I recently came across a box of old family photos, mostly dating from the turn of last century. The adults looked uniformly old, although at the time, most would have been around 50. The children, including my mother, were mini-adults. Their clothes, cut-down versions of those worn by the adults. At the time, children were seen, rarely heard, and certainly not listened to. Most destined to leave school at 14, and move directly into work. Youth culture and the concept of adolescence lay far in the future.

References to “teenagers” only began to appear in the press in the mid-1950s. In December 1954 for example, a Daily Mirror headline puzzled, “What Should a Teen-ager (sic) Be?” Thereafter, things changed rapidly. In the post-war years, smaller families and higher living standards meant children were generally better nurtured, supported and indulged. Raising the school leaving age avoided being catapulted prematurely into the adult world of work. From 1960, older teenagers no longer faced conscription.

Freedom from factory and parade ground provided youngsters with more disposable income and leisure. Youth culture had the opportunity and space to spread and thrive. Inevitably, wily entrepreneurs saw the change coming. The advent of the teenager was a not to be missed, money-making opportunity, the richest pickings being in music and fashion. The Swinging Sixties epitomised by experimentation, The Beatles, Carnaby Street and, mini-skirts.

Commercialism quickly identified teenage culture as having influence far beyond that age group. Youth culture, often in a slightly modified form, rippled out into wider society. Adolescence became a distinct and distinctive phase. From the late 1950s and early 1960s, young people no longer wore cut-down adult clothes; the electrified music they danced to was totally different. Their conversation often incomprehensible to the older ear. The roles had been reversed as the young became the trend setters and arbiters of fashion, music, and technology. Their influence turbo-driven by technological confidence and competence.

We oldies now follow in their wake. Apart from Jacob Rees-Mogg, we have all assimilated some youth culture. It influences our musical tastes, how we dress and, Yeah Bro, even how we speak. But oldies beware, there’s a fine line between getting down with the kids and looking/sounding ridiculous; especially if you’re a politician.

Who can forget the terminally untrendy William Hague’s baseball cap? Then there was Messrs Kinnock, Mandelson, and Prescott unsuccessfully trying to move rhythmically to D:ream’s Things Can Only Better, following Labour’s 1997 victory.

Mr Kinnock became something of a serial casualty when trying to look cool. He fell into the sea at Brighton when out on a soft focus, hand-in-hand walk with Glenys. Worse still was drawing on his inner Bon Jovi during the infamous 1992 Sheffield rally. Repeatedly bawling, “alright” proving less likely than falling into the sea to win over floating floaters.

It’s a shame King Charles was born middle aged. No matter how hard he tries, he always looks out of his comfort zone in the presence of youthful fashion or music. As far back as 1985, he was the only person at Live Aid wearing a suit and tie. It would have taken a heart of stone not to feel sorry for him enduring the post-coronation concert. Who would have blamed him for asking, “Who’s that ghastly Lionel Rich Tea fellow?”

But it’s not only politicians and royals that risk ridicule. It’s all too easy to look like a mid-life crisis masquerading as a teenager. I confess to having a hoodie in my wardrobe. My greying “designer stubble” makes me look even more like an ageing jakey.

I wisely didn’t suggest to a friend that, even though Kendall Roy wore sneakers with a business suit, it’s not a great look for the older man. In general, wholesale appropriation of other people’s culture, including youth culture, is never a good idea. As my wise old mother often put it, “Douglas, act your age.”