Here's the Secret to David Beckham's Impeccable Style

In episode four of Beckham, the four-part docuseries currently top of the league over on Netflix, we see archival footage of a young David Beckham standing in his childhood bedroom. “I hate having an untidy room,” he says, before the camera pans to his wardrobe. It captures Beckham before all of it: the superstardom on the pitch, the tabloid romance to Victoria and becoming the guy every big designer brand wanted a piece of from Versace to Emporio Armani.

In a flash, we're taken back to the present. Now we're standing now in the 48-year-old Beckham's personal dressing room. As you'd expect, it's a far cry from the East London three-bedroom he grew up in. Nice art on the walls, airy and brightly lit with big windows looking out onto a leafy, mansion-lined road. Few clothes can be seen, which says a lot about Beckham's obsession with being neat and tidy. The scene doesn't last long, but it gives us an insight into how the world's best-dressed footballer—now, as well as then—became exactly that.

The camera shifts to Beckham opening his modern-day wardrobe: a huge, ivory-hued oak mecca of his menswear finds. “It's all very organized,” says Becks, in an echo of the boy, dressed in a navy zip-up cable-knit, while reaching in and carefully showing us his rows on rows of “shirts, jean shirts, jumpers, cardis to T-shirts.” Then: underwear. Socks. Beckham has a separate drawer and rail for every clothing department. “And then suits,” he says, opening the doors to what could only be described as a box room filled with pressed and steamed tailoring in grey, black, and navy, with a top rail of shirts above it. Everything is color-coordinated. He even lays his T-shirts and knits at an angle, so he can see what's underneath. It's the sort of stuff you'd expect in the luxury spaces in Selfridges.

But the real insight into how Beckham works comes a few seconds later. He moves across the room, and there in the center, before a large bay window, is a single rail with a selection of curated outfits hanging on it. “So those are the outfits for the rest of the week,” he says, pointing to the felt vest, crisp, ironed shirts and boxy blazers. A deep magenta coat sits at the front. “I prep my week,” Beckham says, bashfully. “It used to be just the night before.” Is this a newish obsession? “Yeah.” He sounds like a man who had no choice in the matter.

Beckham's difficulties with OCD are well-documented. It's a theme that hums in the background of the series without direct comment, as he cleans and tidies his way around the spoils of his career. For better or for worse, we see how it contributes towards him dressing with such meticulous care. His style may not be as experimental as it once was—there are no sarongs or baggy cargos in sight—but he's no less deeply involved with his wardrobe, the desire to look good undimmed. If Beckham is about the most written-about athlete in British history looking back with maturity on a storied career—the highs and the lows—then this shows how his wardrobe has evolved to match that. Where once super tight vests, open-collared suits, rosary beads (!) and ballooning trousers were the order of the day, today he's all about nicely fitted Dior suits, expensive cashmere knits and shirts. Outfits that take being plotted up to a week in advance, pressed and ironed to perfection. Or you might say practiced—over and over and over.