In praise of Klinsmann's shirt

The difference between the Germany of Klinsmann and that of Low comes down to one thing: the ability to wear a white shirt. Klinsmann wore his with the confidence in his midriff’s ability to carry off the hip-hugging slacks with skinny belt ensemble. It was a look which, when hands went on hips, as they often did when he ventured into the technical area, accentuated the lithe Delonesque confidence in his corporeal dominance of the frame (he could have done without the white T-shirt underneath however). It was a look which displayed the manager’s awareness of the frame, of enframing. The logical furtherance of his renowned ability to simulate being on the receiving end of a foul as a player. A confidence man, a snake-hipped retro disco ironist, resident in California yet still managing the national team. Like Baudrillard in Las Vegas still running a sub-section of the academic book industry – primers – except he didn’t know it. Both examples of the fatal strategy. Clothing as technology. The current German manager has the same uniform; it’s just that the waistline is a centimetre too high, the sleeves rolled up too far. It has evening wear-style panels.