From
-The Gentlemen's Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness by Cecil B. Hartley
DRESS.
The French have a proverb, “It is not the cowl which makes
the monk,” and it might be said with equal truth, “It is not the dress which
makes the gentleman,” yet, as the monk is known abroad by his cowl, so the true
gentleman will let the refinement of his mind and education be seen in his
dress.
The first rule for the guidance of a man, in matters of
dress, should be, “Let the dress suit the occasion.” It is as absurd for a man
to go into the street in the morning with his dress-coat, white kid gloves, and
dancing-boots, as it would be for a lady to promenade the fashionable streets,
in full evening dress, or for the same man to present himself in the ball-room
with heavy walking-boots, a great coat, and riding-cap.
It is true that there is little opportunity for a gentleman
to exercise his taste for coloring, in the black and white dress which fashion
so imperatively declares to be the proper dress for a dress occasion. He may
indulge in light clothes in the street during the warm months of the year, but
for the ball or evening party, black and white are the only colors (or no
colors) admissible, and in the midst of the gay dresses of the ladies, the
unfortunate man in his sombre dress appears like a demon who has found his way
into Paradise among the angels. N’importe! Men should be useful to the women,
and how can they be better employed than acting as a foil for their loveliness
of face and dress!
Notwithstanding the dress, however, a man may make himself
agreeable, even in the earthly Paradise, a ball-room. He can rise above the
mourning of his coat, to the joyousness of the occasion, and make himself
valued for himself, not his dress. He can make himself admired for his wit, not
his toilette; his elegance and refinement, not the price of his clothes.
There is another good rule for the dressing-room: While you
are engaged in dressing give your whole attention to it. See that every detail
is perfect, and that each article is neatly arranged. From the curl of your
hair to the tip of your boot, let all be perfect in its make and arrangement,
but, as soon as you have left your mirror, forget your dress. Nothing betokens
the coxcomb more decidedly than to see a man always fussing about his dress,
pulling down his wristbands, playing with his moustache, pulling up his shirt
collar, or arranging the bow of his cravat. Once dressed, do not attempt to
alter any part of your costume until you are again in the dressing-room.
In a gentleman’s dress any attempt to be conspicuous is in
excessively bad taste. If you are wealthy, let the luxury of your dress consist
in the fine quality of each article, and in the spotless purity of gloves and
linen, but never wear much jewelry or any article conspicuous on account of its
money value. Simplicity should always preside over the gentleman’s wardrobe.
Follow fashion as far as is necessary to avoid eccentricity
or oddity in your costume, but avoid the
extreme of the prevailing mode. If
coats are worn long, yours need not sweep the ground, if they are loose, yours
may still have some fitness for your figure; if pantaloons are cut large over
the boot, yours need not cover the whole foot, if they are tight, you may still
take room to walk. Above all, let your figure and style of face have some
weight in deciding how far you are to follow fashion. For a very tall man to
wear a high, narrow-brimmed hat, long-tailed coat, and tight pantaloons, with a
pointed beard and hair brushed up from the forehead, is not more absurd than
for a short, fat man, to promenade the street in a low, broad-brimmed hat,
loose coat and pants, and the latter made of large plaid material, and yet
burlesques quite as broad may be met with every day.
An English writer, ridiculing the whims of Fashion, says:—
“To be in the fashion, an Englishman must wear six pairs of
gloves in a day:
“In the morning, he must drive his hunting wagon in
reindeer gloves.
“In hunting, he must wear gloves of chamois skin.
“To enter London in his tilbury, beaver skin gloves.
“Later in the day, to promenade in Hyde Park, colored kid
gloves, dark.
“When he dines out, colored kid gloves, light.
“For the ball-room, white kid gloves.”
Thus his yearly bill for gloves alone will amount to a most
extravagant sum.
In order to merit the appellation of a well-dressed man,
you must pay attention, not only to the more prominent articles of your
wardrobe, coat, pants, and vest, but to the more minute details. A shirtfront
which fits badly, a pair of wristbands too wide or too narrow, a badly brushed
hat, a shabby pair of gloves, or an ill-fitting boot, will spoil the most
elaborate costume. Purity of skin, teeth, nails; well brushed hair; linen fresh
and snowy white, will make clothes of the coarsest material, if well made, look
more elegant, than the finest material of cloth, if these details are
neglected.
Frequent bathing, careful attention to the teeth, nails,
ears, and hair, are indispensable to a finished toilette.
Use but very little
perfume, much of it is in bad taste.
Let your hair, beard, and moustache, be always perfectly
smooth, well arranged, and scrupulously clean.
It is better to clean the teeth with a piece of sponge, or
very soft brush, than with a stiff brush, and there is no dentifrice so good as
White Castile Soap.
Wear always gloves and boots, which fit well and are fresh
and whole. Soiled or torn gloves and boots ruin a costume otherwise faultless.
Extreme propriety should be observed in dress. Be careful
to dress according to your means. Too great saving is meanness, too great
expense is extravagance.
A young man may follow the fashion farther than a
middle-aged or elderly man, but let him avoid going to the extreme of the mode,
if he would not be taken for an empty headed fop.
It is best to employ a good tailor, as a suit of coarse
broadcloth which fits you perfectly, and is stylish in cut, will make a more
elegant dress than the finest material badly made.
Avoid eccentricity; it marks, not the man of genius, but
the fool.
A well brushed hat, and glossy boots must be always worn in
the street.
White gloves are the only ones to be worn with full dress.
A snuff box, watch, studs, sleeve-buttons, watch-chain, and
one ring are all the jewelry a well-dressed man can wear.
An English author, in a recent work, gives the following
rules for a gentleman’s dress:
“Taking the sponge bath as the best for ordinary purposes,
we must point out some rules in its use. The sponge being nearly a foot in
length, and six inches broad, must be allowed to fill completely with water,
and the part of the body which should be first attacked is the stomach. It is
there that the most heat has collected during the night, and the application of
cold water quickens the circulation at once, and sends the blood which has been
employed in digestion round the whole body. The head should next be soused,
unless the person be of full habit, when the head should be attacked before the
feet touch the cold water at all. Some persons use a small hand shower bath,
which is less powerful than the common shower bath, and does almost as much
good. The use of soap in the morning bath is an open question. I confess a
preference for a rough towel, or a hair glove. Brummell patronized the latter,
and applied it for nearly a quarter of an hour every morning.
“The ancients followed up the bath by anointing the body,
and athletic exercises. The former is a mistake; the latter, an excellent
practice, shamefully neglected in the present day. It would conduce much to
health and strength if every morning toilet comprised the vigorous use of the
dumb-bells, or, still better, the exercise of the arms without them. The best
plan of all is, to choose some object in your bed-room on which to vent your
hatred, and box at it violently for some ten minutes, till the perspiration covers
you. The sponge must then be again applied to the whole body. It is very
desirable to remain without clothing as long as possible, and I should
therefore recommend that every part of the toilet which can conveniently be
performed without dressing, should be so.
“The next duty, then, must be to clean the Teeth. Dentists
are modern inquisitors, but their torture-rooms are meant only for the foolish.
Everybody is born with good teeth, and everybody might keep them good by a
proper diet, and the avoidance of sweets and smoking. Of the two the former
are, perhaps, the more dangerous. Nothing ruins the teeth so soon as sugar in
one’s tea, and highly sweetened tarts and puddings, and as it is le premier pas
qui coûte, these should be particularly avoided in childhood. When the teeth
attain their full growth and strength it takes much more to destroy either
their enamel or their substance.
“It is upon the teeth that the effects of excess are first
seen, and it is upon the teeth that the odor of the breath depends. If I may
not say that it is a Christian duty to keep your teeth clean, I may, at least,
remind you that you cannot be thoroughly agreeable without doing so. Let words
be what they may, if they come with an impure odor, they cannot please. The butterfly
loves the scent of the rose more than its honey.
“The teeth should be well rubbed inside as well as outside,
and the back teeth even more than the front. The mouth should then be rinsed,
if not seven times, according to the Hindu legislator, at least several times,
with fresh, cold water. This same process should be repeated several times a
day, since eating, smoking, and so forth, naturally render the teeth and mouth
dirty more or less, and nothing can be so offensive, particularly to ladies, whose
sense of smell seems to be keener than that of the other sex, and who can
detect at your first approach whether you have been drinking or smoking. But,
if only for your own comfort, you should brush your teeth both morning and
evening, which is quite requisite for the preservation of their soundness and
color; while, if you are to mingle with others, they should be brushed, or, at
least, the mouth well rinsed after every meal, still more after smoking, or
drinking wine, beer, or spirits. No amount of general attractiveness can
compensate for an offensive odor in the breath; and none of the senses is so
fine a gentleman, none so unforgiving, if offended, as that of smell.
“Strict attention must be paid to the condition of the
nails, and that both as regards cleaning and cutting. The former is best done
with a liberal supply of soap on a small nail-brush, which should be used
before every meal, if you would not injure your neighbor’s appetite. While the
hand is still moist, the point of a small pen-knife or pair of stumpy
nail-scissors should be passed under the nails so as to remove every vestige of
dirt; the skin should be pushed down with a towel, that the white half-moon may
be seen, and the finer skin removed with the knife or scissors. Occasionally
the edges of the nails should be filed, and the hard skin which forms round the
corners of them cut away. The important point in cutting the nails is to
preserve the beauty of their shape. That beauty, even in details, is worth
preserving, I have already remarked, and we may study it as much in paring our
nails, as in the grace of our attitudes, or any other point. The shape, then,
of the nail should approach, as nearly as possible, to the oblong. The length
of the nail is an open question. Let it be often cut, but always long, in my
opinion. Above all, let it be well cut, and never bitten.
“Perhaps you tell me these are childish details. Details,
yes, but not childish. The attention to details is the true sign of a great
mind, and he who can in necessity consider the smallest, is the same man who
can compass the largest subjects. Is not life made up of details? Must not the
artist who has conceived a picture, descend from the dream of his mind to mix
colors on a palette? Must not the great commander who is bowling down nations
and setting up monarchies care for the health and comfort, the bread and beef
of each individual soldier? I have often seen a great poet, whom I knew
personally, counting on his fingers the feet of his verses, and fretting with anything
but poetic language, because he could not get his sense into as many syllables.
What if his nails were dirty? Let genius talk of abstract beauty, and
philosophers dogmatize on order. If they do not keep their nails clean, I shall
call them both charlatans. The man who really loves beauty will cultivate it in
everything around him. The man who upholds order is not conscientious if he
cannot observe it in his nails. The great mind can afford to descend to
details; it is only the weak mind that fears to be narrowed by them. When
Napoleon was at Munich he declined the grand four-poster of the Witelsbach
family, and slept, as usual, in his little camp-bed. The power to be little is
a proof of greatness.
“For the hands, ears, and neck we want something more than
the bath, and, as these parts are exposed
and really lodge fugitive pollutions,
we cannot use too much soap, or give too much trouble to their complete
purification. Nothing is lovelier than a woman’s small, white, shell-like ear;
few things reconcile us better to earth than the cold hand and warm heart of a
friend; but, to complete the charm, the hand should be both clean and soft.
Warm water, a liberal use of the nail-brush, and no stint of soap, produce this
amenity far more effectually than honey, cold cream, and almond paste. Of
wearing gloves I shall speak elsewhere, but for weak people who are troubled
with chilblains, they are indispensable all the year round. I will add a good
prescription for the cure of chilblains, which are both a disfigurement, and
one of the petites misères of human life.
“‘Roll the fingers in linen bandages, sew them up well, and
dip them twice or thrice a day in a mixture, consisting of half a fluid ounce
of tincture of capsicum, and a fluid ounce of tincture of opium.’
“The person who invented razors libelled Nature, and added
a fresh misery to the days of man.
“Whatever Punch may say, the moustache and beard movement
is one in the right direction, proving that men are beginning to appreciate
beauty and to acknowledge that Nature is the best valet. But it is very amusing
to hear men excusing their vanity on the plea of health, and find them
indulging in the hideous ‘Newgate frill’ as a kind of compromise between the
beard and the razor. There was a time when it was thought a presumption and
vanity to wear one’s own hair instead of the frightful elaborations of the
wig-makers, and the false curls which Sir Godfrey Kneller did his best to make
graceful on canvas. Who knows that at some future age some Punch of the
twenty-first century may not ridicule the wearing of one’s own teeth instead of
the dentist’s? At any rate Nature knows best, and no man need be ashamed of
showing his manhood in the hair of his face. Of razors and shaving, therefore,
I shall only speak from necessity, because, until everybody is sensible on this
point, they will still be used.
“Napoleon shaved himself. ‘A born king,’ said he, ‘has
another to shave him. A made king can use his own razor.’ But the war he made
on his chin was very different to that he made on foreign potentates. He took a
very long time to effect it, talking between whiles to his hangers-on. The
great man, however, was right, and every sensible man will shave himself, if
only as an exercise of character, for a man should learn to live, in every
detail without assistance. Moreover, in most cases, we shave ourselves better
than barbers can do. If we shave at all, we should do it thoroughly, and every
morning. Nothing, except a frown and a hay-fever, makes the face look so
unlovely as a chin covered with short stubble. The chief requirements are hot
water, a large, soft brush of badger hair, a good razor, soft soap that will
not dry rapidly, and a steady hand. Cheap razors are a fallacy. They soon lose
their edge, and no amount of stropping will restore it. A good razor needs no
strop. If you can afford it, you should have a case of seven razors, one for
each day of the week, so that no one shall be too much used. There are now much
used packets of papers of a certain kind on which to wipe the razor, and which
keep its edge keen, and are a substitute for the strop.
“Beards, moustaches, and whiskers, have always been most
important additions to the face. In the present day literary men are much given
to their growth, and in that respect show at once their taste and their vanity.
Let no man be ashamed of his beard, if it be well kept and not fantastically
cut. The moustache should be kept within limits. The Hungarians wear it so long
that they can tie the ends round their heads. The style of the beard should be
adopted to suit the face. A broad face should wear a large, full one; a long
face is improved by a sharp-pointed one. Taylor, the water poet, wrote verses
on the various styles, and they are almost numberless. The chief point is to
keep the beard well-combed and in neat trim.
“As to whiskers, it is not every man who can achieve a pair
of full length. There is certainly a great vanity about them, but it may be
generally said that foppishness should be avoided in this as in most other
points. Above all, the whiskers should never be curled, nor pulled out to an
absurd length. Still worse is it to cut them close with the scissors. The
moustache should be neat and not too large, and such fopperies as cutting the
points thereof, or twisting them up to the fineness of needles—though patronized
by the Emperor of the French—are decidedly a proof of vanity. If a man wear the
hair on his face which nature has given him, in the manner that nature
distributes it, keeps it clean, and prevents its overgrowth, he cannot do
wrong. All extravagances are vulgar, because they are evidence of a pretence to
being better than you are; but a single extravagance unsupported is perhaps
worse than a number together, which have at least the merit of consistency. If
you copy puppies in the half-yard of whisker, you should have their dress and
their manner too, if you would not appear doubly absurd.
“The same remarks apply to the arrangement of the hair in
men, which should be as simple and as natural as possible, but at the same time
a little may be granted to beauty and the requirements of the face. For my part
I can see nothing unmanly in wearing long hair, though undoubtedly it is
inconvenient and a temptation to vanity, while its arrangement would demand an
amount of time and attention which is unworthy of a man. But every nation and
every age has had a different custom in this respect, and to this day even in
Europe the hair is sometimes worn long. The German student is particularly
partial to hyacinthine locks curling over a black velvet coat; and the peasant
of Brittany looks very handsome, if not always clean, with his love-locks
hanging straight down under a broad cavalier hat. Religion has generally taken
up the matter severely. The old fathers preached and railed against wigs, the
Calvinists raised an insurrection in Bordeaux on the same account, and English
Roundheads consigned to an unmentionable place every man who allowed his hair
to grow according to nature. The Romans condemned tresses as unmanly, and in
France in the middle ages the privilege to wear them was confined to royalty.
Our modern custom was a revival of the French revolution, so that in this
respect we are now republican as well as puritanical.
“If we conform to fashion we should at least make the best
of it, and since the main advantage of short hair is its neatness, we should
take care to keep ours neat. This should be done first by frequent visits to
the barber, for if the hair is to be short at all it should be very short, and
nothing looks more untidy than long, stiff, uncurled masses sticking out over
the ears. If it curls naturally so much the better, but if not it will be
easier to keep in order. The next point is to wash the head every morning,
which, when once habitual, is a great preservative against cold. A pair of
large brushes, hard or soft, as your case requires, should be used, not to
hammer the head with, but to pass up under the hair so as to reach the roots.
As to pomatum, Macassar, and other inventions of the hair-dresser, I have only
to say that, if used at all, it should be in moderation, and never sufficiently
to make their scent perceptible in company. Of course the arrangement will be a
matter of individual taste, but as the middle of the hair is the natural place
for a parting, it is rather a silly prejudice to think a man vain who parts his
hair in the centre. He is less blamable than one who is too lazy to part it at
all, and has always the appearance of having just got up.
“Of wigs and false hair, the subject of satires and sermons
since the days of the Roman Emperors, I shall say nothing here except that they
are a practical falsehood which may sometimes be necessary, but is rarely
successful. For my part I prefer the snows of life’s winter to the best made
peruke, and even a bald head to an inferior wig.
“When gentlemen wore armor, and disdained the use of their
legs, an esquire was a necessity; and we can understand that, in the days of
the Beaux, the word “gentleman” meant a man and his valet. I am glad to say
that in the present day it only takes one man to make a gentleman, or, at most,
a man and a ninth—that is, including the tailor. It is an excellent thing for
the character to be neat and orderly, and, if a man neglects to be so in his
room, he is open to the same temptation sooner or later in his person. A
dressing-case is, therefore, a desideratum. A closet to hang up cloth clothes,
which should never be folded, and a small dressing-room next to the bed-room,
are not so easily attainable. But the man who throws his clothes about the room,
a boot in one corner, a cravat in another, and his brushes anywhere, is not a
man of good habits. The spirit of order should extend to everything about him.
“This brings me to speak of certain necessities of dress;
the first of which I shall take is appropriateness. The age of the individual
is an important consideration in this respect; and a man of sixty is as absurd
in the style of nineteen as a young man in the high cravat of Brummell’s day. I
know a gallant colonel who is master of the ceremonies in a gay watering-place,
and who, afraid of the prim old-fashioned tournure of his confrères in similar
localities, is to be seen, though his hair is gray and his age not under
five-and-sixty, in a light cut-away, the ‘peg-top’ continuations, and a turned-down
collar. It may be what younger blades will wear when they reach his age, but in
the present day the effect is ridiculous. We may, therefore, give as a general
rule, that after the turning-point of life a man should eschew the changes of
fashion in his own attire, while he avoids complaining of it in the young. In
the latter, on the other hand, the observance of these changes must depend
partly on his taste and partly on his position. If wise, he will adopt with
alacrity any new fashions which improve the grace, the ease, the healthfulness,
and the convenience of his garments. He will be glad of greater freedom in the
cut of his cloth clothes, of boots with elastic sides instead of troublesome
buttons or laces, of the privilege to turn down his collar, and so forth, while
he will avoid as extravagant, elaborate shirt-fronts, gold bindings on the
waistcoat, and expensive buttons. On the other hand, whatever his age, he will
have some respect to his profession and position in society. He will remember how
much the appearance of the man aids a judgment of his character, and this test,
which has often been cried down, is in reality no bad one; for a man who does
not dress appropriately evinces a want of what is most necessary to
professional men—tact and discretion.
“Position in society demands appropriateness. Well knowing
the worldly value of a good coat, I would yet never recommend a man of limited
means to aspire to a fashionable appearance. In the first place, he becomes
thereby a walking falsehood; in the second, he cannot, without running into
debt, which is another term for dishonesty, maintain the style he has adopted.
As he cannot afford to change his suits as rapidly as fashion alters, he must
avoid following it in varying details. He will rush into wide sleeves one
month, in the hope of being fashionable, and before his coat is worn out, the
next month will bring in a narrow sleeve. We cannot, unfortunately, like Samuel
Pepys, take a long cloak now-a-days to the tailor’s, to be cut into a short one,
‘long cloaks being now quite out,’ as he tells us. Even when there is no
poverty in the case, our position must not be forgotten. The tradesman will win
neither customers nor friends by adorning himself in the mode of the
club-lounger, and the clerk, or commercial traveler, who dresses fashionably,
lays himself open to inquiries as to his antecedents, which he may not care to
have investigated. In general, it may be said that there is vulgarity in
dressing like those of a class above us, since it must be taken as a proof of
pretension.
“As it is bad taste to flaunt the airs of the town among
the provincials, who know nothing of them, it is worse taste to display the
dress of a city in the quiet haunts of the rustics. The law, that all attempts
at distinction by means of dress is vulgar and pretentious, would be sufficient
argument against wearing city fashions in the country.
“While in most cases a rougher and easier mode of dress is
both admissible and desirable in the country, there are many occasions of
country visiting where a town man finds it difficult to decide. It is almost
peculiar to the country to unite the amusements of the daytime with those of
the evening; of the open air with those of the drawing-room. Thus, in the
summer, when the days are long, you will be asked to a pic-nic or an archery
party, which will wind up with dancing in-doors, and may even assume the
character of a ball. If you are aware of this beforehand, it will always be
safe to send your evening dress to your host’s house, and you will learn from
the servants whether others have done the same, and whether, therefore, you
will not be singular in asking leave to change your costume. But if you are
ignorant how the day is to end, you must be guided partly by the hour of invitation,
and partly by the extent of your intimacy with the family. I have actually
known gentlemen arrive at a large pic-nic at mid-day in complete evening dress,
and pitied them with all my heart, compelled as they were to suffer, in tight
black clothes, under a hot sun for eight hours, and dance after all in the same
dress. On the other hand, if you are asked to come an hour or two before
sunset, after six in summer, in the autumn after five, you cannot err by
appearing in evening dress. It is always taken as a compliment to do so, and if
your acquaintance with your hostess is slight, it would be almost a familiarity
to do otherwise. In any case you desire to avoid singularity, so that if you
can discover what others who are invited intend to wear, you can always decide
on your own attire. In Europe there is a convenient rule for these matters;
never appear after four in the afternoon in morning dress; but then gray
trousers are there allowed instead of black, and white waistcoats are still
worn in the evening. At any rate, it is possible to effect a compromise between
the two styles of costume, and if you are likely to be called upon to dance in
the evening, it will be well to wear thin boots, a black frock-coat, and a
small black neck-tie, and to put a pair of clean white gloves in your pocket.
You will thus be at least less conspicuous in the dancing-room than in a light
tweed suit.
“Not so the distinction to be made according to size. As a
rule, tall men require long clothes—some few perhaps even in the nurse’s sense
of those words—and short men short clothes. On the other hand, Falstaff should
beware of Jenny Wren coats and affect ample wrappers, while Peter Schlemihl,
and the whole race of thin men, must eschew looseness as much in their garments
as their morals.
“Lastly we come to what is appropriate to different
occasions, and as this is an important subject, I shall treat of it separately.
For the present it is sufficient to point out that, while every man should
avoid not only extravagance, but even brilliance of dress on ordinary
occasions, there are some on which he may and ought to pay more attention to
his toilet, and attempt to look gay. Of course, the evenings are not here
meant. For evening dress there is a fixed rule, from which we can depart only
to be foppish or vulgar; but in morning dress there is greater liberty, and
when we undertake to mingle with those who are assembled avowedly for gayety,
we should not make ourselves remarkable by the dinginess of our dress. Such
occasions are open air entertainments, fêtes, flower-shows, archery-meetings,
matinées, and id genus omne, where much of the pleasure to be derived depends
on the general effect on the enjoyers, and where, if we cannot pump up a look
of mirth, we should, at least, if we go at all, wear the semblance of it in our
dress. I have a worthy little friend, who, I believe, is as well disposed to
his kind as Lord Shaftesbury himself, but who, for some reason, perhaps a
twinge of philosophy about him, frequents the gay meetings to which he is asked
in an old coat and a wide-awake. Some people take him for a wit, but he soon
shows that he does not aspire to that character; others for a philosopher, but
he is too good-mannered for that; others, poor man! pronounce him a cynic, and
all are agreed that whatever he may be, he looks out of place, and spoils the
general effect. I believe, in my heart, that he is the mildest of men, but will
not take the trouble to dress more than once a day. At any rate, he has a
character for eccentricity, which, I am sure, is precisely what he would wish
to avoid. That character is a most delightful one for a bachelor, and it is
generally Cœlebs who holds it, for it has been proved by statistics that there
are four single to one married man among the inhabitants of our madhouses; but
eccentricity yields a reputation which requires something to uphold it, and
even in Diogenes of the Tub it was extremely bad taste to force himself into
Plato’s evening party without sandals, and nothing but a dirty tunic on him.
“Another requisite in dress is its simplicity, with which I
may couple harmony of color. This simplicity is the only distinction which a
man of taste should aspire to in the matter of dress, but a simplicity in
appearance must proceed from a nicety in reality. One should not be simply
ill-dressed, but simply well-dressed. Lord Castlereagh would never have been
pronounced the most distinguished man in the gay court of Vienna, because he
wore no orders or ribbons among hundreds decorated with a profusion of those vanities,
but because besides this he was dressed with taste. The charm of Brummell’s
dress was its simplicity; yet it cost him as much thought, time, and care as
the portfolio of a minister. The rules of simplicity, therefore, are the rules
of taste. All extravagance, all splendor, and all profusion must be avoided.
The colors, in the first place, must harmonize both with our complexion and
with one another; perhaps most of all with the color of our hair. All bright
colors should be avoided, such as red, yellow, sky-blue, and bright green.
Perhaps only a successful Australian gold digger would think of choosing such
colors for his coat, waistcoat, or trousers; but there are hundreds of young
men who might select them for their gloves and neck-ties. The deeper colors
are, some how or other, more manly, and are certainly less striking. The same
simplicity should be studied in the avoidance of ornamentation. A few years ago
it was the fashion to trim the evening waistcoat with a border of gold lace.
This is an example of fashions always to be rebelled against. Then, too,
extravagance in the form of our dress is a sin against taste. I remember that
long ribbons took the place of neck-ties some years ago. At a commemoration,
two friends of mine determined to cut a figure in this matter, having little
else to distinguish them. The one wore two yards of bright pink; the other the
same quantity of bright blue ribbon, round their necks. I have reason to
believe they think now that they both looked superbly ridiculous. In the same
way, if the trousers are worn wide, we should not wear them as loose as a
Turk’s; or, if the sleeves are to be open, we should not rival the ladies in
this matter. And so on through a hundred details, generally remembering that to
exaggerate a fashion is to assume a character, and therefore vulgar. The
wearing of jewelry comes under this head. Jewels are an ornament to women, but
a blemish to men. They bespeak either effeminacy or a love of display. The hand
of a man is honored in working, for labor is his mission; and the hand that
wears its riches on its fingers, has rarely worked honestly to win them. The
best jewel a man can wear is his honor. Let that be bright and shining, well
set in prudence, and all others must darken before it. But as we are savages,
and must have some silly trickery to hang about us, a little, but very little
concession may be made to our taste in this respect. I am quite serious when I
disadvise you from the use of nose-rings, gold anklets, and hat-bands studded
with jewels; for when I see an incredulous young man of the nineteenth century,
dangling from his watch-chain a dozen silly ‘charms’ (often the only ones he
possesses), which have no other use than to give a fair coquette a legitimate
subject on which to approach to closer intimacy, and which are revived from the
lowest superstitions of dark ages, and sometimes darker races, I am quite
justified in believing that some South African chieftain, sufficiently rich to
cut a dash, might introduce with success the most peculiar fashions of his own
country. However this may be, there are already sufficient extravagances
prevalent among our young men to attack.
“The man of good taste will wear as little jewelry as
possible. One handsome signet-ring on the little finger of the left hand, a
scarf-pin which is neither large, nor showy, nor too intricate in its design,
and a light, rather thin watch-guard with a cross-bar, are all that he ought to
wear. But, if he aspires to more than this, he should observe the following
rules:—
“1. Let everything be real and good. False jewelry is not
only a practical lie, but an absolute vulgarity, since its use arises from an
attempt to appear richer or grander than its wearer is.
“2. Let it be simple. Elaborate studs, waistcoat-buttons,
and wrist-links, are all abominable. The last, particularly, should be as plain
as possible, consisting of plain gold ovals, with, at most, the crest engraved
upon them. Diamonds and brilliants are quite unsuitable to men, whose jewelry
should never be conspicuous. If you happen to possess a single diamond of great
value you may wear it on great occasions as a ring, but no more than one ring
should ever be worn by a gentleman.
“3. Let it be distinguished rather by its curiosity than
its brilliance. An antique or bit of old jewelry possesses more interest,
particularly if you are able to tell its history, than the most splendid
production of the goldsmith’s shop.
“4. Let it harmonize with the colors of your dress.
“5. Let it have some use. Men should never, like women,
wear jewels for mere ornament, whatever may be the fashion of Hungarian
noblemen, and deposed Indian rajahs with jackets covered with rubies.
“The precious stones are reserved for ladies, and even our
scarf-pins are more suitable without them.
“The dress that is both appropriate and simple can never
offend, nor render its wearer conspicuous, though it may distinguish him for
his good taste. But it will not be pleasing unless clean and fresh. We cannot
quarrel with a poor gentleman’s thread-bare coat, if his linen be pure, and we
see that he has never attempted to dress beyond his means or unsuitably to his
station. But the sight of decayed gentility and dilapidated fashion may call
forth our pity, and, at the same time prompt a moral: ‘You have evidently
sunken;’ we say to ourselves; ‘But whose fault was it? Am I not led to suppose
that the extravagance which you evidently once revelled in has brought you to
what I now see you?’ While freshness is essential to being well-dressed, it
will be a consolation to those who cannot afford a heavy tailor’s bill, to
reflect that a visible newness in one’s clothes is as bad as patches and darns,
and to remember that there have been celebrated dressers who would never put on
a new coat till it had been worn two or three times by their valets. On the
other hand, there is no excuse for untidiness, holes in the boots, a broken
hat, torn gloves, and so on. Indeed, it is better to wear no gloves at all than
a pair full of holes. There is nothing to be ashamed of in bare hands, if they
are clean, and the poor can still afford to have their shirts and shoes mended,
and their hats ironed. It is certainly better to show signs of neatness than
the reverse, and you need sooner be ashamed of a hole than a darn.
“Of personal cleanliness I have spoken at such length that
little need be said on that of the clothes. If you are economical with your
tailor, you can be extravagant with your laundress. The beaux of forty years
back put on three shirts a day, but except in hot weather one is sufficient. Of
course, if you change your dress in the evening you must change your shirt too.
There has been a great outcry against colored flannel shirts in the place of
linen, and the man who can wear one for three days is looked on as little
better than St. Simeon Stylites. I should like to know how often the advocates
of linen change their own under-flannel, and whether the same rule does not
apply to what is seen as to what is concealed. But while the flannel is perhaps
healthier as absorbing the moisture more rapidly, the linen has the advantage
of looking cleaner, and may therefore be preferred. As to economy, if the
flannel costs less to wash, it also wears out sooner; but, be this as it may, a
man’s wardrobe is not complete without half a dozen or so of these shirts,
which he will find most useful, and ten times more comfortable than linen in
long excursions, or when exertion will be required. Flannel, too, has the
advantage of being warm in winter and cool in summer, for, being a
non-conductor, but a retainer of heat, it protects the body from the sun, and,
on the other hand, shields it from the cold. But the best shirt of all,
particularly in winter, is that which wily monks and hermits pretended to wear
for a penance, well knowing that they could have no garment cooler, more
comfortable, or more healthy. I mean, of course, the rough hair-shirt. Like
flannel, it is a non-conductor of heat; but then, too, it acts the part of a
shampooer, and with its perpetual friction soothes the surface of the skin, and
prevents the circulation from being arrested at any one point of the body.
Though I doubt if any of my readers will take a hint from the wisdom of the
merry anchorites, they will perhaps allow me to suggest that the next best
thing to wear next the skin is flannel, and that too of the coarsest
description.
“Quantity is better than quality in linen. Nevertheless it
should be fine and well spun. The loose cuff, which we borrowed from the French
some four years ago, is a great improvement on the old tight wrist-band, and,
indeed, it must be borne in mind that anything which binds any part of the body
tightly impedes the circulation, and is therefore unhealthy as well as
ungraceful.
“The necessity for a large stock of linen depends on a rule
far better than Brummell’s, of three shirts a day, viz:—
“Change your linen whenever it is at all dirty.
“This is the best guide with regard to collars, socks,
pocket-handkerchiefs, and our under garments. No rule can be laid down for the
number we should wear per week, for everything depends on circumstances. Thus
in the country all our linen remains longer clean than in town; in dirty, wet,
or dusty weather, our socks get soon dirty and must be changed; or, if we have
a cold, to say nothing of the possible but not probable case of tear-shedding
on the departure of friends, we shall want more than one pocket-handkerchief
per diem. In fact, the last article of modern civilization is put to so many
uses, is so much displayed, and liable to be called into action on so many
various engagements, that we should always have a clean one in our pockets. Who
knows when it may not serve us is in good stead? Who can tell how often the
corner of the delicate cambric will have to represent a tear which, like
difficult passages in novels is ‘left to the imagination.’ Can a man of any
feeling call on a disconsolate widow, for instance, and listen to her woes,
without at least pulling out that expressive appendage? Can any one believe in
our sympathy if the article in question is a dirty one? There are some people
who, like the clouds, only exist to weep; and King Solomon, though not one of
them, has given them great encouragement in speaking of the house of mourning.
We are bound to weep with them, and we are bound to weep elegantly.
“A man whose dress is neat, clean, simple, and appropriate,
will pass muster anywhere.
“A well-dressed man does not require so much an extensive
as a varied wardrobe. He wants a different costume for every season and every
occasion; but if what he selects is simple rather than striking, he may appear
in the same clothes as often as he likes, as long as they are fresh and
appropriate to the season and the object. There are four kinds of coats which
he must have: a morning-coat, a frock-coat, a dress-coat, and an over-coat. An
economical man may do well with four of the first, and one of each of the
others per annum. The dress of a gentleman in the present day should not cost
him more than the tenth part of his income on an average. But as fortunes vary
more than position, if his income is large it will take a much smaller
proportion, if small a larger one. If a man, however, mixes in society, and I
write for those who do so, there are some things which are indispensable to
even the proper dressing, and every occasion will have its proper attire.
“In his own house then, and in the morning, there is no
reason why he should not wear out his old clothes. Some men take to the
delightful ease of a dressing-gown and slippers; and if bachelors, they do
well. If family men, it will probably depend on whether the lady or the
gentleman wears the pantaloons. The best walking-dress for a non-professional
man is a suit of tweed of the same color, ordinary boots, gloves not too dark
for the coat, a scarf with a pin in winter, or a small tie of one color in
summer, a respectable black hat and a cane. The last item is perhaps the most
important, and though its use varies with fashion, I confess I am sorry when I
see it go out. The best substitute for a walking-stick is an umbrella, not a
parasol unless it be given you by a lady to carry. The main point of the walking-dress
is the harmony of colors, but this should not be carried to the extent of M. de
Maltzan, who some years ago made a bet to wear nothing but pink at Baden-Baden
for a whole year, and had boots and gloves of the same lively hue. He won his
wager, but also the soubriquet of ‘Le Diable enflammé.’ The walking-dress
should vary according to the place and hour. In the country or at the sea-side
a straw hat or wide-awake may take the place of the beaver, and the nuisance of
gloves be even dispensed with in the former. But in the city where a man is
supposed to make visits as well as lounge in the street, the frock coat of very
dark blue or black, or a black cloth cut-away, the white waistcoat, and
lavender gloves, are almost indispensable. Very thin boots should be avoided at
all times, and whatever clothes one wears they should be well brushed. The
shirt, whether seen or not, should be quite plain. The shirt collar should
never have a color on it, but it may be stiff or turned down according as the
wearer is Byronically or Brummellically disposed. The scarf, if simple and of
modest colors, is perhaps the best thing we can wear round the neck; but if a
neck-tie is preferred it should not be too long, nor tied in too stiff and
studied a manner. The cane should be extremely simple, a mere stick in fact,
with no gold head, and yet for the town not rough, thick, or clumsy. The
frock-coat should be ample and loose, and a tall well-built man may throw it
back. At any rate, it should never be buttoned up. Great-coats should be
buttoned up, of a dark color, not quite black, longer than the frock-coat, but
never long enough to reach the ankles. If you have visits to make you should do
away with the great-coat, if the weather allows you to do so. The frock-coat, or
black cut-away, with a white waistcoat in summer, is the best dress for making
calls in.
“It is simple nonsense to talk of modern civilization, and
rejoice that the cruelties of the dark ages can never be perpetrated in these
days and this country. I maintain that they are perpetrated freely, generally,
daily, with the consent of the wretched victim himself, in the compulsion to
wear evening clothes. Is there anything at once more comfortless or more
hideous? Let us begin with what the delicate call limb-covers, which we are
told were the invention of the Gauls, but I am inclined to think, of a much
worse race, for it is clearly an anachronism to ascribe the discovery to a
Venetian called Piantaleone, and it can only have been Inquisitors or demons
who inflicted this scourge on the race of man, and his ninth-parts, the
tailors, for I take it that both are equally bothered by the tight pantaloon.
Let us pause awhile over this unsightly garment, and console ourselves with the
reflection that as every country, and almost every year, has a different
fashion in its make of it, we may at last be emancipated from it altogether, or
at least be able to wear it à la Turque.
“But it is not all trousers that I rebel against. If I
might wear linen appendices in summer, and fur continuations in winter, I would
not groan, but it is the evening-dress that inflicts on the man who likes
society the necessity of wearing the same trying cloth all the year round, so
that under Boreas he catches colds, and under the dog-star he melts. This
unmentionable, but most necessary disguise of the ‘human form divine,’ is one
that never varies in this country, and therefore I must lay down the rule:—
“For all evening wear—black cloth trousers.
“But the tortures of evening dress do not end with our
lower limbs. Of all the iniquities perpetrated under the Reign of Terror, none
has lasted so long as that of the strait-jacket, which was palmed off on the
people as a ‘habit de compagnie.’ If it were necessary to sing a hymn of praise
to Robespierre, Marat, and Co., I would rather take the guillotine as my
subject to extol than the swallow tail. And yet we endure the stiffness,
unsightliness, uncomfortableness, and want of grace of the latter, with more
resignation than that with which Charlotte Corday put her beautiful neck into
the ‘trou d’enfer’ of the former. Fortunately modern republicanism has
triumphed over ancient etiquette, and the tail-coat of to-day is looser and
more easy than it was twenty years ago. I can only say, let us never strive to
make it bearable, till we have abolished it. Let us abjure such vulgarities as
silk collars, white silk linings, and so forth, which attempt to beautify this
monstrosity, as a hangman might wreathe his gallows with roses. The plainer the
manner in which you wear your misery, the better.
“Then, again, the black waistcoat, stiff, tight, and
comfortless. Fancy Falstaff in a ball-dress such as we now wear. No amount of
embroidery, gold-trimmings, or jewel-buttons will render such an infliction
grateful to the mass. The best plan is to wear thorough mourning for your
wretchedness. In France and America, the cooler white waistcoat is admitted.
However, as we have it, let us make the best of it, and not parade our misery
by hideous ornamentation. The only evening waistcoat for all purposes for a man
of taste is one of simple black, with the simplest possible buttons.
“These three items never vary for dinner-party,
muffin-worry, or ball. The only distinction allowed is in the neck-tie. For
dinner, the opera, and balls, this must be white, and the smaller the better.
It should be too, of a washable texture, not silk, nor netted, nor hanging
down, nor of any foppish production, but a simple, white tie, without
embroidery. The black tie is admitted for evening parties, and should be
equally simple. The shirt-front, which figures under the tie should be plain,
with unpretending small plaits. The glove must be white, not yellow. Recently,
indeed, a fashion has sprung up of wearing lavender gloves in the evening. They
are economical, and as all economy is an abomination, must be avoided. Gloves
should always be worn at a ball. At a dinner-party in town they should be worn
on entering the room, and drawn off for dinner. While, on the one hand, we must
avoid the awkwardness of a gallant sea-captain who, wearing no gloves at a
dance, excused himself to his partner by saying, ‘Never mind, miss, I can wash
my hands when I’ve done dancing,’ we have no need, in the present day, to copy
the Roman gentleman mentioned by Athenæus, who wore gloves at dinner that he
might pick his meat from the hot dishes more rapidly than the bare-handed
guests. As to gloves at tea-parties and so forth, we are generally safer with
than without them. If it is quite a small party, we may leave them in our
pocket, and in the country they are scarcely expected to be worn; but ‘touch
not a cat but with a glove;’ you are always safer with them.
“I must not quit this subject without assuring myself that
my reader knows more about it now than he did before. In fact I have taken one
thing for granted, viz., that he knows what it is to be dressed, and what
undressed. Of course I do not suppose him to be in the blissful state of
ignorance on the subject once enjoyed by our first parents. I use the words
‘dressed’ and ‘undressed’ rather in the sense meant by a military tailor, or a
cook with reference to a salad. You need not be shocked. I am one of those
people who wear spectacles for fear of seeing anything with the naked eye. I am
the soul of scrupulosity. But I am wondering whether everybody arranges his
wardrobe as our ungrammatical nurses used to do ours, under the heads of ‘best,
second-best, third-best,’ and so on, and knows what things ought to be placed
under each. To be ‘undressed’ is to be dressed for work and ordinary
occupations, to wear a coat which you do not fear to spoil, and a neck-tie
which your ink-stand will not object to, but your acquaintance might. To be
‘dressed,’ on the other hand, since by dress we show our respect for society at
large, or the persons with whom we are to mingle, is to be clothed in the
garments which the said society pronounces as suitable to particular occasions;
so that evening dress in the morning, morning dress in the evening, and top
boots and a red coat for walking, may all be called ‘undress,’ if not
positively ‘bad dress.’ But there are shades of being ‘dressed;’ and a man is
called ‘little dressed,’ ‘well dressed,’ and ‘much dressed,’ not according to
the quantity but the quality of his coverings.
“To be ‘little dressed,’ is to wear old things, of a make
that is no longer the fashion, having no pretension to elegance, artistic
beauty, or ornament. It is also to wear lounging clothes on occasions which
demand some amount of precision. To be ‘much dressed’ is to be in the extreme
of the fashion, with bran new clothes, jewelry, and ornaments, with a touch of
extravagance and gaiety in your colors. Thus to wear patent leather boots and
yellow gloves in a quiet morning stroll is to be much dressed, and certainly
does not differ immensely from being badly dressed. To be ‘well dressed’ is the
happy medium between these two, which is not given to every one to hold,
inasmuch as good taste is rare, and is a sine quâ non thereof. Thus while you
avoid ornament and all fastness, you must cultivate fashion, that is good
fashion, in the make of your clothes. A man must not be made by his tailor, but
should make him, educate him, give him his own good taste. To be well dressed
is to be dressed precisely as the occasion, place, weather, your height,
figure, position, age, and, remember it, your means require. It is to be
clothed without peculiarity, pretension, or eccentricity; without violent
colors, elaborate ornament, or senseless fashions, introduced, often, by
tailors for their own profit. Good dressing is to wear as little jewelry as
possible, to be scrupulously neat, clean, and fresh, and to carry your clothes
as if you did not give them a thought.
“Then, too, there is a scale of honor among clothes, which
must not be forgotten. Thus, a new coat is more honorable than an old one, a
cut-away or shooting-coat than a dressing-gown, a frock-coat than a cut-away, a
dark blue frock-coat than a black frock-coat, a tail-coat than a frock-coat.
There is no honor at all in a blue tail-coat, however, except on a gentleman of
eighty, accompanied with brass buttons and a buff waistcoat. There is more
honor in an old hunting-coat than in a new one, in a uniform with a bullet hole
in it than one without, in a fustian jacket and smock-frock than in a
frock-coat, because they are types of labor, which is far more honorable than
lounging. Again, light clothes are generally placed above dark ones, because
they cannot be so long worn, and are, therefore, proofs of expenditure, alias
money, which in this world is a commodity more honored than every other; but,
on the other hand, tasteful dress is always more honorable than that which has
only cost much. Light gloves are more esteemed than dark ones, and the prince
of glove-colors is, undeniably, lavender.
“‘I should say Jones was a fast man,’ said a friend to me
one day, ‘for he wears a white hat.’ If this idea of my companion’s be right,
fastness may be said to consist mainly in peculiarity. There is certainly only
one step from the sublimity of fastness to the ridiculousness of snobbery, and
it is not always easy to say where the one ends and the other begins. A dandy,
on the other hand, is the clothes on a man, not a man in clothes, a living lay
figure who displays much dress, and is quite satisfied if you praise it without
taking heed of him. A bear is in the opposite extreme; never dressed enough,
and always very roughly; but he is almost as bad as the other, for he
sacrifices everything to his ease and comfort. The off-hand style of dress only
suits an off-hand character. It was, at one time, the fashion to affect a
certain negligence, which was called poetic, and supposed to be the result of
genius. An ill-tied, if not positively untied cravat was a sure sign of an
unbridled imagination; and a waistcoat was held together by one button only, as
if the swelling soul in the wearer’s bosom had burst all the rest. If, in
addition to this, the hair was unbrushed and curly, you were certain of passing
for a ‘man of soul.’ I should not recommend any young gentleman to adopt this
style, unless, indeed, he can mouth a great deal, and has a good stock of
quotations from the poets. It is of no use to show me the clouds, unless I can
positively see you in them, and no amount of negligence in your dress and
person will convince me you are a genius, unless you produce an octavo volume
of poems published by yourself. I confess I am glad that the négligé style, so
common in novels of ten years back, has been succeeded by neatness. What we
want is real ease in the clothes, and, for my part, I should rejoice to see the
Knickerbocker style generally adopted.
“Besides the ordinary occasions treated of before, there
are several special occasions requiring a change of dress. Most of our sports,
together with marriage (which some people include in sports), come under this
head. Now, the less change we make the better in the present day, particularly
in the sports, where, if we are dressed with scrupulous accuracy, we are liable
to be subjected to a comparison between our clothes and our skill. A man who
wears a red coat to hunt in, should be able to hunt, and not sneak through
gates or dodge over gaps. A few remarks on dresses worn in different sports may
be useful. Having laid down the rule that a strict accuracy of sporting costume
is no longer in good taste, we can dismiss shooting and fishing at once, with
the warning that we must not dress well for either. An old coat with large
pockets, gaiters in one case, and, if necessary, large boots in the other,
thick shoes at any rate, a wide-awake, and a well-filled bag or basket at the
end of the day, make up a most respectable sportsman of the lesser kind. Then
for cricket you want nothing more unusual than flannel trousers, which should be
quite plain, unless your club has adopted some colored stripe thereon, a
colored flannel shirt of no very violent hue, the same colored cap, shoes with
spikes in them, and a great coat.
“For hunting, lastly, you have to make more change, if only
to insure your own comfort and safety. Thus cord-breeches and some kind of
boots are indispensable. So are spurs, so a hunting-whip or crop; so too, if
you do not wear a hat, is the strong round cap that is to save your valuable
skull from cracking if you are thrown on your head. Again, I should pity the
man who would attempt to hunt in a frock-coat or a dress-coat; and a scarf with
a pin in it is much more convenient than a tie. But beyond these you need
nothing out of the common way, but a pocketful of money. The red coat, for
instance, is only worn by regular members of a hunt, and boys who ride over the
hounds and like to display their ‘pinks.’ In any case you are better with an
ordinary riding-coat of dark color, though undoubtedly the red is prettier in
the field. If you will wear the latter, see that it is cut square, for the
swallow-tail is obsolete, and worn only by the fine old boys who ‘hunted, sir,
fifty years ago, sir, when I was a boy of fifteen, sir. Those were hunting
days, sir; such runs and such leaps.’ Again, your ‘cords’ should be light in
color and fine in quality; your waistcoat, if with a red coat, quite light too;
your scarf of cashmere, of a buff color, and fastened with a small simple gold
pin; your hat should be old, and your cap of dark green or black velvet, plated
inside, and with a small stiff peak, should be made to look old. Lastly, for a
choice of boots. The Hessians are more easily cleaned, and therefore less expensive
to keep; the ‘tops’ are more natty. Brummell, who cared more for the
hunting-dress than the hunting itself, introduced the fashion of pipe-claying
the tops of the latter, but the old original ‘mahoganies,’ of which the upper
leathers are simply polished, seem to be coming into fashion again.”
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