Manolo for the Men

Rafael Nadal may have bested Roger Federer at Wimbledon, but Federer, in classic tennis apparel, outclassed the victor, who went slumming in a sleeveless, collarless muscle shirt.  Ready for a body slam not a Grand Slam, all that Nadal was lacked was some visible tattoos.

The visual contrast of these two players reminded Izzy of an excellent, if too little known, book on the history an of tennis: Sporting Gentlemen: Men’s Tennis from the Age of Honor to the Cult of the Superstar.  Written by E. Digby Baltzell, the sociologist who both coined the term “WASP” and taxonomized that species, the book discusses the decline of tennis from a game of amateur sportsmen upholding an aristocratic code of honor (e.g., the unwritten rule that close calls go to your opponent) into a mercenary high-stakes sport in which players throw temper tantrums on the court.  In the modern era, Arthur Ashe epitomized the old ideal, while John McEnroe represented all that was rotten.  Sartorially at least, Nadal rejects the gentlemanly tradition.

Federer’s white polo shirt, interestingly, traces back to the French tennis player René Lacoste himself.  According to Wikipedia:

While winning the 1927 U.S. Open championship, René Lacoste of France wore something that he himself had created: a white, short-sleeve shirt made exclusively of a light knitted fabric called “jersey petit piqué” that served to wick away moisture due to heat, the very first version of performance clothing in sports. The shirt was a radical departure from tennis fashion of the day, which called for stiff, woven, long-sleeve oxfords. In 1923 during the Davis Cup, the American press nicknamed Lacoste “the Alligator” because of a bet made about an alligator-skin suitcase. With no cognate in his native tongue, the nickname was changed to le crocodile in French. The nickname stuck due to his tenacious behavior on the courts, never giving up his prey. Lacoste’s friend, Robert George, drew him a crocodile which Lacoste then embroidered on the blazer he wore on the courts.

Once he retired from the sport, Lacoste went into the shirt business, savvily putting a crocodile logo on the shirt’s breast—the first time a trademark was placed on the exterior of clothing.   If that wasn’t the Mark of the Beast, Izzy doesn’t know what is.

Recently, The Wall Street Journal published a (to Izzy) depressing story on the state of the world of accessories:

After 60 years, the Men’s Dress Furnishings Association, the trade group that represents American tie makers, is expected to shut down Thursday.

Association members now number just 25, down from 120 during the 1980s power-tie era. U.S. tie companies have been consolidating. Others have closed because of overseas competition as the U.S. market share for American-made ties has fallen to about 40%, from 75% in 1995.

Members have lost interest. But the biggest reason for the group’s demise: Men aren’t wearing ties.

According to a recent Gallup Poll, the number of men who wore ties every day to work last year dropped to a record low of 6%, down from 10% in 2002. U.S. sales have plummeted to $677.7 million in the 12 months ending March 31, from their peak of $1.3 billion in 1995, according to market researcher NPD Group. Although sales are expected to get a bump around Father’s Day, June 15, the future of neckties is very much in doubt.

But perhaps the saddest part the article was its mention of makers, and even popularizers, of neckties not wearing them themselves:

Scott Sternberg, 33, who founded the Band of Outsiders tie label in 2004, has quickly developed a following of young hipsters who buy his skinny ties, sold at stores including Jeffrey, Barneys New York and Ron Herman.

He says younger men find wearing ties more interesting today when they are “outside of obligation.” While he himself wears a tie on “whims and special occasions,” Mr. Sternberg admits that he doesn’t wear one to the office on a regular basis. “Ties get in the way,” he says.

To Izzy, this sartorial hypocrisy is good evidence that for Sternberg and his ilk wearing a tie is merely a matter of fleeting fashion, not enduring style.

Although the article doesn’t mention them as possible explanations for the demise of the tie, Izzy suspects that two major factors are the unfortunate decline of formality in all aspects of social life (whether in manners, rhetoric, etc.) as well as the widespread opposition to anything that smack of inhibition or self-restraint.

The Barack Obama campaign is blaming Hillary Clinton’s camp for leaking this photo of him to the public in order to reinforce paranoid, stupid fears that he is a crypto-Muslim.  The picture was taken in August 2006 when Obama was visiting Wajir, a desert, largely Muslim area in northeast Kenya.  The garb was presented to him by local elders, and the politician diplomatically tried it on.  Although Izzy has written about the risks and rewards of going native sartorially (something the Manolo also noted about President Bush), surely Obama did the right thing in donning the sash and turban in the presence of his hosts.  (And it should go without saying, but that headgear is worn not only by Muslims.)  The real shame is that many politicians, wishing to avoid the possibility of such pictures being used to falsely smear them, will end up being rude when faced with similar opportunities abroad.  And it’s not exactly if Americans overseas are known for their worldliness…

A Milwaukee-area judge has gotten hot under the collar due to a prosecutor’s wearing an ascot in lieu of a court-mandated necktie.  While the judge might be extreme in threatening the lawyer with contempt, his Honor is correct that an ascot must be seen as an informal piece of clothing.   While donning one in court might not amount to a full-blown violation of the canons of legal ethics, the real question is why the prosecutor would want to accentuate the girth of his already hefty neck.   His goatee was a smart choice, however.

Arrrrgh. Somehow, me maties, Capt’n Izzy missed that yesterday was International Talk like a Pirate Day. Were Izzy to enter the swashbuckling ranks (which is unlikely given his concern for, er, gallantry, not to mention his fear of stains that no drycleaner can remove), he’d wear a skull-and-crossbones bow tie—threatening, but not too threatening—and be accompanied by his loyal parrot, “Popinjay.” Pirate Izzy, a/k/a Isidore the Mauve, would fantasize about having bigger shoulders, so that he could carry around an actual peacock on them. “Gangway!“, indeed.

First published in 1964, and long out of print, the ABC of Men’s Fashion has just been re-issued. Izzy can’t claim ever to have read the guide, but it was at least written by Hardy Amies, the conservative-minded British designer most famous for being dressmaker to the Queen. (The son of a civil servant, he was notorious for his in-your-face snobbery: “I can’t help it,” he once defended himself, “I’m immensely impressed by all genuine upper-class manifestations.”) Izzy thinks it a shame that the new, bland cover ditched the original’s head-turning gentleman in a mod suit—note his narrow trousers and the jacket’s high gorge (where the lapels meet). His hat’s proportions are unfortunate, but such were the times. Even James Bond had to suffer a high-crown, narrow-brim trilby in Dr. No.

Having deplored low-hanging pants before, Izzy was happy to see that communities are taking action to end the uncivil plague. Pushed to extreme measures, municipalities have criminalized the attire, which is all-too-appropriate given that the style originated in prison, where belts are prohibited. In attempt to get around free-expression Constitutional claims, the laws are aimed at prohibiting public indecency.

The New York Times’ story taught Izzy something new:

Not since the zoot suit has a style been greeted with such strong disapproval. The exaggerated boxy long coat and tight-cuffed pants, started in the 1930s, was the emblematic style of a subculture of young urban minorities. It was viewed as unpatriotic and flouted a fabric conservation order during World War II. The clothing was at the center of what were called Zoot Suit Riots in Los Angeles, racially motivated beatings of Hispanic youths by sailors. The youths were stripped of their garments, which were burned in the street.

Although Izzy would never encourage a riot, he would like to see a peaceful march that chants “Do not share / derriere / We can see your underwear!” And of course the placards would read “Up with pants!”

According to the Drudge Report, on Monday at around 7:30 pm, Republican Congressman Gary Miller strode on the floor of the House during a vote wearing a loose-fitting Hawaiian shirt, linen pants, and slippers.  Representative Sheila Jackson Lee (not exactly a paragon of proper dress herself) rebuked him by noting, “The chair must remind Members that the proper standard of dress in the chamber is business attire, which includes both coat and tie for gentlemen.”

Izzy fears for his country.

Be afraid, for today is No Pants Day. Started by some college kids, the “holiday” is an insolent affront to all that is good and decent. Izzy, for one, has locked himself in his chateau to protect himself from these descendants of the sans-culottes.

While reading Louis Auchincloss’ biography of Teddy Roosevelt, Izzy came across this nugget of pink gold:

TR needed a good deal of physical exercise, particularly to control a waistline responding to his hearty meals. He played tennis with aides, but he preferred riding and long hikes. On one of the latter, accompanied by some more or less willing diplomats, he encountered a stream that could be forded only by the removal of all clothing. J. J. Jusserand, the French ambassador and TR’s good friend, emulated his host except for a pair of pink gloves. Asked why he retained these, he replied: “In case we should run into ladies.”

*Always Prepared (The Coast Guard’s motto)

An intrepid British reporter went undercover as an in-store model at the new London branch of Abercrombie & Fitch, a brand that, in Izzy’s mind, is popular with obnoxious, spoiled frat boys despite—or because of?—the explicit homoeroticism in its advertising and store displays. (The flagship store on New York’s Fifth Avenue features a giant mural of barely-clothed men climbing ropes in gym class. At many stores, the women’s department likewise features smutty photos of nymphets. Not for nothing has the brand been called Abercrombie & Filth.)

While interviewing for the job, the writer, presumably as ripped as the in-store living mannequins above (complete with matching widow’s peaks, areolae, and angular lower abdominals that come to a rude vertex), discovered that

that the company had a “tagline” which we would have to use when greeting customers. [The interviewer] explained, very seriously, that it was, “Hello, how are you?” “How did you come up with that?” I asked. She said a company of marketing consultants had worked intensively at developing it.

They wanted to audition me to see if I could deliver the line - this was make or break. “Hello, how are you?!” I said clearly. “Very good” she reassured me.

I had cleared my first hurdle and said four words in the right order, a test that floored some of my fellow-would-be-models - honestly.

It seems likely that those would-be models received their education at the Derek Zoolander Center for Children Who Can’t Read Good.

John Inman—the British comedic actor best known for playing Mr. Humphries, the campy menswear salesman on the BBC’s Are You Being Served?—has died. The hilarious sitcom, which ran from 1972 to 1985, was set in a department store so old-fashioned that the salespersons called each other mister and miss. (The closest Izzy has ever come to experiencing such a place is at Paul Stuart in New York.) A master of the double entrendre, the is-he-or-isn’t-he? Mr. Humphries was notoriously all-too-eager to measure an inside leg. An interverate scene-stealer whose trilled catch phrase was “I’m free,” Mr. Inman shall be missed.