Mopes like me get to put on rented evening wear a handful of times in our lives. At a prom—if we can find a date—and at weddings. The process of rental is expensive and time consuming. And most of the time the fit isn’t all that great, upon closer examination the suit has gone out more often than the easiest girl in high school, and the patent leather shoes pinch.
But standing in front of the mirror in the shop you could, if you squinted, imagine yourself as debonair as Cary Grant, as hip and swinging as a Rat Packer in Vegas, or as cool as James Bond at the baccarat table in Monaco.
But in high school, I came of age when the lapels grew as wide as the shoulders, shirts got frilly, and instead of sophisticated black, designers thought that pastel shades—mine was baby blue—with lots of satin ribbon trim was the way to go. Kinda destroyed the illusion.
I got one more chance. My prom date, the lovely Ida Fidritch, asked me to be her escort at the Germania Club Ball in Chicago. The Germania club was maybe the city’s swankiest ethnic club, set in an elegant building just of LaSalle Street in Old Town. The ball was a big deal and Ida was officially coming out there. That’s right. I know you don’t believe it, but I was officially dating a debutante. She, tall and elegant, looked lovely in a shimmering strapless gown.
Unfortunately, I had blown all my money renting the prom suit. So I borrowed a cream colored evening jacket that my Dad had bought when he was in the Wyoming state cabinet and had to attend formal functions. It was a western cut with arrow head pockets and a yoke on the back. And set off with patent leather cowboy boots three sized too long for me but also too narrow.
The Germans, being old school and proper, all showed up in classic black jackets. Maybe one or two in white. Needless to say, no one else was dressed like Gene Autry at wedding. Ida’s embarrassment was deep. I solaced myself with the discovery that I could be served at the bar. Tragically, it was our last date, although I did glimpse her that summer when she was elected Queen of the Skokie Ox Roast. She was later a first runner up to Miss Illinois. Clearly my sartorial choice pegged me as not even close to her league.
I skipped formal wear at my wedding—got married in a brown hand-me-down suit also obtained from my father and pearl snap western shirt embroidered with brown roses. But I did have to get dressed up for my daughter Heather’s wedding. And if I do say so myself, I cut quite a figure at the American Legion Hall where we danced the night away for her reception.
All of this is prologue to the topic of the day—the introduction of the tuxedo at a posh New York country club on October 10, 1886. On that date a leading society toff and tobacco heir, Peter Lorillard IV was said to have shown up at the first annual Autumn Ball of the Tuxedo Club, a country club retreat for the Big Apple elite, wearing a tailless black formal suit. He created a sensation and a tradition. This is the same club memorialized years later by Glenn Miller in Tuxedo Junction when his swing band was hired to play there.
Other members aped Lorillard’s style and the new jacket became a trademark of club membership. When some began to wear it to dinner in the city, instead of at an “informal” country club, the style began to catch on.
The suit style, quickly dubbed for the club of its debut, caught on as, ironically, informal wear. The black tail coat suit, white waistcoat, starched bib shirt front, wing collar and white tie worn with spats on the dancing pumps and a silk high hat remained the full dress formal wear for a night out. As anyone who watches old movies will attest, that style still ruled into the 1930’s and is still, on rare occasions, trotted out by the very swellest of swells at the toniest of charity balls or opera openings.
The tuxedo was more typically reserved
for dinner, summer wear (they tended
to be made from lighter material than tails), or, increasingly, for formal
occasions away from Broadway. Because they were worn at dinner, they
quickly became the uniform of waiters in eateries highbrow to beer
hall and earned the derisive name, monkey
suites. This low class adoption probably contributed to the continued use of
tailcoats among the very top members of the societal pecking order.
Despite earning their name and spreading in popularity from the American country club, the suit style did not originate there.
The Prince of Wales, Queen Victoria’s son the future King Edward VII is the usual suspect. Stories claim that as early as 1860 he asked his tailors, Henry Poole & Co. of Seville Row for a blue silk smoking jacket for use in informal dining at country estates away from formality of Court and London. He liked the comfort, but the smoking jacket was considered lounging wear and may have shocked his guests and/or hosts, if such people could afford to be shocked by the eccentricities of the heir apparent.
English roots of the dinner jacket.
By the 1880’s Edward had refined his
idea, based on the tailless short mess jackets of Army officers
of the period. In 1885 he can be
confirmed as ordering from Poole’s a “tailless diner jacket” made of the same black
cloth as formal tail coats.
The next year, Edward is said to have shown the style to visiting New York millionaire James Potter, another early member of the Tuxedo Club who may have shared his discovery with Lorillard. Or perhaps giving the daring new style the stamp of royal approval simply gave it that extra aura of respectability.
We do know that Edward was wearing the style and it spread in the drawing rooms of the Great Houses by the turn of the 20th Century.
The classic Tuxedo style was one
button with un-notched satin lapels that recalled the earlier
smoking jackets. It was more closely
fit and tailored than a standard men’s business suit. A satin ribbon stripe often ran on the
outside trouser seam. If worn
with a waistcoat—the vest was black—or daringly a contrasting
bright color—the boiled bib was worn. By the ‘20s a starched and pleated
formal shirt with studs was generally worn with a cummerbund. They were worn outside with informal hats—a
bowler in winter, a straw skimmer in summer. Eventually, those gave way to soft black
felt hats, either homburgs or fedoras. By the mid ‘60s the hat was generally
disposed of entirely.
Styles did change. Lapels became peaked or notched, wider and narrower as fashion dictated. Two and three button versions and double breasted styles were introduced. By the ‘30s white was becoming fashionable for summer wear, although this style reverted to the British name of dinner jacket.
Still, most of us picture the simple elegance of the tux as it was worn in the early ‘60s by various cultural icons. Then the aforementioned late ‘60s early ‘70s kitsch took over resulting in various abominations including plaid and denim suits.
These days most rental tuxes follow styles on display at the previous year’s Academy Awards. Currently that means black coats tailored looser and more like business suites, usually without the satin adornment on the notched lapels. Shirts are softer dress shirts worn with cuff links but often dispensing of studs in favor of buttons. In the early 21st Century long ties, previously taboo in evening wear, are becoming fashionable. The overall effect was more like a funeral director than a waiter.
This year a variety of looks were on display. Most still wore black. But some disposed of ties and went with their shirt necks unbuttoned. Other sought attention with color or designer flights of fancy. I don’t remember anyone showing up in a Tux t-shirt.
Of course, I may never have to worry about picking out a tux again. Unless I get that call from the Pulitzer Committee for my richly deserved Poetry Prize. Then stand back and watch me rock the duds. And now I even have a black cowboy hat to go with the suit.
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