Sir Frederick Chook is a foppish, transcendentalistic historian and the author of FrillyShirt. He lives variously by his wits, hand to mouth, la vie bohème, and in MELBOURNE with his wife, Lady Tanah Merah. When not reading Milton and eating Stilton, he writes, ponders, models, delves into dusty archives, and gads about town. He has dabbled in student radio and in national politics, and is presently studying the ways of the shirt-sleeved archivist. He is a longhair, aspiring to one day be a greybeard. He has, once or twice, been described as “as mad as a bicycle.”

FrillyShirt is a compilation of articles, essays, reviews, photographs, artworks, question-and-answers, promotions, travelogues, diatribes, spirit journeys, cartoons, ululations and celebrations by Sir Frederick, his friends and contributing readers. Irregularly regular features include Teacup in a Storm, an etiquette column, and How to be Lovely, advanced speculations on the aesthetics of the self. Other topics that pop up include fun things in and around Melbourne, art, nature, history, politics and schnauzers.

Sir Frederick’s favourite colour is all of them.

Admirers interested in a more comprehensive examination of his tastes and views may refer to his collected Lettres, or submit a question for the FAQ below by telegram.

Is Sir Frederick available for public readings, private feedings or produce seedings?

I most certainly am. I am a trained historian with experience in public speaking and event hosting; if you like the cut of my wit or the drape of my jib and think I might be the belle of your ball, drop me a line and we’ll see if we can’t make strange bedfellows.

Why ‘FrillyShirt’? And is your name really ‘Sir Frederick Chook’?

Papers, magazines and journals name themselves for their content, of course; Vogue and Cosmopolitan wish to illustrate their fashionability, while Punch has always celebrated no-punches-pulled satire with a pinch of comical bigotry.

So whither FrillyShirt? Well, a shirt is an intimate thing: it sits close to the skin, to the heart. A FrillyShirt, then, implies wearing one’s flamboyancy on one’s sleeve, entirely honestly and expressively, without slavishness to what is proper and socially advantageous. That’s all jolly spurious, but what of ‘Sir Frederick Chook’? Well, ’tis a nom de plume, simply enough. Writers have always used pen names to express a certain facet of their identity – Voltaire, for example, or Mark Twain, or Flavor Flav. ‘Frederick’ is more or less the product of chance – it is a nice-sounding name, and while it in no way upstages my everyday name, it does summon something of the long-haired wit, no? “Oh, hallo, Freddy’s pulling up in a cab now! And he’s brought some chorus girls!” It also serves as an homage to the vastly underrated German philosopher Friedrich von Schelling. “Oh, hallo, the chorus girls are actually the Berlin Academy!”

‘Chook’ is, like me, Australian in origin, and very silly. ‘Sir’ is the title of a baronet. It’s a hereditary title, but not a peerage, and grants the bearer no special political rights. Rather than seeking to give myself airs above my fellow humans, I declared myself baronet of my imagination, a title implying absolutely nothing about me beyond possession of a title. And an imagination. The fruits of which, you see before you!

“Sir! What was your inspiration for developing Leopard Oil, and is the secret ingredient really Science!?”

I have always had an affinity for the advanced Sciences and Philosophies of the East – knowledgable followers will no doubt have divined this from the luscious designs of my neckties. It was in one of my sojourns to India and the Middle Kingdom that the idea struck me. I had the relevant beast brought to my room at once, and within an hour I had the first experimental jar of Leopard Oil. With the aid of a device I carry with me always, I immediately recognised its qualities of Malleability, Infallibility and Exploitation of Gullibility.

The secret ingredient, should it be revealed to be Science, would no longer be the secret ingredient, and so Science would no longer be the secret ingredient, and so the secret ingredient would be a secret known to none – which shows to us that Science is everywhere.

“Surely you are simply a dandy?”

Perhaps… but I wouldn’t say so. The great spokesdandies of history are a bit of a sorry lot – Brummell, a syphillitic society snob; Baudelaire, a nasty little misogynist; and a handful of genuine Fascists. Their style is restrained and masculine, their ethos is Brummell’s “if John Bull turns to look after you, you are not well-dressed.” Well, Byron’s counter is “even good men like to make the public stare” and that suits me just fine. Everyday life should be a celebration, and that’s how I dress – celebratory, luxurious, feminine and masculine harmoniously balanced, unafraid of causing a stir – sometimes a stir is exactly what is needed to prompt people to start celebrating their own beauty as well.

“Tesla or Daguerre? Discuss.”

Ah, an excellent question – two geniuses from very different ages. Daguerre changed our very conception of pictorial representation and, indeed, wholly revolutionised both art and the practice of documentation. But then, Tesla invented an Earthquake Device with which he could level the monuments of the world with a gesture. In a way, we are equally indebted to both of them.

THE AUTHOR’S BANNERKAMMER, or, CHAMBER OF WONDERFUL BANNERS