Standing Out

[India Mail]

My apologies for not adding to this thread sooner; it is an honour to debate with you all. I find Marcelo's analogy with gardens delightful. I think my summary would be that 'if one is to be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, wear that costume you think most attractive'. I invoke a passage from N.J.S.'s splendid tome, p. 19, copied into my common-place book:

"The Edwardians would have changed three or more times a day; ... there are days in many lives when the occasions call for this performance. Seize these opportunities."

As for whether the modern suit is more attractive than the frock coat, we may debate these personal tastes elsewhere.

Best wishes to you all.

[storeynicholas]

Thank you, India Mail - a nice start to my day!
best,
NJS

[Manself]

India Mail, please will you share with us your line of work and where you live as I can't be alone in wondering what you do that allows you such a free rein when it comes to professional dress.
Full marks for dressing for dinner at home, however. There is a charming anecdote in either Jessica Mitford's Hons & Rebels or Fiona MacCarthy's The Last Curtsey about an aristocratic couple who fell on hard times (circa the sixties and seventies) and had to sell their house. Despite their reduced circumstances they never gave up dressing in evening wear for supper, even if supper was served on a formica-topped table in their small kitchen rather than in a grand dining room. I admire such dedication, and the fact that it was done at home is evidence that the impulse comes from the right place.

It's very hard to say where the line is drawn between elegance and foppery, but I do think that antiquated styles (and I don't include white tie in that selection) cannot fail to fall on the side of foppery.

Was Patey able to furnish you with an elegant plant pot?

[marcelo]

...There is a charming anecdote in either Jessica Mitford's Hons & Rebels or Fiona MacCarthy's The Last Curtsey about an aristocratic couple who fell on hard times (circa the sixties and seventies) and had to sell their house. Despite their reduced circumstances they never gave up dressing in evening wear for supper, even if supper was served on a formica-topped table in their small kitchen rather than in a grand dining room. I admire such dedication, and the fact that it was done at home is evidence that the impulse comes from the right place. ...

This reminds me of a similar story about Machiavellis’ fate. After having been banned from Florence, he set up to write his masterpiece. In a letter, he tells how he would dress up in the evening for an imaginary encounter with the great masters of classical antiquity about whom he writes in The Prince. The garments of court and palace he wears, alone in his studio, are from better times when he used to work for the Medici family as a diplomat. – Isn’t this an inspiring attitude, to dress, not to impress anybody, but because one feels well, because one feels worth meeting those one most admires?

Niccolò Machiavelli to Francesco Vettori:
“When evening comes, I return home and enter my study; on the threshold I take off my workday clothes, covered with mud and dirt, and put on the garments of court and palace. Fitted out appropriately, I step inside the venerable courts of the ancients, where, solicitously received by them, I nourish myself on that food that alone is mine and for which I was born; where I am unashamed to converse with them and to question them about the motives for their actions, and they, out of their human kindness, answer me. And for four hours at a time I feel no boredom, I forget all my troubles, I do not dread poverty, and I am not terrified by death.” (Florence, 10 December 1513)

[India Mail]

Dear Manself,

Thank you for your contribution, and making me giggle with the reference about dressing for dinner in hard times. I will make a note to search that one out. One should not forget the aspect of gentle self-parody as well: 'Mad Englishmen' sitting down for dinner in their sultry jungle camp in full fig, and, Heaven knows, there has been enough literature generated by the post-colonial studies-wallahs about this.

Sorry if I seem to be 'showing off'. As I said, I am lucky enough to work in an environment – one of the English University Libraries - long seen as a refuge for 'eccentrics' (I am being polite), and, being on 'the front line', far down the organisational 'food chain'. Indeed, I am wheeled out occasionally when we have visitors to our institution, with which I am happy to comply. My costume is also to promote my employer, even if my managers refuse repeatedly a 'dress allowance' for we lower grades in my Annual Appraisal.

Please forgive me for not being more specific: I am not one who appreciates the internet's death of privacy. No doubt there are whizz-kids amongst you who can decode my contributions such that even my boot-size is revealed. I wish my colleagues were following the example I set, so that there was more ambiguity to my identity. If only I realised twenty years ago, I would have tried to find employment at Coutt's instead.

(I will add this paragraph ‘on the hoof’, in response to Marcelo’s posting. It reminded me how several of my colleagues and I, before we are to deal with ‘customers’ at the beginning of the day, wear certain items as a ‘professional mask’. I am sure there is this psychological effect, as well as physiological; I stand and walk more erect and purposefully in my frock coat, &c., than when slouching off to the super-market at the weekend, fighting one’s way through the crowds in town.)

Alas, Manself and I must beg to differ over the merits of older costumes. I do hope the opportunity might arise where you and your chums wear such garments, and see the light. If you have the urge to become a Library Clerk, I will guide you along the path, lined, of course, with 'Patey's Patent Improved Ventilating Horticultural Wide-awakes'.

With best wishes, Neil.