Correspondents and Spectators

Chapter 65

Earlier this week, the White House Correspondents Association held their annual dinner in Washington, DC. You might be excused for thinking it's just another Hollywoody awards show: all the visual cues were there -- the lights, the reporters, the glitz, the starlets mugging for the cameras, the emcee yukking it up, even a red carpet. The only clue that this wasn't the same-old, same-old: the presence of political high-ups glad-handing everyone in sight, a lot of nobodys, and, oh, yeah, the President of the United States. 

It's all a disturbing melange of press, politics, and popular media, of excoriating insults and laughter, that leaves one feeling vaguely icky and in need of a shower. There are lines being crossed here, that shouldn't be; and worse than crossed -- they're mixed, mingled, blurred, knotted, and interbred. We're to believe it's just for one night, and then it's back to business as usual. Which somehow doesn't alleviate the ick.

But you know what we're here for, and it ain't politics. Let's look at what the men wore to this event, and why, and what we can learn from it. First, though, let's get a little history out of the way, and see what the White House Correspondents' Assocation is all about. 

'Way back in 1914, Woodrow Wilson started the regularly scheduled press conferences that we all know and love today. A rumor got out that a Congressional committee would choose the reporters. Eleven reporters panicked, jumped into action, and formed the WHCA to "promote the interests" of the White House reporters. The rumor turned out to be just that: a completely unfounded rumor -- the Association found itself with nothing to do and no one to fight against. 

How embarassing! Reporters who get a story wrong by assuming an unsubstantiated rumor is fact? And then act on it in a panic? It's a good thing that never happens any more!

Anyway, in 1920 they decided to make themselves useful by holding an annual dinner, an entertainment blowout that was an opportunity to schmooze and kick back a little. It was a traditional men-only dinner party, with singers, films, skits, and most likely cigars and ribald humor that wasn't for the delicate sensibilities of women. Because that's how much American men respected women back then. 

In 1962, John F. Kennedy was pressured into forcing the Association to accept women, by threatening to not attend unless the ban was dropped. Presidential attendance isn't required -- the dinner's for the reporters, after all -- but usually the President chooses to attend. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you" works both ways, you know.

Here's FDR at a WHCA dinner. Notice the President is in a proper dinner jacket, but the others in the photo are in regular suits and long ties -- this was not considered a formal affair then.

A photo of hosts Frank Sinatra and Danny Kaye, with guests Gary Cooper and Jack Benny. Although dressed nicely enough in popular drape suits of the era, it is apparent that this was a casual dinner, not even requiring the most basic of dinner jackets.

By JFK's time, the event had formalized a great deal. Note the presence of both dinner suits and dress suits in this photo.

These days, the Association's dinner is self-justified by raising money for the scholarships and journalism awards that it presents to itself. (Don't bother looking for it -- that part's not televised.) The Association members are permitted tickets that they may disburse at their whim. And their whims run to captains of industry, CEOs of businesses, politicians, and of course, celebrities that are backed by the respective reporter's parent companies. It's quite a coup to get invited, of course, for the ying/yang of fame and power exert a mighty pull on those that covet them.

You might think that this should by all rights be a full-formal event, requiring dress suits of white tie and tails, on par with a State dinner. After all, this is dinner with the most powerful man on the planet. You'd be wrong, though, for two reasons. First, this is not AT the White House, despite what the name would lead one to believe, and the President is merely a guest of the Association, not the host of the event. Second, the machinery of politics is in full-grind all through the night. 

Politicians are painfully, acutely aware of class-warfare politics and the perceived need to show themselves as completely average. In a deep dark recession, with a true unemployment rate somewhere north of 30% of eligible Americans, millionaire politicians who show themselves to be too successful, too wealthy, or having too much fun, is a Bad Thing -- whether the politics are in Washington or Hollywood, it's all about pretending to be Middle-Class America.

How do you present that image while wearing formalwear, a mode of dress that is elitist and exlusionistic by nature? Either use a plain black jacket, like Kevin Spacey,

or apparently rent the cheapest, most ill-fitting tux you can find, preferably with notch lapels or plain revers, like The Clooney, chatting here with Chris Wallace.

If the jacket is too nice, say, one with peak lapels, kill it with a long tie, like Chitown mayor Rahm Emanuel did.

I won't bore you with countless details, because the story was the same again and again and again. I won't even touch on the pre-event red carpet walk the night before, hosted by Google. Perhaps because the red-carpet strut was the day before the main event, the men thought there was no need to dress, although all the women seemed to get the memo. Or maybe, like Oregon senator Ron Wyden, they just didn't understand what "wear a jacket" meant.

ABC's Jake Tapper wore a weird Prom-rental return with an awkward five button waistcoat and three button jacket. Paul Rudd's jacket was a sad sack with droopy, floppy lapels.

Al Roker came close to nice, with a finely tailored dark blue tux. Then he killed it with a long tie. 

Steven Spielberg and Secretary of Defence Leon Panetta, try as they might, just can't pull off the common-guy vibe, despite nearly identical plain tuxedos. Perhaps incorrectly wearing his (otherwise elegant) wing collar over his tie, is Spielberg's attempt at der Durchschnittsmensch.

Jesse Tyler Ferguson, no stranger to awards events, just pulled out the same old minisuit and odd tie he always wears. 

Matthew Morrison stayed in character as well, with his same awkward minisuitted style.

Rick Santorum, having abandoned the 2012 big prize, went to the Prom section of Sears. The shapeless coat, the pre-tied bow, the artless waistcoat, the matching patterned vest-and-tie fabric...it's sad to see a man just phone it in like this.

The host usually sets the tone and degree of formality for these events. While Kimmel's dinner suit is slightly better executed than most that evening, it's by no means a top-drawer model.

Nor was the President's itself. Average. Just middle-America Prom-average. 

A quick observation: as compared to previous awards events, even though the cut and finish of the tuxedos in general were definitely sub-par, the presence of a greater number of waistcoats and open jackets presented a refreshing change. I wonder if Jean Dujardin's very proper outfit at the Oscars had any bearing on that? 

What do you do when you want an event to be formal but not "too" formal? Horrid, sad excuses for tuxedos are not the answer. Either abandon tuxedos and go back to the casual dinner format, or be proper and unapologetic in your dinner wear. Or, (and this is my preference,) go whole hog already and make it a white-tie event. Everyone in attendance is able to afford bespoke tails, so they should stop pretending they aren't and just pull all the stops out. It's the closest most of them will ever get to the office of the President, so they should just celebrate that. Who knows, perhaps dressing like mature adults will lead to acting like mature adults.

This whole annual train-wreck is so self-consciously structured it breaks the bounds of reality. The relentless posturing, posing, and faux-accessibility is absolutely unnerving. The dinner has devolved from an evening of diverse entertainments to little more than a roast: stand-up routines consisting of endless ad hominem personal attacks; which is the cheapest and laziest form of humor. Softballs are thrown to political friends while incendiary insults and abuse are hurled at political adversaries. And everyone smiles and takes it. Actors can be as phony as they want: that's their job. But when I see businessmen, politicians, and the President  -- those men who have the power to shape the very world in which we live, for whom honesty and forthrightness should be paramount -- play-acting for the masses, I get the heebie-jeebies.

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The New Essential Accessory

Chapter 64

It's a new century, a new millennium, and in many ways a brave new world. As elegant and essential as smoking was throughout the 20th century, the hard, cold fact is that it isn't socially tolerated today. And perhaps that's not altogether a bad thing. As we saw last week, smoke and ash pose specific issues detrimental to clothing and dressing well. Tobacco has run its course, it seems, and it appears that the effects of a century of gross overindulgence have closed the door for good. 

Puffing a pipe or rolling a cigarette isn't seen as the innocent indulgence it once was -- it is more likely seen as an affront to society, akin to pulling a gun on the poor fellow sitting at the next table. An over-cautious and somewhat reactionary populus sees smoking as a grave health concern not just to the smoker, but to the smoking-adjacent as well. 

Obviously, a new pastime for the well-dressed adult needs to be found; one that both fulfills the role that tobacco has played for five hundred years, and at the same time addresses its adverse issues. In fact, such an item already exists, albeit in its embryonic form. It is rather inelegantly called the "electronic cigarette."

E-cigs have been around for about ten years, surrounded by a mix of mystery, suspicion, and mis-information. Rumors abound concerning just what they are, and the FDA is puzzled as to just what to do with them.

Let's crack the mystery, lay bare just what this new bit of tech is, dispel the myths, and discover why this just may be the new Essential Accessory for the twenty-first century!

What we know today as the "e-cigarette" was invented in April 2000, by a pharmicist and inventor in Beijing named Lik Hon. When his father died of lung cancer after a lifetime of heavy smoking, so the story goes, Mr. Hon developed a device that looks like a cigarette, acts like a cigarette, and feels like a cigarette, but without any of the carcinogens of combusting tobacco. It was patented in China as an "Aerosol electronic cigarette." The inital American patent was filed in May 2007 as an "Emulation aerosol sucker," and was elaborated upon and expanded in his U.S. patent filed November 2010 as an "Electronic atomization cigarette." The amount of nicotine delivered can be varied, weaning the smoker off of his addiction. The company he works for, Ruyan, produces and markets them. A few rival companies began producing their own versions soon after; but all commercial e-cigs are made in China by these few companies, and are re-branded by thousands of re-sellers worldwide.

E-cigs are commercially produced in several sizes and forms, from sub-cigarette up to cigar size, and even a pipe shape. Regardless, they all work on identical principles: a small nickel-metal hydride rechargeable battery powers a small heating element made of coiled nichrome wire. This wire (the atomizer) is in contact with a wick soaked in the working fluid. This fluid is heated to its vaporization point, and this vapor is the carrier that is inhaled. The fluid is replaced by disposable cartridges as it is depleted. 

Several things are immediately apparent even with this bit of information. First, this is not a cigarette in any sense of the word. It contains no tobacco, does not combust anything, and does not produce smoke. In fact, even calling it an "electronic cigarette" adds much to the confusion surrounding the technology. Some new terminology has thus arisen: those "in the know," (and that's you, now,) call it a Personal Vaporizer, or PV. The lingo works like this: Smokers produce smoke by smoking cigarettes -- Vapers produce vapor by vaping PVs. Simple, right?

Another misconception is that a PV's working fluid is some sort of "liquid nicotine." Actually, it's nearly entirely propylene glycol, with a tiny (and variable) amount of nicotine and flavoring added to it. Vaporized propylene glycol is in fact the very technology that is used in fog machines; so this is not tech that is breaking any new ground -- merely its utilization, and its battery-powered miniaturized scale.

Let's look at propylene glycol for a bit -- it has an interesting history, it's at the heart of the PV, and it holds some fascinating surprises. 

Also called 1,2-Propanediol or C3H8O2, propylene glycol is a very versatile substance, used as a food preservative, an additive for food colors and flavorings, a solvent for medical preparations, a moisturizer, and a carrier for perfume oils and soap bases. Its pharmacokinetics show it to be also quite safe. It is metabolized in the human body largely into pyruvic acid and converted to energy. Propylene glycol does not cause sensitization and it shows no evidence of being a carcinogen or of being genotoxic.

But that's nothing compared to a discovery made in the late 1930s, that it was also a very effective germicide! 

A study at the University of Chicago by Drs. O. H. Robertson, Edward Bigg, Theodore Puck, Benjamin Miller, and Elizabeth Appell, called THE BACTERICIDAL ACTION OF PROPYLENE GLYCOL VAPOR ON MICROORGANISMS SUSPENDED IN AIR proves the germ-killing properties of propylene glycol, and is very interesting reading for the technical-minded.  

Time magazine ran the story, called "Air Germicide," on Nov. 16, 1942. It reads, in part: 

"A powerful preventive against pneumonia, influenza and other respiratory diseases may be promised by a brilliant series of experiments conducted during the last three years at the University of Chicago's Billings Hospital. Dr. Oswald Hope Robertson last week was making final tests with a new germicidal vapor — propylene glycol — to sterilize air. If the results so far obtained are confirmed, one of the age-old searches of man will finally achieve its goal...

The researchers found that the propylene glycol itself was a potent germicide. One part of glycol in 2,000,000 parts of air would — within a few seconds — kill concentrations of air-suspended pneumococci, streptococci and other bacteria numbering millions to the cubic foot...

Dr. Robertson placed groups of mice in a chamber and sprayed its air first with propylene glycol, then with influenza virus. All the mice lived. Then he sprayed the chamber with virus alone. All the mice died...

Propylene glycol is harmless to man when swallowed or injected into the veins....Last June, Dr. Robertson began studying the effect of glycol vapor on monkeys imported from the University of Puerto Rico's School of Tropical Medicine. So far, after many months' exposure to the vapor, the monkeys are happy and fatter than ever. Dr. Robertson does not expect mankind to live, like his monkeys, continuously in an atmosphere of glycol vapor; but it should be most valuable in such crowded places as schools and theaters, where most respiratory diseases are picked up."

Dr. Robertson took out the patent on the method of sterilization of air by vapors in November 1943. The above illustration is the method of vapor production used in the initial experiments. One can easily discern the key components of the modern PV even at this early stage:  the syringe acts as the cartridge, the atomizer (as today) is the wick wrapped in an electric heating element. Air is drawn over the atomizer, mixing with the vapor, and into the test chamber.

Propylene glycol was planned to be used in large-scale air disinfection in hospitals, until it was discovered that ultraviolet light gave the same result...and it was much easier to wire up a simple light, than devise a system to pump vapor through an HVAC system. So the concept wasn't pursued, although Dr. Bigg patented an apparatus that did just that in March of 1944. Glycol and water were heated to their vaporization points together in a tank by an immersion coil, providing humidification as well as sterilization. Since water and glycols vaporize at different rates, an ingenious device using a thermoswitch automatically regulated the water to maintain the concentrations in equilibrium.

In 1946, he filed a patent for an improved distribution system, which wasn't issued until 1950. In this version, the glycol is vaporized indirectly: instead of direct contact with an atomizer, glycol is fed at a controlled rate onto a series of baffles in a branch line of ductwork. The air in the branch line is electrically heated to vaporization temperature, and is drawn up past the baffles by way of a venturi in the main duct, vaporizing the glycol as it passes.

In March 1950, Leonard Cartwright patented a method of localized vapor production that began to look like a large version of a PV. In fact, it is by very definition a "personal vaporizer." In this instance, the propylene glycol is fed from an exterior reservoir into a shallow dish, that is in contact with an incandescent light bulb and heated to vaporization temperature. Convection currents draw air over the dish and up the chimney, ostensibly into a hospital room. Apparently it worked very well; the inventor makes mention of the visible "fog" that it produces.

In August 1965, Herbert Gilbert patented a design for a "smokeless non-tobacco cigarette," that at first blush would seem to be the progenitor of the modern PV. In fact, many people mention this patent in the same breath with PVs, which is why I'm including it here. It isn't related to the modern PV, though. Instead of the atomizer/glycol arrangement that is at the heart of a PV, this design used a long, thin incandescent bulb or vacuum tube (!), rather improbably powered by a tiny button-cell battery to merely heat the air that has passed over a saturated "flavor cartridge" filter medium. Nowhere in the patent is propylene glycol mentioned -- and the heater would be insufficient to reach vaporization temperature in any case.

All the components of the PV were thus proven and firmly in place since 1940, but the technology to make it small enough to be truly personal and portable didn't exist until now. And now you see what Mr. Hon happened upon -- not merely a nicotine replacement, but a personal, portable germ-killing air sterilizer! Could there be a better accessory for the twenty-first century? The problem is, the marketing and advertising is all wrong. The PV is the diametric opposition to cigarettes -- vaping makes you healthier! -- but the nicotine issue has regulating agencies in a quandry, since they are unable to divorce nicotine from tobacco. 

In fact, e-juice requires no nicotine at all; it is perfectly possible to vape pure propylene glycol. There is no psychopharmalogic effect, no flavor -- just a cool misty vapor that, in itself, is rather refreshing.

But, taking into account the benefits of the vapor itself, (and even if it is used with nicotine, it's not as addictive and sans the deleterious effects of tobacco,) is it as visually impactful and elegant as tobacco? Does it fulfill the role of the preoccupative hobby? Above all, is it enjoyable?

The answer is an unqualified yes, in all points. The act of vaping produces a thick visible glycol vapor that when exhaled, looks and behaves like tobacco smoke. It dissipates quickly -- so no smoke-filled room effect -- it presents no lingering odor, and is unstaining. 

The process of vaping involves both replacing batteries and re-filling or replacing cartridges, or alternately "dripping" directly onto the atomizer. This necessitates carrying a cigarette-case-sized accessory box with these items, and gives the vaper just as much to do with his hands as a pipe-smoker. 

Although Lik Hon's original design for PVs were meant to perfectly duplicate the appearance of "real" (or as vapers call them, "analog") cigarettes, vapers soon realized there is absolutely no reason for a PV to look like a tobacco product at all. There are now a large number of "modders," who enjoy taking PV components and cosmetically changing their appearance or improving their efficiency. Some craftsmen have taken PV technology and gone the other direction, incorporating it into very traditional pipes. The technology is so basic and standardized, it is entirely possible for the average home electrical hobbyist to make a PV entirely "from scratch."  Amateur mixologists enjoy customizing their own non-nicotine e-juice: for propylene glycol is a natural medium for perfumes and flavorings. Any soluble candy-maker's flavors can be added and mixed for a wide variety of tastes, from coffee, to crème de menthe, to strawberry cheesecake, to chocolate.

As with beginning any new and unfamiliar endeavor, the most difficult step is the first one. The choices seem to be bewildering. Remember that all commercial PVs are extentions of only a handful of distinct designs produced by only a few manufacturers. Here's a good summary of the different styles. 

The all-important question of choosing a "starter PV" has been handily addressed by the good folks at e-cigarette-forum.com, which is the world's best online compendium of all things vaporizational. They recommend the mid-size 510 series, and I agree with them. The aforementioned e-cigarette-forum has a wealth of information at all levels of use and expertise. Most of the folks there are former heavy analog smokers that have switched to vaping, with a good cross-section of working folks, scientists, doctors, and mad-scientist modders.

Do I think these PVs are a world-altering paradigm changer? You bet. But not because they are nicotine replacement therapy. That's looking through the wrong end of the telescope. Dr Oswald Robertson may not have foreseen a world in 1943 where "mankind could live...continuously in an atmosphere of glycol vapor," but that future is here, now, and we can all take a swipe at airborne respiratory diseases. If you're not a smoker, just don't use the nicotine juice; vape propylene glycol. Vape all you want, of the most delicious juice you can mix, and look stunning while doing it. It's the "new smoking," and it can be every bit as elegant as it was in 1940. And a whole lot healthier.

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The Essential Accessory, Pt. 3

Chapter 63

Dressing well and smoking seem to go hand-in-hand. The resurgence of smoking in the early 19th century neatly coincides with the introduction of Brummelian modern dress. When Americans started favoring the "smoke" over the "chew" in the late Victorian era, the execution of American tailoring took great leaps forward. The Golden Age of Classic Style in men's clothing, from 1935-1965, seems to perfectly parallel the Golden Age of smoking. And adult modes of dress have departed the scene, along with smoking's denouemont in the late 20th century.

Is this synchronicity or coincidence? Let's summarize five hundred years of tobacco history, distill it down to just six points, and give our judgement.

First, tobacco is enjoyable largely because of the presence of nicotine. Nicotine, a tertiary amine compound and a natural insecticide, is found naturally in the plant. It is also the primary psychoactive agent in tobacco, with a half-life of 1 to 2 hours in humans. Just sixty milligrams of pure nicotine is fatal; but if absorbed in low doses, nicotine acts as both a stimulant and relaxant. Its psychoactive effects are many: it enhances sharpness, calmness, alertness, concentration, memory recall, and arousal. It decreases anxiety and sensitivity to pain. In other words, the physicians who complained to King James I in 1602 that tobacco should be available by prescription to prevent abuse, may have had a very good point.

There may also have been something to General Pershing's assertion that the troops needed cigarettes as much as bullets, in light of what we now know of nicotine's quantifiable effects. It enhances everything a soldier needs to give him an edge in combat. In fact, it appears to be one of the few psychoactive drugs that don't have any remarkably negative effects. Other than the drive to take more of it. 

Second, nicotine is addictive. Having taken it, the impulse is to take it again, and more of it. This is partially because tobacco also contains monoamine oxidase inhibitors, which increase nicotine's addictive properites. It's also because human brains are lazy. When an artificial substance (like nicotine) enhances the actions of your brain's natural norepinephrine and dopamine, your brain interprets this as overproduction, and conserves energy by producing less of those hormones. Take away that nicotine boost, and your brain perceives the loss. But instead of boosting hormone production, it will initially simply crave more nicotine, sometimes for months, before normalizing.

Third, the tobacco plant is a carcinogenic brew of elements. When sinus passages, gums, cheeks, throats, and lungs are asked to absorb tobacco continually over spans of years, stresses are introduced into body parts that they were never intended to weather, and cells mutate into cancerous growths.

Fourth, humans are incredibly susceptible to suggestion. Audio-visual encouragement to an action, repeated often enough, is blindly followed. The common denominator: the advent of large-scale international broadcast media. Movies were talkies, with larger-than-life heroes, sweeping plots, majestic soundtracks, and beautiful women. Radio and Television were beamed directly into your living room: a uniquely inimate and personal medium that was previously unthinkable. And these media were truly global in scope.  

Fifth, humans are weak-willed. Demand of any good or service will always increase to match an ever-increasing supply. The numbers show that cigarette use grew to absurd proportions by 1970: the entire planet was essentially chain-smokng, with a commensurate inflation of cancer. 

Sixth, humans are stupid. Even given contravening evidence of eventual dire health benefits, behavior is not likely to change if it causes any immediate discomfort.

We need to interject a strong caveat here, and a call for balance. Yes, tobacco use through most of the twentieth century led to many horrible, lingering deaths. But consider: instances of lung cancer before 1870 were practically unheard-of, despite tobacco's worldwide use since 1600. Rather than draw the typical conclusion that "tobacco use kills;" perhaps we should amend that here to "tobacco abuse kills."

Mmm...atomic hot wings...

One cigarette irreparably damages your lungs. We can all agree to that. For that matter, one loud concert irreparably damages your ears. One atomic hot wing irreparably damages your esophagus. One day on the beach irreparably damages your skin.

The key, as in everything, is moderation. Exceed that moderation, and bad things might happen. Concerts every night might leave you deaf. A diet of hot wings might give you ulcers. Life under a tanning bed might give you melanoma. A gallon of scotch every day might give you cirrhosis of the liver. Big Macs for every meal might make you fat and clog your arteries. And chain smoking cigarettes might give you lung cancer.

But is there a direct correlation between clothes and tobacco?

Well...no. There doesn't seem to be. Unfortunately, the world isn't that simple. Dressing well and smoking existed in parallel, without an "A equals B" equation to tie the two inextricably together -- but there may just be an overarching paradigm that led them both along similar paths.

The visual media, beginning in the late 18th century, was so uniquely world-changing because we are a culture of imitation. We have always been so, but with mass-accessible print media, and then with moving pictures, fashion became instantly communicate-able, as were the myriad accompanying details related to the "lifestyle of living well." Hollywood brought the world to the neighborhood theaters, and Television got right inside our living rooms. We could see for ourselves what looked good, what looked elegant, and what we thus wanted to imitate; without having to attend salons, travel the world, or be sufficiently heeled to hang out with society's fashionistos -- in fact, without even having to leave our living rooms.

Nerd hero.

The world was caught off-guard in the 20th century advertising media storm, frankly. The media-naive public didn't quite get that advertisers did not have their best interests at heart; something we jaded postmodern folk take for granted today. With elegant people on the silver screen, heroes on the newsreels, and your new best friends on the radio, came not just examples of correct dress, but all manner of other things, including behavior, language, mannerisms, drinking, and smoking. 

(Those younger than 30 may
not know who this is.)

And why not smoke? Your favorite movie stars did, your friends did, your boss did. The media told you that smoking was fun and harmless, and would make you thin, popular, sexy, and successful. Not sending cigs to troops overseas was tantamount to talking treason. And there was the physical effect of the nicotine itself. There was really no compelling reason to stand against the flood of advertising and media. 

Smoking was uniquely suited to the media of the time. For one thing, it looked gorgeous. Black-and-white film's gritty noir works well with curls of smoke catching the sunlight and enrobing the actors with aethereal tendrils of graceful movement. Powerful men of industry's powerful cigars emit thick billows that echo the smokestacks of their factories. Thinking men puff contemplatively on their pipes. 

If there is one thing more compelling than visual media to shape behavior, it is direct peer pressure. Two world wars jump started a generation of smokers. GIs, smoking under fire, saw first-hand the benefits of nicotine -- and if they survived the war, by the time they got home they were hooked. They were heroes. And every man wants to emulate his heroes.

But for all the parallel development, smoking and dressing well have been well-suited together. Consider:

A vintage hand-roller for cigarettes.

The ritual of smoking gives one something to do. Actors used it as a "cheat," but men found that a distracted focus adds a level of insouciance to their demeanor. Notice it in the old films: some accessory of a character's hobby is a preoccupation, to selectively distract or enhance focus to his conversation. Dressing well adds immediate gravitas to his presence; and he can casually direct the pacing and focus of that presence with the "actor's cheat." Rolling a cigarette, cutting and toasting a cigar, or tamping, poking, and stoking a pipe -- all of these impart varying shades of subtlety that communicate far more than words alone.

(*This is actually a prewar illustration from Esquire,
but shews the point well: elegance is timeless.)

Post-war economies emphasized a life of ease. Powerful cars, large houses, multi-martini lunches, and playboy lifestyles all accented a culture of excess and plenty. Unnecessary pleasures and indulgences were signets of status, and few things were more extraneous than smoking. A sumptuous men's club, a cigar, a glass of port, a fine suit -- not everyone could afford these on a regular basis, but most men could afford a nice suit and a cigarette at a restaurant. Close, sometimes, is close enough.

Not addicted to smoking. Seven percent
solutions of cocaine are another matter entirely.

And finally: the striking visuals that accompany smoking in the old media, translated well to everyday life. The gossamer magic of pearly smoke, partly obscuring, partly curling about a person, still holds a peculiar sway over us. Note that this does not apply to the crowds of people who today huddle together in the cold and rain, outside office buildings, desperately chain-huffing cigarettes before running back to their cubicles. There is nothing insouciant or elegant about addiction, no matter how well dressed it may be.

Nor is there anything especially compelling about smoking, when divorced from the requisite adult attire. The finest pipe or hand-rolled cigar, in the hands of a man in a tee-shirt and flippy flops, is just an odd non-sequitur.

So what can we do with this information? In attempting to dress like a grownup, do we -- in fact, can we -- co-opt the smoky elegance of yore? 

One wonders why the light is there at all.

The problem with tobacco and clothes is, no matter how well they worked together on the silver screen, they present some real problems together in real life. Especially life in a rabidly non-smoking twenty-first century. 

Tobacco is a staining agent: it discolors everything with which it comes in contact. Fingers, lips, and teeth, certainly; but also fabric, walls, ceilings, and one's surroundings. Your fine clothes will look somewhat less fine with a brown-grey cast on them. This is more of a problem with habitual smokers, than those who smoke only moderately and occasionally (which, as we have demonstrated, is the wiser method,) but is worth mentioning.

The issue of ash is a formidable one as well. Combustion of tobacco creates great heaps of the grey fluffy stuff, and something must be done with it. Ash is easily caught on the breeze, can fall at inopportune times, and sometimes is not wholly extinguished. More than one man's day has been spoiled by a smouldering bit of ash that blew back on his jacket, or in the cuff of his trousers.

What to do after smoking gives the well-dressed man pause, too. Once you've started, you're committed...and no matter how dashing you look during a smoke, afterwards you're left with cigarette butts, cigar ends, or dead pipes. Which all look inelegant and rather sad, somewhat like holding an empty glass at a party.

You can't really smoke with impunity today like you could in bygone days. Just try to light up within olfactory distance of anyone at all, and there will be upturned noses and voiced complaints, and sometimes the unwelcome intrusion of the constabulatory. Certainly not the casual elegance to which you aspire.

And, saving the worst for last: the smell. The most aromatic pipe tobacco, five minutes after the last ember dies, just smells like stale smoke. Stale smoke sticks to everything, and doesn't come out. Remember your grandfather's closet? Everything had that old-man smell. Not elegant, whether on your clothes, in your car, or in your house. No well-dressed adult wants to smell like a creaky old man.

It's pretty apparent that smoking in the twenty-first century is not going to work. There's just too much societal animas to make it viable. So let's find an option that fits today's well-dressed man. Is there an "ultimate accessory" for 2012, something that fits all of the criterion of classical smoking? It should be a preoccupative hobby, perhaps evoking the "classic" lifestyle of the mid-twentieth century, without looking dated or deliberately "retro." It needs to look striking and elegant when paired with grownup attire. It needs to look "at home" with the traditional trappings of living well. And it needs to be visually striking in some way: adding to the elegance of a suit, without detracting attention from it. And it must not intrude on others' preferences, which means nothing burning, smelly, ashy, stain-y, or an any way outré to offend the increasingly delicate sensibilities of those with whom we must share the planet.

Is this it?

No, it's not that. At least, maybe not. Stay tuned for the big reveal!




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