I was a Teenage Comic Book

Teenage dreams

You will be a rare bird indeed if you remember Betty Betz. You almost certainly had to have a much older sister or much younger aunt. Before Dick Clark, Betty Betz was the first Eternal Teenager. She was a chronicler of teenage life from the mid-1940s to the mid-1950's. Her lively cast of doodled characters appeared in seven books (a cookbook, party books and a tome on manners) as well as on the necessary teenage accessories of the time— scrapbooks, autograph books, phonograph record boxes and jewelry cases.

Betty visiting... Hawaii

A journalism major at Sarah Lawrence, she won an award from Mademoiselle magazine in 1941 and spent a year as a fashion copy editor at Harper's Bazaar. She pioneered the first newspaper advice column expressly for teenagers, syndicated in 61 Hearst newspaers. She was one of the first female television hosts and traveled around the country promoting world peace and good clean fun among teens. Oh, and Betty also managed to be a war correspondent for Hearst in Korea. She "retired" in 1956 after marrying a wealthy businessman with an interest in race horses and died as Betty McMahon in Bermuda in 2010.

Some of the books plus the one-and-only comic

The teenage life she so charmingly drew was actually inhabited by my nine years older sister, who filled one of the Betty-branded scrapbooks with mementos. As an eight-year-old in 1950 I was hardly a teenager, but I did buy (as it turns out) the one and only Betty Betz comic book, published by Dell, "Dollface and her Gang". It was ten cents. When I tell you I read that comic to death, you have only to see it today, looking more like the Dead Sea Scrolls in its shredded state, newsprint pages dissolving from all that activity. At one point I color xeroxed what was left as I understood what would happen to my "Dollface" eventually.

Dollface (left) and Bunbrain take dancing lessons to meet the men of their dreams

Now what, you might wonder, does this infatuation with Betty Betz' creations have to do with my love affair with fashion? Let's put it this way: early on I tried to dress like a comic book. I was so enamored by the characters she drew that I adopted, as best I could, the teenage styles she pictured. Those included: ballet slippers, bobby socks and loafers, tweed skirts with cinch belts, a peter pan collar peeking from under a pullover sweater augmented by a string of pearls, ribbon chokers, flowered full skirts, blouses with off-the-shoulder flounced necklines, rolled-up dungarees and men's shirts. I never could find Bunbrain's drawstring leather pouch purse. Talk about art imitating life? This was life imitating art!

By my own teenage years, the look du jour was more Francoise Hardy than Betty Betz. I bought French "Elle" as often as I could. At $5.00 a pop ($42 in today's money) that was not often.

Flash forward sixty years or so. After extensive trawling, I found a pristine copy of "Dollface and her Gang" on ebay. Evidently it had been resting, Sleeping Beauty-like, in a news agent's warehouse. There will be another fashion statement while reading this copy: I'll be wearing gloves.

Back to School Blues...

... and reds and plaids and sweaters oh my!

It's that time again, when a woman's fancy turns to thoughts of love— as in fall clothes and what to love. Despite Houston weather (think Sahara heat partnered with sub-continent mosquitoes), I love summer. So why does the first hint of transitional apparel in the stores get me thinking not only about what's to come but what was back-to-school shopping back when there was school in my life?

Not much changed in the land of the Liliputian Bazaar

The season began with the arrival in early August of Best & Co.'s children's catalog. This looked old-fashioned even in the '50s, with its finely detailed black and white illustrations of impossibly angelic children in stiffly traditional clothing. We rarely visited Best & Co. The store sold better women's and children's clothing that was somewhat aspirational but still affordable for a special occasion. It was also not downtown but plopped in a semi-suburban strip mall that held little else to entice. May have been the stuffiness of the actual catalog, but its appearance was a harbinger of doom and the official beginning of the End of Summer.

Take a deep breath...

On the other hand, the arrival of my nine-years-older sister's copy of August Seventeen got me shreaming— dreaming of shopping— for all those cute teenage outfits that I was nine years too young to wear. Oversized at a hefty 10" x 13", it weighed enough to hold open a door and was printed in full glorious color.  Little has been written about the olfactory factor in fashion, but the smell of Seventeen— a mix of better-newsprint pulp and rotogravure ink— was heady perfume.

The Hathaway girls were not from St. Trinian's...

Nowadays I see the advantages of school uniforms. What a time-and-stress saver! School uniforms are intended to diffuse any questions of whose parents can afford the trendiest togs (though I think shoes have taken over that function). When I was in school, a uniform meant the exact opposite— your parents were rich and Waspy enough to send you to private school, in my neighborhood that was Hathaway School for Girls.

You needed at least seven

By high school, the thought of a uniform would have been anathema. In the land of I-have-a-different-cashmere-sweater-for-every-day-of-the-week, I had one (usually worn on Monday). Junior year of high school Irene Parker, a popular cheerleader, promised she would only wear black-and-white for the next two years. Her declaration was not in the interest of flying in the face of cashmere discrimination but rather an attempt to "save up" her clothing allowance for college. And so she appears in all the yearbook shots I have of her— in a white shirt and black cardigan or black turtleneck sweater with her black pencil skirt. She looks pretty cool.

                              * * * * *

What prompted this post was my interaction with a customer at the Lovely Boutique Where I Work. She was looking for practical yet fun clothes to wear on the job as a kindergarten teacher. When I asked if she was ready to go back to school (schools re-open early in Texas), she lamented, with a smile, that "No, summer is too short, but at least there's back to school shopping!"

Take Your Marc!

Get ready... get set... Marc Jacobs has done it again. We all laughed (or cringed) at Grunge in 1992, but guess what? We are still wearing versions of it many seasons later.

Grunge on the grange 1992

Now we have Marc Jacobs in a happy happy, joy joy state of mind. Has he gone off in pursuit of his tribal roots in Japanese anime, or has he just had some colorful dreams lately? Well, it sure is fun.

Happy days are here again

Supposedly his inspiration was Cindy Sherman's clown photographs. But to me the look is as much as if Busby Berkely musicals were suddenly in color or if Henry Darger's work was not quite as disturbing. Surely Marc must have seen some of Duro Olowu's interpretations of African style with their lovely pairings of pattern and cut.

Just when you thought you had mastered color-blocking, here comes a Master Mixmaster to mix things up again. Sign me on!

Clown by Cindy Sherman

Is Marc clowning around?

Henry Darger's little darlings

Duro Olowu wows as well

Hello, Gypsy

"She was a gypsy woman..."

"Hippie" has not worn well in Fashion's lexicon. In the beginning it stood for counter-culture youth poised to take over America. Later "hippie" applied to anyone who appeared not to work or not to wash or both. When the "hippie look" inevitably trickled up from the young and strapped to the established and cashed, the correct descriptive was "Bohemian" or "Boho". As the style has been repeated in the years since Woodstock it has also been known as "Bohemian Chic", thus giving the green light to Oscar de la Renta for $4,000 price tags.

Woodstock never looked this good... or clean

Note: Boho never referenced the area around Bowery and Houston in New York City, just as it has no real connection to either Bohemia the country or La Boheme, the opera. "Bohemian" shares closet space with "Folkloric" and "Ethnic". Anna Sui has been referencing all three for years.

'70s Socialite Talitha Getty in Bohemian Chic

Now, according to the New York Times, comes the great "let's call a spade a spade" moment. The newest incarnation of hippie is now being called—simply— Gypsy. That word would say it all: wild, romantic, mysterious, colorful and the polar opposite of Chanel's dictate to take off the last thing you put on. As to the gypsy look— more is definitely more. We've yet to see the full impact of the nascent rustlings of multiple bangles and layered scarves, but designers have embraced it full-force before (Giorgio Sant' Angelo and Yves St. Laurent). It's a look— or a lifestyle longing— that has never really gone away.

Oh, Giorgio...

I love it, of course. But "being of a certain age" one must steer clear of looking like a bag lady (from Bowery-Houston) by appearing to wear everything one owns all at once. The only woman who can get away with that is the magical Iris Apfel. The rest of us will have to show a little restraint.

The Iris of my eye...

I Was a Glamour Don't

It's true; I was a Glamour Don't— and more than once, mind you. Lest you imagine I must have seen the error of my ways to result in my current state of fabulousness (irony), I will tell you it occurred when I was on staff at the magazine (from 1965 to 1989). We staffers often did double-duty as models or extras in shoots, and the story of Dos and Don'ts is an interesting one.

Glamour's Dos and Don'ts are hands-down their most popular feature. Though fashion is fickle, and one year's "don't" can be next year's "do", there will always be those who get it wrong or just don't get "it" at all— "it" being a modicum of good taste. The magazine started running a regular column of candid photos in the early 1960s. Redesigns and new editors have not eliminated the Dos and Don'ts feature, which keeps chugging along and has spawned two books: "The Glamour Dos and Don'ts Hall of Fame" (1992) and "Glamour's Big Book of Dos and Don'ts" (2006). In the early days all the shots were genuinely candid, with black bars superimposed over faces to protect the guilty. One of the junior photographers (not a big gun but perhaps his/her assistant) and a fashion editor would hit the New York City streets, parks or nearby beaches, with an agenda in mind. In summer it was surely bathing suits, but it could be undersized skirts or over-sized shoulders, too big hair, too much cleavage or jeansjeansjeans. The magazine started to receive letters from irate readers all over the country objecting to being labelled as "don'ts". One particularly poignant letter came from a mother in California who berated us for photographing her overweight daughter (in a skimpy bathing suit) as it was such a blow to the daughter's self-esteem. Despite the fact that the letter-writers were obviously mistaken, lawyers advised the column should be "staged", and so it was for the remainder of my time there.

Although I still have frayed and yellowing clips of Ali McGraw from her "Love Story" days, I failed to keep tear sheets of my published appearances. I did make "Hall of Fame" and am on page 25 enveloped in a fox fur chubby that I wore seriously and still do not think qualifies as a "don't". I bought it for the equivalent of $25 at an outdoor flea market in London in the early 70s, and that is an authentic Biba cloche on my head. I wore that jacket to death (well, its second death). I have no PETA-related regrets as it must have died the first time around 1930. I also loved those pants, though I see now they were too short. The point of the photo at the time was my carrying a straw tote bag in the dead of winter!

C'est moi

The current issue of Glamour still has a Dos and Don'ts feature. This time around the dos are celebrities (one is Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth). The don'ts are still concealed with black bars and look to be celebrities as well but of minor wattage.

QEII rockin' a flower print

For some time the phrase "Dos and Don'ts" has been copyrighted. You can plainly see a register mark to the upper right of the second "s". This was brought to our attention rather pointedly when another magazine I worked at some years later included "Dos and Don'ts" in a fashion feature. There followed a frosty letter from then editor-in-chief Ruth Whitney chastising us for not noticing the register mark and cooly suggesting we refrain from doing that again.

My Glamour days were, in retrospect, quite glamorous (although it used to annoy me greatly whenever anyone punned that suggestion). Imagine doing exactly what you wanted to be doing five days a week and getting paid for it??? Later jobs may have expanded my intellect and stretched my creativity, but those 24 years as a cog in the fashionable wheel of Conde Nast are the stuff of stories. Like this one.

Workin' it with a Personal Shopper

Find someone whose style you admire

I've written before about the benefits of working with a Personal Shopper. Almost every store at any price point has one person or even a team dedicated to the task. The Personal Shopper experience can be a godsend, a problem solver, a confidence booster and an overall step up into the wonderful world of looking fabulous. Imagine someone whose sole purpose is to use her skills to enhance you. Instead of thinking Cinderella (you) and Fairy Godmother (her), consider this a partnership. Like any good working relationship, communication is key. Herewith to remember:

A Personal Shopper is not a fortune teller.
She may predict the future ("You are going to love dancing in this dress") better than she can look into your past to read your fears and foibles. So be honest with her. If you hate to show your arms or never wear brown, tell her. Then be prepared to just try a piece that cleverly bares-yet-covers your arms in a lovely shade of cocoa. Part of the Experience is the just try it part.

Give it time.
Don't run in last minute on your way to the dentist. Even if this is not a full-blown Personal Shopping Appointment, allow a stylist time to work with you— to read you and between the lines. It might fit, but you might not like it. You might like it, but it may not fit. There's a measure of give-and-take even in working with a Personal Shopper, so don't let that long list of chores get in the way.

Be realistic.
You shouldn't expect to emerge fully transformed from one styling session. This is not "What Not to Wear". You will still have your other wardrobe (and attitude therein) to deal with, as well as the new hair and makeup that often accompanies a transformation. Not to mention the ever-important new foundation pieces. You may think you are shopping for a look for just this one special occasion. The results may open up a whole new look at your closet and your style. Even if you're a butterfly already and are using the Personal Shopper in your favorite store to add to your fabulousness, she can't make you ten years younger or ten pounds thinner. She can make you look your very best with the magic of illusion, but the age and/or the weight will still be there. In the case of A) get over it. In the case of B) if they bother you so much... you know what needs doing.

Make an appointment.

Or call ahead if you can. The Personal Shopper may have a standing appointment or stylists may be busy helping other customers when you "drop in". Even a heads up call— "I'll be there in fifteen minutes; can anyone help me?" will allow management to organize floor coverage to welcome you. The more notice you give the more efficient will be your experience— a fitting room set up, items pulled in your size, etc.

Find someone you relate to.

It's worth trying to find someone whose style and/or manner relates to you. The Personal Shopper doesn't have to have gone to high school with you, but if your personalities mesh she may be twenty years your junior or senior. A good PS has the knack of relating to women of any age, but the ultimate connection is the one which makes you feel most comfortable.

Come prepared.

Wear or bring the shoes you will be wearing. Nothing looks good in the socks and athletic shoes you have paired with your workout clothes (which you shouldn't be wearing unless you are truly going to/coming from a workout)(even then why are you shopping??????????). If you are coordinating or finishing an outfit, bring the relevant pieces with you. Foundation pieces. Enough said.

Let's face it— we all have dreamy looks we've cut out of magazines or remembered from movies, celebrities whose style we like, fashion icons we cotton to. If you're more Stevie Knicks than Jackie Kennedy, let your stylist know. And a picture is always worth 1,000 words.

Be adventurous.

Of course you will try on something unexpected. It's practically a mantra that what looks good on a hanger may not look good on you— and vice versa. Just try it, just try it, just try it. 

Spend some moola.
This is not the time to pinch pennies for the sake of being parsimonious. Sometimes the right frock is just NOT on sale at 40% off with an extra 10% using your Macy's card. The right piece will never be a regret, even if it requires a little self-administered psychology to convince yourself. Although it's hard for this inveterate shopper to remember, it really IS better to have fewer pieces you love than a closet-full of ok things purchased because space abhors a vacuum.

If you have a limited budget, let her know what that is. No PS worth her salt is going to "ply" you with luxury goods— the sure way to lose a customer's trust, but if $$ are part of the equation, be upfront about it.

Don't be discouraged.
You may not get the results you expected. You may be more entrenched in the Usual You than you thought. You might need a little time to get used to new looks the Personal Shopper has suggested ("Jeans at my age????). Habits die hard (think habit in its most clothing-centric definition). There may not have been the right pieces in stock the day you visited (which will be as frustrating for the PS as for you). Your shopping session may have produced only one workable piece, but you can build on success. Try again, try again, try again.

Woo her back.
The Personal Shopper will woo you of course. Her job satisfaction and possible remuneration come from a satisfied and repeat customer. But it wouldn't hurt to let her know you enjoyed her services with a thank you or quick drop by to tell her you were, indeed, the belle of the ball. Don't even think of tips or gifts; those are no-nos under the tenents of her employers. But a note or a referral— priceless!

The World is my Agora

Like a shark is always swimming, I am always shopping. Not buying, necessarily, but always always looking. I can make a shopping expedition out of a highway truck stop and usually find something useful-here-to-fore-unknown or an addition to my collection of kitschy magnets, souvenir plates, beaded belts and outrageous postcards.

Shopping for fashion is, of course, always the most fun. Alas some forays are slim pickin's in the fashion arena (i.e. flimsy plastic ponchos and trucker hats at previously mentioned truck stop). The following are somewhat offbeat places to consider as you wend your way through the agoras in your life.

Hardware store
While waiting for Mr. Handyman to find the right nut (interpret as you wish), wander through the offerings of chains, ropes, washers, toggles, etc. A little imagination and a pair of pliers can help you create some amazing adornments. It's real brass too, for a fraction of the price you will find in jewelry land. Patronize your local old-fashioned hardware emporioum if you still have one. Besides one-on-one service you will not be stuck buying a 500-count box of brads for your little craft project.

The boys' department
T-shirts! Pajamas! Cool button downs! Socks! Hats! Scarves! Sweaters galore!  Depending on your size you might make that the men's department. No matter; shopping with the boys will get you authentic tomboy looks at a better price.

The girls' department
Once again depending on your size you can pick up trendy fashion pieces or pants that don't need to be hemmed in the girls' department. Ditto pjs and robes. I'm a 2-4 and easily fit girls' 14-16.

Maternity department
Unknowingly I bought the most comfortable tunic top from the maternity department at Target. Well, there were no signs, and I just picked it up while wandering through women's apparel. No matter. I got a kick out of the discovery as when I really was pregnant I prided myself on never buying anything in a maternity department.

Charity resale shops
Depending on the neighborhood, resale shops can offer great buys on fine goods. Housing Works in New York City's Chelsea area is famous for their designer offerings, but I've found Ralph Lauren at my local Salvation Army. Charity resale shops seem to offer lower prices than the for-profit resale shop where goods are offered on consignment by their former owners. Even if the clothes seem outdated but not yet vintage, scour the offerings for good buys in bags, jewelry, scarves and— dare I say?— furs. By the way, I figure if it died 50 years ago PETA won't mind. Bonus: you are of course making a charitable contribution.

The dollar store
Last but not least. A cornucopia of delights just not usually associated with fashion but great for organizing your fashion: cheap cheap cheap plastic storage boxes and bins for bits and baubles, pretty papers for lining shelves, hooks and hangers, reading specs (I hesitate calling them glasses) for every room in the house and every car in the family (ditto sunglasses). Let your imagination be your guide as you walk the aisles.  

A Tale of Two Bs

Heavens to Betsy!

Trolling the mall today I came across two startling storefronts. The first was the Betsy Johnson store— never hard to miss as it is painted shocking pink and stuffed with crayon-colored clothing. The windows and entrance were plastered with "STORE CLOSING" signs. I had heard she filed for bankruptcy in April, but seeing the result of that announcement was a little unnerving and very sad. Say what you will, Betsy Johnson was a force to be reckoned with. Though it's been years and years since her clothing was aspirational for me, I still got a kick out of Betsy's crazy ideas and delighted in her trademark runway cartwheel.

No turning cartwheels over this

Our paths almost crossed at Conde Nast. When I was starting as the junior in Glamour's art department she had just left Mademoiselle's to become in-house designer for a trendy boutique. I heard she was a delightful whirlwind at Mademoiselle and would knit you a crazy sweater for $10. Her star rose quickly in the boutique world. The Betsey Johnson label launched in 1978 and grew to 65 stores worldwide. She was a downtown-club-scene kind of gal when that was all very new. While her design sensibility began as wild flower child it morphed into a look that was very sexy yet feminine at the same time. But her clothes were Young— think prom dresses for today's club kid. Following her own fashion formula, she once described her style as "Take a leotard; add a skirt".

Early Betsy

Later Betsy

Heaven knows Betsey has had a good run. I'm actually relieved that no one else is taking over the reins of the company. That is never a Good Thing (see next subject). Supposedly she will still be designing a little. Betsy will be 70 in August. None of us in the neighboring age brackets have many proms to attend but could sure use an infusion of her joie d'vivre.

To Be or Not to Be

When a store changes hands one assumes either the product will remain the same or the name will change along with new stocking. In the case of Henri Bendel the name's the same, but the store is a mere shell of its former self.

A bit of history to begin: Henri Bendel was the original little boutique that could. Founded in 1913 by a former milliner, there was only ever one store. The 10 West 57 Street building was a jewel box of a place, catering to the carriage trade and always carrying the most avant of avant garde fashion. Bendel's introduced to Americans that new Paris sensation, Coco Chanel. And so it went. Helmed by the retail genius Geraldine Stutz from 1957 to 1986, a trip to Bendel's (for this working gal) was a little like visiting a museum with price tags. There was a Street of Shops on the first floor— mini boutiques showcasing tabletop items, stationery, flowers, cosmetics and all manner of accessories— a Street of Dreams. There was one of the first "makeover" make-up boutiques on the fourth floor (Beauty Checkers) and endless "salons" of clothing to inspire and aspire to. Bendel's carried the looks before they could be knocked off cheaper elsewhere and prided themselves on discovering a host of new talent through their Open See merchandise calls.

The Fifth Avenue Bendel 

The s(mall)er version 

There were two camps: those who pronounced it "Henry Benn-del" (emphasis on the Ben) and those who said "Anh-ree Ben-dell" (emphasis on the dell). Never sure, I usually mashed it up into "Anh-ree Benn-del". Although I may have purchased one or two things (if only to possess that iconic shopping bag), the visit I remember clearest was sharing an elevator with the newly married Linda McCartney in the early '70s. She was casually wearing a gigantic, gorgeous mink coat over slacks. Her small daughter Heather (probably about 7) was dressed in complete English Child attire— a velvet collared coat and matching little hat. Not a word was spoken, and I tried not to stare. Like many celebrities attempting to lead real lives, she seemed uncomfortable with my being there.

In 1990 the (probably leaky) old Bendel building closed, and the store reopened nearby on Fifth Avenue. But it wasn't the same. The intimacy and history were gone. By this time the owners were Limited Brands, they of Express and Limited stores, mall favorites. Three years ago Henri Bendel decided to stop selling clothing altogether to concentrate on accessories, fragrance and candles. And that accessory to the fact is what has just opened in my local mall. The handbags and scarves look cheesy. The candles were the same as those sold at Bath and Body Works (another Limited company). There is nothing in this store I will ever need or desire, except the old Bendel magic. Which unfortunately is not for sale.

A bag I will never carry

Dandy-licious

Emma looking fine and dandy

July is a pretty thin month for fashion. Skinny in that the magazines are barely fat enough to bind. Advertisers are saving their ad dollars to spend on the feast that is the August and particularly September issues. So it was a surprise to find Something of Real Interest in the July Vogue that hit my mailbox yesterday. The cover is a very pretty shot of Emma Stone, she of the quirky red hair and literary mission in "The Help" as well as a host of movies in the recent past and near future.

The inside story is a lengthy piece on Miss Emma, which I have to confess I haven't read yet. What stopped me cold (or rather has me heating up) are the gorgeous looks that I have annointed Bohemian Menswear. The Vogue copywriters called the feature "Comic Relief". I don't know whether they are referring to the actress' comic talents or to the bit of fun she is wearing. In any case these outfits, styled by the usually conservative Tonne Goodman are delightful. Let the pix speak for themselves:

Could this be the answer to my love of Lauren et al and my ongoing failure to style it to suit Me? I am so excited by this gender bending mix of dandy details I may just play dress up despite the heat that is a Houston summer.

Not too long ago the New York Times ran a piece on the Return of the Dandy. This must have been great news to Patrick McDonald who never left.

Patrick McDonald shows his colors

Do you think the editors of Vogue read The New York Times?

Dressing the Part: Vacation

Gone fashion...

I'm going on vacation in three weeks and already plotting what to pack. This is not a long weekend but a real week-at-the-beach to a place we've been visiting over 40 years.

Before you think "Boo-hoo— why not go somewhere new?", this to me is a real vacation. There is no orientation needed. You know what's what and what's where. Besides checking out new restaurants, new shops and the new condos that are wrecking the view, this is a place where we can completely relax. By the end of the week I usually wish I weren't wearing clothes at all.

Nevertheless pack I must. And here's the quandary. Black does not look so good at this quintessential American beach town. Neither does the folkloric/tribal twist in fashion this summer. What looks best against sand, sun, sky and ocean is good-old Gap/Tommy/Ralph/J Crew. This is not my usual a la mode, but I have the prerequisite chambray shirt, some sailor stripe t's, and even a pair of white pants with little embroidered birds. For me dressing this week will be more like dressing a play (thus play dressing).

I'm thinking about using the biggest suitcase I own (millimeters shy of a steamer trunk) and throwing everything in. There's no worse feeling than knowing you have left the Perfect Outfit at home (or your hooded sweatshirt). On the other hand the idea of packing a week-in-a-carry-on is intriguing, but I foresee falling for overpriced apparel in not-so-trendy beach boutiques to stave off wardrobe blahs.

Here's what I'm not packing: anything I brought last year. I don't want to look the same in this year's photos!

Fashionable Fatherhood

He looked the part:
Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch in "To Kill a Mockingbird"

My dad was a natty dresser. Now that's a word you don't hear much anymore. From old photos that were before my time of remembering to the dad I did know— albeit briefly as my parents divorced when I was ten— he got dressed.

He wore suits and shirts and ties and pocket handkerchiefs Monday to Friday. I think the shirts were always white. My childhood laundry memories are of a sea of white flapping in the backyard in summer or the basement in winter. The handkerchiefs (my job to iron) could have a little color or be subtly plaid, but "the best" ones were white with a monogram (heavier and harder to press).

My father, John Ruskin, visiting Mt. Vernon circa 1940

He had pajamas, robes and leather slippers. He had cuff links and tie clasps and hats, but only one wallet. He had sport jackets, casual slacks and gabardine shirts in neutral hues (smoke, taupe, cream of wheat) for weekends, cabana suits and beachwear for rare trips to the beach. He had shoes of all description— brogues, oxfords, slip-ons— though no boots of any kind.

Did all men dress that way back then?

Some stories in the way of family history make me think not. There was the time, shortly after we moved to the suburbs, when my dad decided to introduce himself to the neighbors by joining the men on the community tennis courts. He left home one Saturday morning, attired head-to-racquet in brand-new tennis whites. He was back two hours later, took off the clothes, retired the racquet to the attic and never spoke of tennis again. The fact that he hadn't played before was immaterial as he looked the part and probably believed the clothes would make the Bill Tilden. My mother's recollections were a little bitter as she remarked years later how Daddy never denied himself new clothes, but she had to beg or sift from the grocery money to buy herself a new dress. Did I mention they were divorced when I was ten?

I have had many more happy father fashion moments seeing my son and his dad (my husband) forge a beautiful bond as they wear matching wetsuits and football jerseys. Clothes may make the man; they can also make the family.

Father and son showing their colors