Continuing a journey into unorthadox corduroy I began yesterday, I urge you to consider the madness of white trousering. Yeah, they’ll probs get butt-grubby. And yeah, you’ll look like you’ve escaped a posh lobotomy ward. So like, no downsides.

Just realise, white cords broheim. We’re talking some next-level shit. No one wears white cords. No one. But you can. You can be the anti-no one. Or someone. If you prefer.

Imaginize yourself in white cords? It’s a world you’re not invited to. Duran Duran style boat parties. Croquet and Pink Gin on the lawn. And when dusk rolls in, it’s Bridge and Port with the fam, before a dude-on-father-in-law discussion about the FTSE, through the fug of illegal cigars. Yeah bwan, that’s you. That’s white cords.

Don’t pair these rogues with driving shoes though. And steer clear of popped polo-shirt collars and pastel knits over the shoulders. We’re not going hyper-fop. Just give the hems a hefty roll and lord about in your usual knits, sweats and shirts on top, and keep it Derbys, Brogues or sneaks down below. It’s the same right. Just with immaculate milky trousers in-between.

Get your pass to a world you are neither financially or culturally appropriate for over at Toast.