A little bit Byron: why I love the swish of a good cape

Do you know what time it is? As far as I can tell, it’s nearly cape o’clock. Watching Billy Porter at the Golden Globes, modelling a pink-lined Randi Rahm cape in a crucifix pose, looking like a bird of paradise, I have come to the conclusion that this is the next menswear trend we need to see.

We almost certainly won’t, but why not? Are they not seen as masculine? Batman wears one, for the love of all that is holy. Dracula, too, for what it’s worth. Given the ongoing saturation of superhero films, it’s strange that this classic piece of hero’s attire hasn’t filtered through to the high street already. Although nowadays not all heroes wear capes – in fact most don’t any more. The Incredibles’ supersuit designer dispensed with them because they were a propeller hazard. And there’s the clue. Capes lack functionality these days; they are purely decorative. Feminism allowed women to wear – well, not the trousers, but at least some trousers, while most men have remained largely resistant to their counter-liberation.

What a shame, this cape fear. Aren’t they the most gorgeous, theatrical items? Some riding jackets and driver’s coats (the waxed Driza-Bone from Australia, for example) inch toward their elegance. But they are not the full Byronic deal: dashing and full of flair and mystery. Can anyone resist the unique physical and visual thrill of a good cape swish? I want to enjoy the textural possibilities of a cape, and its abilities. In fact, I want my friends to call me Capability Brown. I will eat only caperberries.

My emotional state can be accurately described as the Cape of Good Hope. Topman, you know what to do. I believe these 18th-century garments are the future. Having said that, I might wait for David Beckham to wear one first.