power dressing

It is befitting, if you’ll pardon the pun, that I scribe this ode to power dressing from the uber-hip Hoxton Hotel, where I am surrounded by the stylish, the powerful, and the movers and shakers of my hometown. You see, when it was suggested to me that power dressing might be a good theme for this issue of The Review, I ironically thought it a dreadful idea, ostensibly because it conjures images of the gauche businessman of the 1980s in ill-fitting, chalk-striped suits – certainly for the majority of my peers anyway. But it conjures, for me, images of the greatest power-dresser of all time: Gordon Gekko, one of my…