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What Happened to Clothes?
In the prophetic movie Idiocracy (watch the key part here! – NSFW), all the idiots in the future wear Crocs. The writer said, “I thought the worst thing that would come true was everyone wearing Crocs.” Life imitates humor.
From bottom to top: once upon a time, not so very long ago, people wore hats. All people — from dock workers to railway-layers — wore hats. It was a part of being fully dressed. Indeed, it was a reflection on the person in every respect: class, job, status, etc.
That was a long time ago, of course. Daily wear of hats was abandoned by most people during my lifetime.
Today I noticed that even in my straight-laced orthodox Jewish community where people wear suit jackets (and usually hats) all the time, classy footwear has been totally abandoned. Gone are most formal shoes. Black sneakers are common. And so are – gasp – Crocs. For formal Sabbath wear.
The top went first. The bottoms are gone. And all the middle is on its way out. People wear pajamas in public.
Clothes still have meaning, they reflect on the wearer. But what people choose to wear today does not say anything good about the wearers. The emperor has clothes, but they make him look like he belongs in a movie that takes place in 2505.
Published in General
Hence why I pointed out both what the Consumer Price Index says 60 years of inflation has done *and* what it would actually cost to get an equivalent. The way the CPI makes sneaky exchanges for cheaper items when inflation hits means that it badly understates actual inflation.
I can say from my own experience that a straight razor shave lasts longer than even a high quality cartridge razor one. (Granted, it also takes a solid 30 minutes in the tub to get all the nooks and crannies of my legs safely that way too. But it can be a very zen experience.)
Is a longcat the result of the inflation-deflation cycle in cats?
No, it’s a ridiculously long image that gets posted to the PIT as an act of conversational ethnic cleansing, so I shrink them.
British boarding school, 1960s: Three girls to a bedroom, usually one older (supposed to represent responsibility), and two younger. Room divided into 4 by rails and curtains, similar to a hospital ward. Three of the cubicles contained a bed, a small dresser with no mirror, a chair, and a small, curtained closet space with rail. The fourth quarter of the room was empty and was the entry point for the door.
Each dresser had, on top, a ceramic bowl and a bar of soap on a soap dish. On its side, a wooden rod on which were hung a small towel and washcloth.
6:30AM each morning the bell rang, and the younger girl whose turn it was bolted for the bathroom in order to get there before the hot water ran out. Fill up a large enamel pitcher, and lug it, along with a large enamel bowl, back to the room. Split the water into the three bowls on the dressers. Wash as best you could. Pour the water into the large ceramic bowl, and get dressed. The girl whose turn it was took the pitcher and the bowl of dirty water back to the bathroom, dumped the dirty water, and rinsed out the bowl.
Three times a week, either in the morning, mid-afternoon, or early evening, we were scheduled for a bath. The tubs were in stalls in the bathroom. Time was limited to ten minutes. Depending on when you were scheduled, the water was often cold then, too.
A man came in every two weeks to wash hair.
Laundry was collected weekly, and was rationed: three pairs of underpants, three vests (undershirts). Two morning blouses. One afternoon blouse. One pair of pajamas. And so on. The wool components (tunics, coats, etc. were expected to last the term and be dry-cleaned on the breaks at home (as with the fabulous blue silk dress for special occasions).
At start of term, we all lined up and had our hair combed out with a Dettol-dipped comb, to make sure we weren’t carrying any lice into the establishment. (This was a solidly middle-class school; most of the girls had fathers who worked in the foreign office or colonial service.)
Somehow, we survived, and I don’t remember either feeling, or being, filthy. Although I wonder sometimes how things are handled today.
Long Live Long Cat!
You don’t have to go back that far. I suspect I know some farmers today who bathe once a week.
Where were all you fashionistas last month when I hosted the Kentucky Bourbon Trail Ricochet Meetup? I wore t-shirt and shorts or jeans when we were touring distilleries, hiking in the woods, or eating at a BBQ joint. But on multiple occasions I wore semi-dress shoes, slacks, a button-down shirt, a jacket, and even a pocket square. Where any of you there to complement me for keeping it classy?
I haven’t read through all the comments, so it’s possible someone has noted this:
First, clothing has changed in some ways because our access to hygiene has changed. My husband suggested this to me, and it makes sense: When people aren’t washing their hair every day, everyone might indeed wear a hat, basically to cover the dirt.
Second, people had servants when a “dishwasher” had to be a human being. A wealthy woman of my acquaintance answers those who ask if she ahs servants: “Yes, and so do you.” We have chefs, in the form of McDonald’s fry cooks and the staff at Appleby’s. We have maids in the form of vaccuum cleaners, washer-dryers, and we’re close to all having chauffeurs in the form of self-driving cars (even if you are disinclined to count taxis and Uber).
Another thing my husband suggested: That the class distinctions marked by clothing had their unfortunate aspect. I was saying that my father wore a shirt and tie all the time—we have photos of him on Christmas morning, Brooks Brothers button-down and tie in place. “My father never wore a suit and tie unless it was to a wedding or funeral,” my husband pointed out. And not because of personal choice.
But my father’s job was not (unless he was actually in a war zone) physically demanding or likely to make him grubby. My father in law worked in a factory. Because the practical demands of his work involved being on his feet, in a dirty environment, he wore boots to work, and sturdy, easily laundered clothing. Such clothing also , inevitably, served to advertise his station in life, just as my father’s lace-up oxfords and professionally-laundered or dry-cleaned shirts indicated his.
SIDE NOTE: My siblings and I remember, with great fondness, the “shirt cardboard” that dad’s shirts were folded around when they came back from the laundry. That cardboard was an ideal base for so many arts-n-crafts projects…
Women’s clothing advertised the fitness (that is, the financial fitness) of their access to male support and protection: my father’s sister could dress in heels and finer fabrics when she went out because her husband made enough money to allow her to be a stay-at-home-mother and Lady Who Lunches. The precariousness of high heels —the fact that they are difficult to run in, the athleticism of t.v. lady detectives notwithstanding—means that these shoes are also an advertisement that one is under male protection.
That men would open doors for women, or offer a woman his arm meant high heels weren’t as much of an impediment (literally) as they are today.
And yet, continue to wear heels even if they work and even when they work in jobs that require them to be on their feet, and even as men are trained to be less courteous and supportive. Crocs are the answer, I guess.
Ironically, a very wealthy person can wear jeans and an untucked shirt into a restaurant …where the waiters are all in tuxedos. What this points to, perhaps, is that the rich need not make the effort to show respect for others by donning the more inconvenient and uncomfortable clothes: Comfort is the new conspicuous consumption?
It’s a conspiracy, I think. My sister, wife and three daughters buy me presents at least three times a year (you guess). These gifts consist of clothes. I then wear those clothes, which they assume I must really like, because when the next occasion arrives, I get more, sometimes the exact same clothes. Eventually this has evolved into a wardrobe that is alarmingly consistent and folks assume that the way I dress represents my sense of style. I guess it does, sort of by default. But I don’t really care much about what I wear. The weather plays the largest part in my daily choices, then the relative comfort of the item selected. I’ve learned what can be worn with what, to some degree.
Many, many years ago my brother gave me a pair of Crocs. We were going fishing out of Gloucester for Bluefin and Crocs (unknown outside of the fishing/sailing world back then) were first introduced as no slip deck shoes because they gripped fiberglass when wet. I wore them a few times, but they were sloppy and lacked support. So they sit in my garage as gardening shoes. To sum up my view of clothes, simplicity, consistency, practicality, comfort and ease. The rest is all a waste of time, thought and energy.
Where’s your pink carnation?
Back when the company had company shirts made, I got 5 exactly the same so I wouldn’t have to make any decisions in the morning.
Several years ago I saw a dozen long-sleeve orange Columbia shirts with the vented back in various sizes for 5 bucks each at Ross. They just wouldn’t sell. I bought all twelve. I’ve only used one but I’m set for the next decade or so. There was a time when pink shirts were in fashion enough to be manufactured but not enough to be sold retail. So for years a found myself wearing a lot of pink button downs. Someone asked why I wore pink so often. I shrugged because I hadn’t noticed.
You idiots aren’t trying to get women to stop wearing yoga pants, are you? We’re gonna have problems if that’s what you’re up to.
I heard Einstein did the same to save wasting brain power on choosing an outfit. You can say you have something in common with Einstein. One thing in common with Einstein.
We would never even consider it. It’s too interesting.
We’re both male.
Some will be permitted.
If I’d thought about it a little more, I would have asked where’s your pink crustacean.
Of all the pics you could’ve used.
Here, let me help you out:
This isn’t the PIT. Not sure what I can get away with here.
Anywhere I comment is the PIT.
How old are you?
I’m with you on these. In fact, I’m wearing a pair right now. They are a lovely combination of comfortable and sturdy and very well made. I have, IIRC, 7 pairs. Love em!
My great uncle ever went out without a hat. We are the richest society in history and the worst dressed. I can’t imagine e doing housework in a dress, though. In fact, having to wear a dress or skirt in school in the winter turned me against dresses and skirts. Heck, shorts would have been warmer. I do wear dresses and skirts now, when it isn’t cold, and black slacks when it is.
A little magic went out of the world when women started wearing pants.
That is one of the most conservative statements ever. You could make Reagan look like a RINO.
Try to imagine pants as elegant as Myrna Loy’s dresses in the Thin Man. It can’t be done.
You may be right, but I think women first started wearing pants around the time when most women were dressed like Ma Ingalls on Little House on the Prairie. But, yes, pants didn’t really catch on with women until decades later when dresses were actually attractive.
I’m hoping that if any of you record a Holiday Greeting video for Ricochet you will dress up formally. @arahant, I expect you to be wearing a cape.