The King's Button
Edward VII was
reputed to be a man who loved the pleasures of life, and his girth bore witness
to this. At the table, he would leave the bottom button of his waistcoat
undone, a practical habit that lent itself to ease and spared the garment the
wear of exertion or extension on account of eating.
Observers at the
table, nobles and servants alike, must have noticed this, and so it became the
style. The party prince who became king after Victoria's long reign did it, and
so should his subjects; consequently, this was deemed the way to dress. In time, the habit travelled beyond the waistcoat to the jacket and the suit, where it
endures to this day.
How Custom Passes
The role of
observers, those who watch a habit harden into a custom, is important to
understanding how matters of style and taste are passed on. The observation
must occur in close proximity and with a semblance of regularity, if one is to
distinguish the trendy and the customary from a mere slip. The same applies to
conduct, communication, and comportment, along with the courtesies that attend
them.
A Quiet Decline
Recently, as I have
gone about my own pursuits, it has come to my notice that elements of style and
taste are not as commonplace as one would hope. Many gentlemen, and I use the
word liberally, from the young to the much older, wear their jackets with every
button done up.
There are times when
I have had the urge to point this out, but such a thing is only acceptable with
people you know, not with strangers. It suggests that the knowledge simply is
not there. Style, however, is not optional; it is descriptive on sight, speaking
before a single word is uttered.
There Is No Finishing
School
I have been fortunate
to keep the company of those who know these particular things, and to learn
from them: leaving the lowest button undone, undoing all the buttons when
sitting down, how to knot a tie, how to match a pocket square, and so on.
There is no class or
finishing school for this. You learn it through association, something you have
seen your father, uncle, brother, friend, mentor, or teacher do, where on
occasion they have extended a hand to make that slight adjustment which separates
you from a ragamuffin.
The Quiet Inheritance
There is a name for
what I am describing, though I had circled it for years before I learnt it:
cultural capital. It is the quiet inheritance of knowing, the accumulated sense
of how things are done, passed not through lectures but through living
alongside those who already possess it.
Unlike money, it
cannot be handed over in a single gesture; it must be absorbed slowly, through
observation and the occasional corrective hand on the shoulder.
What troubles me in
my own observation is that this transfer appears to be faltering. The fathers,
uncles, and mentors who once made that slight adjustment seem fewer now, or
perhaps less inclined, and so a generation arrives at adulthood with the wardrobe
but not the wisdom, the garment but not the grammar of wearing it.
Style as a Map
It is strange how a
mere observation can tell of the road you have travelled, and how, in certain
settings, it becomes the key to gaining access or being barred.
I want to be clear
that this is not a plea for gatekeeping; I take no pleasure in barriers, and I
would sooner extend the hand than withhold it. Yet I would be dishonest to
pretend that appearances do not, quietly and often unfairly, dictate access.
A door opens or
remains shut, an introduction is offered or withheld, a judgement is formed and
acted upon, all before a word has been exchanged.
The cruelty of it is
that those most affected are frequently the least aware it is happening,
mistaking the closed door for bad luck rather than a code they were never
taught to read. To name this is not to endorse it. It is simply to acknowledge
that the rules exist, that they operate in silence, and that ignorance of them
is rarely the fault of the person left standing outside.
No Personal Fault
This is not to be
judgemental, even towards the utterly pretentious; eventually, that discomfort
with one's appearance is betrayed by embarrassment. It is upward mobility
expressed in acquisitive adornment, yet bereft of the quiet sophistication of
the how and the why.
Whether this calls
for a school of style, I cannot tell. It is not as though these people
considered consulting the largest repository of knowledge, the Internet at
their fingertips, to ask questions of style and taste as readily as they might
ask for a recipe.
Invariably, as my
gaze falls upon these occurrences, I am reminded that not knowing, or not
caring, is not so much a personal fault. You were simply not privileged to keep
the company of that kind of positive influence.
The Shops, and Where
I Stand
Let us not forget the
shops. I will not step into a suit shop where a mannequin has been improperly
attired, as it suggests the staff have paid no attention to detail.
In one such shop, I
asked to be fitted, but I was dismissed to the fitting room as though I were
trying on a casual shirt or a T-shirt. I did not waste another minute there.
I do not intend to
become a consultant on style. Rather, I will stick to the comfort of the
familiar.
An Edwardian
Inheritance
It is fitting, then,
to return to the man who began all this. The Edwardian period was one of
transition in dress as much as in everything else. For both men and women, this
period balanced structured luxury with newfound freedom of movement. The rigid
formality of the Victorian age was loosening, and comfort was beginning,
quietly, to earn its place alongside propriety.
Edward VII's most
enduring legacy was the tradition of leaving the bottom button of a waistcoat
undone, a habit that has since transferred to jackets and suits alike. We
observe it now without a thought for its origin, which is rather the point.
A king's button was
only ever a habit that others chose to read, to copy, and to pass on. The
grammar of how we dress is nothing more than a long chain of such small
observations, handed down from one watchful eye to the next, until the day the
chain is broken, and someone arrives, jacket fully buttoned, with no one left to
make that slight adjustment. Just look away.
Blog - Essential
Snobbery 101: The rules on suit buttons (April 2014)
