Fashioning Fictions
You’d see one there, on King Street outside Almack’s, drawing and coolly discarding stares. That would’ve been in the eighteen-aughts; an aristocrat, no doubt, or behaving like the imitation of one. Fixed in a high-chinned pose – his outfit, startling in its form-fitting rigidity permitting nothing else.
Or, a couple of decades later, at some Westminster dining establishment, you’d encounter another: lecturing loudly (and presumptuously) about reform, in a carefully conspicuous outfit of provocative hues: a little jumped-up, the slight vulgarity of those lace ruffles a subtle defiance.
Or in the 1840’s, 50’s: bustling deliberately down Fleet Street, deftly navigating foot-traffic and nodding to a seemingly endless passing of acquaintances (from gentlemen to street hawkers), at a pace suggesting an inappropriate level of importance. Such youth and impertinence, an assistant clerk no doubt: should such a sort really be wearing that outfit? Of undeniable quality, but with slightly fraying edges carefully pinned under hems…
And later in the century, the hothouse aesthete emergent, at once languid and sharp-witted, whose bespoke little antinomianisms delight as much as they unsettle. A creature of many-hued supersensualisms: Green carnations, yellow books, mauve sunsets.
And then forward to the sixties of the next century (and then again, at fairly regular intervals of a decade or so), the mods: sharply and dogmatically dressed young sorts favoring imported styles (Italian for clothes, American for Music) and challenging economies (working class kids dressing like upper-class sophisticates).
Or, a couple of decades later, at some Westminster dining establishment, you’d encounter another: lecturing loudly (and presumptuously) about reform, in a carefully conspicuous outfit of provocative hues: a little jumped-up, the slight vulgarity of those lace ruffles a subtle defiance.
Or in the 1840’s, 50’s: bustling deliberately down Fleet Street, deftly navigating foot-traffic and nodding to a seemingly endless passing of acquaintances (from gentlemen to street hawkers), at a pace suggesting an inappropriate level of importance. Such youth and impertinence, an assistant clerk no doubt: should such a sort really be wearing that outfit? Of undeniable quality, but with slightly fraying edges carefully pinned under hems…
And later in the century, the hothouse aesthete emergent, at once languid and sharp-witted, whose bespoke little antinomianisms delight as much as they unsettle. A creature of many-hued supersensualisms: Green carnations, yellow books, mauve sunsets.
And then forward to the sixties of the next century (and then again, at fairly regular intervals of a decade or so), the mods: sharply and dogmatically dressed young sorts favoring imported styles (Italian for clothes, American for Music) and challenging economies (working class kids dressing like upper-class sophisticates).
All those young men, whose carefully crafted appearances seemed designed to draw attention, and succeeding admirably in doing so: censured by the establishment, mocked by the press, emulated by their peers.
We’ve seen them before, of course – our Rochesters and Rakewells. But…those were lordlings, men of wealth or title. This new generation of coxcomb: who are they? Veterans, hangers-on, opportunists, clerks: commoners, all!
And in such variety, asserting themselves in such a gaudy array. And each behaving as if they were possessed of some hidden code of fashion, some occult social knowledge dictating the cut of a lapel or the knot of a cravatte.
Really, one wishes for a field guide of sorts…
We’ve seen them before, of course – our Rochesters and Rakewells. But…those were lordlings, men of wealth or title. This new generation of coxcomb: who are they? Veterans, hangers-on, opportunists, clerks: commoners, all!
And in such variety, asserting themselves in such a gaudy array. And each behaving as if they were possessed of some hidden code of fashion, some occult social knowledge dictating the cut of a lapel or the knot of a cravatte.
Really, one wishes for a field guide of sorts…
A Field Guide to 19th Century Dandies (Edition 1: 1800-1850) |
