Communities can be forged out of many things; rebelling against a common enemy, sharing or upholding the same value systems or, on a lighter note, the mutual enjoyment of certain music, fashion and aesthetics. The Modernists, or mods, were a group of British teenagers in the 60s bonded by a love of beautifully tailored clothing and modern jazz music. Their common enemy? The post-war austerity inherited by their parents. Looking sharp in French and Italian-inspired suits or fitted dresses with clean lines was an act of rebellion, a way for working-class youngsters (who for the first time had some disposable income and free time) to assert themselves with the higher-ups. Unlike many subcultures that come and go, this movement has stood the test of time, spreading and evolving across countries and generations.

‘When I hear the word mod, I’m swept into a flickering montage of 1960s Soho, Carnaby Street and Chelsea’s Kings Road alive with energy, cellar clubs glowing beneath the city, and sharp silhouettes slicing through the drizzle on Lambrettas and Vespas,’ says Asta Petkunaite, artist, writer and owner of Pascal & Co vintage in Edinburgh. Bands like The Who and The Yardbirds could be seen frequenting these clubs at the time, while fashionistas like Twiggy and designer Mary Quant were redefining femininity and popularising bold block colours and geometric lines still worn by many mods today. ‘There’s a timeless elegance to it all,’ says Petkunaite. ‘Vidal Sassoon crops, tapered slacks, lacquered shoes and polished boots. But mod wasn’t just about how you looked, it was a way of being. A philosophy of clean living, subtle rebellion and modernist precision. Pop Art cool meets Op Art clarity.’

This ethos is what Edinburgh DJ and certified ‘mod snob’ Dave Clark subscribes to. To him, mod is ‘the epitome of cool. It’s being sharp as a tack, it’s attention to detail in the way you dress; jacket sleeves being the right length, trousers being the right length. Everything’s on point.’ Fashion got Clark into the mod lifestyle and to this day he won’t leave the house without being immaculately dressed. ‘I dress like a mod 24/7. I’m not a Saturday-night mod who puts on a three-button suit and a pair of shoes for a gig on a Saturday and call themselves a mod. For me, it’s a way of life.’

Clark started his own mod club in Edinburgh aged just 16 called The Clique, DJing and playing an ‘eclectic mix’ of tunes. ‘It was what you would probably class as 60s mod stuff, like The Who, The Kinks, The Small Faces, some R&B and a bit of 60s Northern blues, soul, popcorn.’ To this day, alongside working an admin job at Mazda, Clark still runs a mod night called The Full Circle at Edinburgh’s Taxi Club.

Across town, his friend (and daytime taxi driver) Gavin Elder runs popular soul night La Beat which attracts original mods, students and everyone in between. ‘When I first got into the mod scene, I was 10,’ says Elder. ‘Some of my favourite bands were The Jam, The Specials, the two-tone genre meant a lot to me. It was the culture of multiracial bands, black and white playing together.’ It was around this time mods became intertwined with Northern Soul (one of the numerous offshoots of mod culture) which was Glaswegian actress Eilidh Loan’s entry point into a mod way of life: ‘I grew up with my dad dancing at Northern Soul nights, going to scooter rallies and mod events. It’s sort of my reason for being, as cheesy as that sounds’.

Loan’s mod style is characterised by Fred Perry polo shirts, checkered trousers or flares with a brogue, or an Adidas samba perhaps more indicative of revival bands like Oasis, The Stone Roses and Happy Mondays. ‘All those bands are working class and from the north. What has been challenging for me to watch as a working-class person is the working class getting priced out of events due to 25 to 50 quid tickets. All of a sudden you’ve got kids who’ve been a part of this scene their whole life not involved as much anymore, because they can’t afford to go. It was about sourcing your outfits and saving up money for your Fred Perry. I used to work for Fred Perry, and now they’re charging £95 pounds for a polo shirt. That’s not speaking to the working classes either.’

But scooter rallies (of which there are many around Scotland including in Kelso, Millport and Rothesay) are still an accessible way of engaging with the culture, says Loan. ‘It’s great because you’re getting to travel all over Scotland and go camping and see some amazing locations.’

From Soho nightclubs to Kelso scooter rallies, there seem to be loose threads of working-class culture and a thirst for individuality still connecting mods of all styles and generations. As Loan says: ‘For me, I think it’s that quote from Quadrophenia (1979): “I don’t want to be the same as everybody else. That’s why I’m a mod.”’