Fresh outta Fulham: the Sloane Rangers are back. Totally
Last seen in Chelsea and Gloucestershire in the 1980s this well-bred tribe has kept a low profile: 40 years on they’ve evolved, finds Andrew Baker
The warning signs have been around us for some time, but too sporadic and low-key to be detected by many. A yelp from a Fulham backyard; a bray carrying across a Gloucestershire field. Cultural signals, too – first the reincarnation in The Crown of Lady Diana Spencer, as she then was, in jumper, mid-length skirt and pearls, and then, more recently, edgy urban influencers blatantly sporting pie-crust collars.
To those with long memories and active social antennae, the clues could only mean one thing. Now, as pub gardens once more become accessible and outdoor sporting events provide their natural environment, a new book proves beyond doubt what some of us have long suspected: the Sloane Ranger is back.
There are subtle differences (if anything to do with Sloanes can ever be described as subtle) this time around. When the phenomenon was first identified, by social commentators Peter York and Ann Barr almost 40 years ago, Sloane Rangers were fairly low-key and confined to small areas of Chelsea and the Cotswolds.
The modern version is much louder, more vulgar and less exclusive. The Sloane has evolved and has even shed its old identity – today’s Sloane Ranger is the Chin, and their bible, set to become publishing’s sleeper hit of the year – is The Chin Dictionary.
This uncharacteristically discreet volume, a navy blue and gold clothbound hardback, is already starting to appear in the loos of Clapham town houses and in the messes of certain regiments. Those who aspire to become Chins can be seen studying it last thing at night, moving their lips over the longer words.
The clan that the book defines is described under the heading for the noun “chin”: “a male or female steeped in centuries of aristocratic inbreeding”. For normal folk to understand their ways, the book explains, is as challenging as it is for humans to understand dolphins clicking. “If you wear bright clothing un-ironically, can trace your social connections back to the palaeontological era, and think meritocracy is a nightclub in Hull, welcome aboard.”
But beware: “The world of Chins takes a century to get into, and one use of the word ‘toilet’ to get kicked out of.”
Scary stuff. So who is our guide to this strange world? The dictionary is the work of a shadowy individual who is reluctant to reveal his true – or at any rate his full – identity. “Leo” (no surname supplied) claims to be a 36-yearold who farms in the New Forest, and this is to some extent backed up when efforts to interview him are interrupted by the necessity of “moving some stock”, which clearly means cattle rather than gravy.
Leo has a sharp eye and a keen ear. He notes the popularity among Chins of Nehru jackets, sold by their pal “Nehrupert” in shades of tweed, Namibian sandgrass and ketamine sunset, records “peer pressure” as applied to young female Chins by their mothers suggesting eligible male aristocrats, and points out the difference between the verbal phrases “turning left” (when boarding an aeroplane) and “turning right” (only when boarding a private jet).
The term Chin derives, Leo believes, from “chinless wonder” a term for upper-class males that was certainly in use 70 years ago. But it has morphed from an insult into a badge of belonging, he says.
“The term Chin really came into use because every generation adopts its own nomenclature, as previous generations’ ones get borrowed externally, and their meaning gets diluted,” Leo explains, sounding rather more like a sociologist than a landowner.
“For example, ‘toff ’ is sprayed around by the tabloids and therefore loses its meaning. But when a Chin refers to someone as a Chin, it carries a kind of private understanding. You know the person being referred to is an actual Chin, because only another Chin would use that phrase … and they recognise the little idiosyncrasies, signs and mannerisms that others wouldn’t.” This sense of a secret society thriving in our midst, whose members instantly recognise each other, pervades the dictionary. Leo is very funny about the “snuffling and tail wagging” that goes on when a Chin bumps into another Chin on neutral ground and they try to establish the connections they have in common. Like the original, confined Sloane Ranger set, Chins are an exclusive bunch and few in number – Leo reckons no more than 10,000 or so meet the strict criteria: proper school, big house with land and a staircase one can toboggan down, keenness and/or aptitude for hunting and/or shooting, and appetite for wine and cocaine.
That might seem to limit the audience for the book, but having sold 4,000 copies within a month or so of (private) publication, The Chin Dictionary is showing every sign of becoming a breakout hit. I consulted a female Chin (out of the top drawer, engaged to a cavalryman) who told me that the book is ubiquitous in the Household Cavalry barracks and that she was sure that the Duke of Rutland had a copy in his loo (“if not two”). But more to the point, the dictionary and Leo’s Instagram, @the.chin.dictionary, are being talked about well beyond the confines of Sloane Square and the Grange.
The original 1980s Sloane Rangers, turbocharged by York and Barr’s books and by the Diana phenomenon, inspired an army of aspirational followers who might have had little of the pedigree of the originals (and little of their money) but recognised a club to which they wanted to belong.
The same might happen to the Chins. Not because they are in any sense woke (unless, Leo points out, they are woken by their butler), but because they are not.
Chins are, above all, confident. They may have more capital than liquidity (“A lot of Rubenses but not much cash”), limited global awareness (fighting the system is wearing black shorts at the Hurlingham) and no aptitude for anything much beyond holding a shotgun the right way up and a little light shipbroking, but they know who they are and they know their place. They probably own the place.
In a world where so many young people are (with good reason) anxious about the world and about themselves, a dose of good-humoured, self-aware swagger is refreshing. One may not wish to become a Chin (one may not be able to), one may not wish one’s children to marry one – so loud! – but the idea of pulling on a Fulham lifejacket and just getting on with having fun is curiously appealing.