The 1960s gave us many wonderful things. Revolution on the streets and under the sheets. Mind-expanding consciousness. Rock ‘n’ roll hysteria. Sir Michael Caine in Alfie. We also have the 1960s to thank for the psychedelic explosion. A heady collision of LSD, spirituality and all things Victoriana, psychedelia sparked one of the greatest style movements of the 20th century. Stiff-collared post-war men suddenly blossomed into a new breed of dandies, fops and peacocks, exotic counterculture creatures dressed from shaggy head to platform toe in flamboyant fashions. Psychedelia was proof that if you freed your mind, your wardrobe would follow.

A quick glance at menswear today and it’s clear we’re in the throes of a serious psychedelic flashback. From the ruffled shirts and mesmeric floral patterns at Dries Van Noten’s SS20 show to the ongoing obsession with tie-dye among smaller brands, such as the Grateful Dead-obsessed Online Ceramics and British indigo experts Story Mfg., it seems it’s time to tune in, turn on and dress up again. So, without further ado, here are five pioneers of psychedelic style to help inspire your own cosmic reboot.

Mr George Harrison in a William Morris Golden Lily floral-print jacket. Few images conjure up the joyous rebellion of the psychedelic age more than this sartorial snapshot. In a single piece of clothing, the era’s whole philosophy of 19th-century nostalgia remixed with hallucinatory visuals achieves singularity. The jacket came from Granny Takes A Trip, an achingly fashionable boutique on King’s Road in Chelsea, the epicentre of the psychedelic quake. A two-room, low-lit emporium that reeked of incense, patchouli oil and strong hash and decorated with Mr Aubrey Beardsley erotica, it was a mecca for any self-respecting psychonaut with cash to burn. These were, after all, Savile Row-quality garments with prices to match. Granny’s skilled tailor Mr John Pearse summarised this jacket’s appeal as “doomed romantic”. Of course, its enduring totemic power is helped by the fact that it adorns one of the architects of the time. That said, Mr Dennis Hopper was photographed in the same piece and Mr John Lennon in a chrysanthemum version, albeit both with less seismic results.

First things first. This is not a secret history of Mr Michael Fish, the former BBC weatherman. No, the man in question is legendary British designer Mr Michael Fish aka Mr Fish. He began his career in the 1950s at the traditional gentlemen’s outfitter Turnbull & Asser, transforming its made-to-measure shirting into modern must-haves with wide lapels, embroidery and hand-block prints. In 1966, he opened the doors to his own shop, Mr Fish, at 17 Clifford Street in Mayfair. His unique vision brought the Regency dandyism of Mr Beau Brummel into the anything-goes 1960s. There was nowhere quite like it, a sentiment emblazoned across the shop’s bags with the slogan “Peculiar to Mr Fish”. It was an instant hit and men about town such as Mr David Bailey, Mr Terence Stamp, Lord Snowdon and Mr James Fox all dropped by for their ruffled shirts and embellished velvet jackets. Most daringly, Mr Fish promoted a gender-fluid attitude towards menswear. That’s a Mr Fish white smock on Sir Mick Jagger at The Rolling Stones’ free concert in Hyde Park and one of his velvet frocks on Mr David Bowie for the cover of The Man Who Sold The World.

Emerging in the US of the 1950s, Sun Ra was psychedelic before psychedelia. This godfather of Afro-futurism was a supremely gifted space-jazz composer, band leader and multi-instrumentalist who was obsessed with the Kabbalah, Egyptology, numerology and Flash Gordon. As with his experimental music, Sun Ra pushed the boundaries of fashion to its outer limits. A typical day look might involve tribal gowns, a sequined cape, a treasure chest of jewellery and, without fail, outlandish headwear. His interplanetary sound and look became a template for the psychedelic era. Case in point, Mr Syd Barrett formed Pink Floyd after blowing his mind to The Heliocentric Worlds Of Sun Ra. But Sun Ra was far from a hippie. There were strict rules at his Ra House, a self-styled commune in New York’s East Village populated by devoted musicians: no drugs, no women, a diet of homemade “moon stew” and impromptu 12-hour rehearsals. Until his dying day in May 1993, Sun Ra claimed to originate from another planet (official records state he was born Mr Herman Poole Blount on 22 May 1914 in Birmingham, Alabama).

With its oil-lamp spectaculars and far-out feedback, Pink Floyd was the ultimate psychedelic band. And “the crazy diamond” at the heart of its trailblazing creativity was none other than Mr Syd Barrett. Aside from his musical genius, Mr Barrett was also the poster boy for the psychedelic movement, parading around Swinging London in a never-ending arsenal of frilly silk shirts, paisley cravats and velvet trousers. But what marks out Mr Barrett as a true style icon is his proto-Goth take on psychedelia during the late 1960s when, inspired by his girlfriend Ms Lindsay Korner, he began wearing kohl eyeliner with black, tighter-fitting clothes and an unruly thatch of hair – think The Cure on a strung-out Carnaby Street shopping spree. This dark turn might have been a fashion highlight, but it also reflected Mr Barrett’s disintegrating mental health. Spiralling LSD use was taking its toll. In early 1968 Mr Barrett was out of the band and by the mid-1970s he had vanished into obscurity.

Put simply, the 1960s would not have looked as cosmic without The Fool. A freewheeling Dutch design collective made up of friends Ms Marijke Koger, Mr Simon Posthuma and Ms Josje Leeger, the Fool, which took its name from the Tarot card symbolising the child within, singlehandedly gave the Age of Aquarius its swirling rainbow identity. This ardently teetotal, vegetarian trio were first spotted in Ibiza, dressed in their own medieval minstrel-inspired creations, by a Sunday Times photographer who promptly invited them over to London. They duly turned up in May 1966 and immediately caught the eye of The Beatles. Cue wardrobe designs for “I Am The Walrus” and “All You Need Is Love”, bespoke paint jobs on Mr John Lennon’s Rolls-Royce Phantom (at a cost of £23,000 in today’s money) and Mr George Harrison’s Surrey bungalow and, in a truly deranged dénouement, a three-storey mural of Roman goddess Fortuna on the facade of The Fab Four’s Apple Boutique at 94 Baker Street. Westminster Council ordered it to be painted over, claiming it was “a hazard to public safety”. Come 1968, The Fool decamped to Los Angeles, where they recorded a misguided album (folklore has it that their A&R man threw up on first hearing it).

The people featured in this story are not associated with and do not endorse MR PORTER or the products shown.