It was Roger Federer’s white jacket in 2006 for me. Golden initials embroidered on the breast pocket, as he lifted the Wimbledon trophy. The elegant monogram suggested an aristocratic elan that I craved. Was it possible to grab some of his pedigree, without the achievements or money, but with some simple stitching? I wondered if I would feel like a fraud.
Twenty years later, such personalisation is attainable, and everywhere. Monograms and other distinctive touches, formerly the preserve of the rich, can be anyone’s. Zara, H&M and Uniqlo offer embroidery options in-store. You can buy personalised phone cases, keyrings and socks through Etsy, Glenfiddich whisky bottles labelled with your name, and Converse Chuck Taylors with your face on them. Buying a shoe tree the other day, I was asked if I wanted my initials etched on the heel knob. Oxford Street’s newest pop-up, Hus of Frakta, offers a monogrammed Ikea bag. We personalise football shirts on stag dos and birthdays, and print ironic T-shirts with the faces of loved ones. What’s with all the self-regard – and is identity so easily bought?
