in 1996, a raspberry beret that had nothing to do with Prince; in 1998, a nylon, V-necked sweater vest that isn't so far from the garms of NY cool kid Aimé Leon Dore; and in 1999, the whole 'get off my lawn!' look, complete with knitted sweater vest, moody checks and a purple baseball cap.
All of which is enjoying a sartorial return. As sports-specific gear finds a second life off the pitch/course/field/whatever it is you choose to hit balls on, golf's fluoro tones and hi-tech fabrics are finding new fans. Even Thom Browne, purveyor of luxury private school uniforms, has had a go.
Of course, all of this is more Grand Budapest Hotel & Golf Resort than the Ryder Cup: Murray's clothes are part of his big-swinging character, not standard issue. But then, one is strongly discouraged from pairing wraparound sunglasses with tight polo shirts. That stuff looks good on Jamie Dornan, but then so would a bin bag.
If you don't have leading man DNA, stick to Murray's lovable-leading-man aesthetic. Which, even when nearing 70, includes tartan patchwork dungarees, a Cubs cap (wrong sport altogether) and a big, billowy Oxford shirt. Before you start emulating the teddy boy streetwear of Tyler, the Creator, know that he hasn't forged anything new. That cup will always be in Bill Murray's trophy case.
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