The Calculus of Dressing

Appendix 2.

Back in the installment Chapter 70, called “Keeping Your Balance,” we looked at the concept of weighing specific style variations, each against each other, to achieve a harmonious whole within a single outfit. To help visualize this, I devised a graphic representation of the continuum of balance as a three-dimensional cube, each of the axes standing for one range of opposites—the Continuum Cube.

That was all well and good for an overview, but it was the stripped down, basic version – there’s actually more to the theory than what I posted there! I gave a more complete view in my published works, but here in the Appendices I am going to share with you the fully-realized, advanced theory.

The complete theory of balance is visualized scientifically here by use of a four-dimensional theoretical construct of the Continuum Cube—a Grand Unified Theory of dressing well, if you will, that graphs every possible option of menswear for every possible circumstance.

There have been numerous philosophical postulations over the years concerning the art of dressing well. To those we can now add a mathematical theorem, a graphic distillation of the musings of D’Aurevilly, Wilde, Bulwer-Lytton and de Balzac, which clarifies and concretizes their ideas in a clear way: that dressing well is an ethos, an attitude and outlook on the world that just happens to be reflected in its external appearance. The most obvious aspect of your appearance is your refinement of the art of dressing well: to be correctly and impeccably attired in any given situation. As Brummel said, “If John Bull turns to look after you, you are not well-dressed, but either too stiff, too tight, or too fashionable.”

Let’s start with the idea of formality. You have an innate sense of the degree of formality of any outfit you might be called upon to wear. You wear nicer clothes to church than you do to work, and nicer clothes to a wedding than you do to church; and if you were playing golf, you would be dressed better than if you were playing tennis. If you were to graph all the different sorts of clothes you wear, you could represent them as a line, with the dressiest at one end, and the most casual at the other. We'll call the two extremes “formal” and “sporty.” What we would have is a bit of geometry: a line. It would look like this:

Notice that from any point on the line, you could choose something more formal, or sportier (you could also call it “casual” or “informal.”) Our line extends forever in both directions, as lines do, but that won't do for us; for you can't go on increasing formality forever.

The solution is to make the line asymptotic and the end-points as a limit, which can be approached infinitely closely, but you actually can’t truly “get there.” Reaching the limit is relativistic—the closer you get, the further you have to go, and the harder it is to get there. One limit is the point beyond which you can't get any more formal. That point represents the dress suit: for white tie and tails is the most formal thing a man can wear in the Western world. In other cultures it may take a different form, but the result is the same.

Logically, at the other end is an asymptotic limit beyond which one can't get more casual – which, it stands to reason, is being entirely naked. (Why is this, you may ask? Patience…we'll discover why soon.)

So our line segment, our X axis, if you will, looks like this:

Every element and article you wear fits somewhere along this line. The goal is an average between two extremes that is not too far out of the range of “normal” for your particular place and circumstance; whether this is attending a wedding or shopping for groceries. In other words, for any point on the line, any deviation on one side of the point must be weighed carefully against its variation on the opposite side of the point, to achieve a harmonious whole. The problem in today's world arises when a man doesn't know what to wear at all, much less how to find what an average value is, and even less how to work the extremes to maintain that balance properly.

As an example: everyone has at some point been subjected to such aberrations as a tuxedo jacket that has been paired with sneakers, or a patterned shirt, or a loosely-knotted long tie, or a silly hat, or sloppy jeans. Their misguided thinking is that a dinner jackets' formality will be offset by the other things, and the average will be dressy-casual.

This doesn't work in practice, because the attempt to balance two variations is increasingly unlikely to create a harmonious average the farther apart those extremes are. In fact, dinner dress is so extremely proscribed, it takes very little to push its balance to a place of informality: all that is needed are minor alterations to detail, like a subtly-colored boutonniere, a flash of pocket square, a rakishly-designed waistcoat, or even the material of the jacket itself.

It seems pretty easy so far, doesn't it? Well, we have another line, which describes another dimension of being properly dressed: the difference between “town” and “country” wear. Whilst the “Formal/Sporty” line describes the differences in the purpose and cut of your clothes, the “Town/Country” line is concerned with your clothes' color and pattern: for mens' clothes should properly match the environment in which they are worn. A “town suit,” for instance, is plainly cut and conservatively tailored, with smooth fabrics and dark colors, usually in shades of black or blue: the colors of steel and iron and concrete, the textures of glass and chrome and macadam.

A “country suit” tends toward the rough tweeds, pebbly or textured fabrics, in browns or greens, in plaids, checks, or other patterns, with details like collar tabs, elbow patches, or flapped pockets: the colors and textures of nature, with details that reflect outdoor pursuits.

This line, too, has two asymptotic limits, and those limits are of necessity the same as with the formality continuum: the most “Town” you can get is a dress suit of white tie and tails, and the most “Country” is not dressed at all. The two scales that we have seen operate independently of each other: for every point of formality, there can be applied the complete range of values in possible color and pattern. We can graph these against each other on an X and Y axis.

Most men have a passing experience in the art of color and pattern matching. At its most basic, it is an intuitive reflex. A dark suit needs a light shirt and a bright tie, for instance; or else the suit looks muddy and somber. A light suit looks better with a patterned shirt of a darker color, and so on. Making informed decisions regarding pattern takes more experience, but is also largely intuitive. Matching a plaid shirt with a plaid tie may look busy if they are in the same color range and size, especially if paired with a plain suit; but a suit with a subtle pattern paired with a very light plaid shirt and a very strong plaid tie may look very handsome indeed. It's all in the balance created between the factors.

If we were to graph every possible combination of these two groups of extremes, we would discover the result is the limit of a square, each point of which describes one individual shade of purpose and cut, color and pattern.

Dressing well now becomes a matter of determining your purpose and location at any given time, charting that point on the graph, and making your clothing suitable to that point on the X-Y axis. The closer the average effect of your clothing is to that point, the more “correctly” you will be seen to be dressed. On this square, the front right-hand corner, representing maximum values of Town-Formal, would represent the dress suit; and the rear left corner, representing maximum values of Country-Sporty, would be nudity. (This latter corner, naturally, is to be avoided if you desire to be a well-dressed fellow.) The relationship of all four factors taken together is the balance of your outfit.

Where the axes cross, (we'll call it point 0,0) is a theoretical neutral outfit that is all-purpose, neither too dressy nor too sporty, that would not look too out of place either in the city or out camping. This theoretical middle-of-the-road outfit would not be a panacea that would be instantly accepted anywhere, mind you! It would, rather, be bland porridge, neither one thing nor another, and you would likely be seen everywhere as not quite fitting in, no matter where you were or what you were doing. The neutral point at the center of the graph is not a target at which to aim – it is a sinkhole to be avoided!

Before we continue, let's look at some examples of how to use the scale as we have constructed it thus far.

You can adjust the balance to your immediate purpose, by changing a single detail to adjust the point along both axes. A matching three-piece looks official and professional for a business meeting, and would occupy a place well in the Town scale, and moderately in the Formal scale. Simply change out the matching waistcoat for a tattersall version, and the outfit looks less stuffy for an evening out, by skewing the point both towards the Sporty and Country.

You can also make an adjustment to either scale independently. Running to the auto-parts store to buy an oil filter and spark plugs in a suit and tie may raise some eyebrows, but you can keep the same point along the Formal continuum and slide the Town continuum strongly into the Country realm with a hardy tweed jacket, open-collar shirt and dungarees: the message is that grungy business is at hand. A seersucker suit, loafers, and a bow tie looks fine on the boardwalk, firmly in the Sporty-Country quadrant, but you wouldn't wear it to church without skewing it into the Country-Formal quadrant.

These basic style decisions can be complicated with variable factors such as the time of year and the immediate weather conditions. For instance, on a bright day, a pair of tan trousers may look fine with a mid-gray plain weave jacket; but on an overcast day, it would appear too Country, and a darker gray herringbone jacket to skew it slightly towards the Town side may look better. In the heat of summer, a shirt and tie may look overdressed in lieu of a simple polo shirt under your jacket; but in the fall, going without a tie may result in an underdressed appearance.

Now that you've gotten familiar with the two-axis system of clothing balance, we'll add a third measure to the continuum. Just like the other two, this third balance factor operates independently, and can be applied to every point in the square. This scale will be applied to your clothes' style and detail.

At one end, we have the historical extreme – the traditional, conservative, classic styles. At the other end, the contemporary extreme – the avant-garde, imaginative, futuristic, and innovative styles. We'll place this continuum at right angles to the other two, along the Z-axis: and call the extremes “Historical” and “Innovative.” Simply, the further along the “Innovative” direction you go, the further away you get from tried-and-true style trends.

When we graph every possibility of style against our other two measures, all the major factors of sartorial balance are accounted for and can be reduced to three continua. These continua can be visualized and plotted against each other as axes on a three-dimensional graph.

This is the Continuum Cube. Any point within this cube is defined by our three balance factors. The continuum is the limit of a cube; it is not unbounded on all sides. The ideal, as it was with the two-axis plane, is not the intersection of the axes at the exact center of the cube. Near the external faces of the cube are the limits of perspicacity, where clothes become costume. And just as you've seen with each individual scale, and also with the X-Y axis, the X-Y-Z axis has the same oppositional value, viz., the “Fully Dressed Point” at maximum Town-Formal-Historical is counterbalanced by its logical opposite at maximum Sporty-Country-Innovative – the “Fully Undressed Point.”

Let's use the Continuum Cube now to briefly demonstrate how skewing works along all three axes. We'll start at an easy point to visualize: the top right corner of the cube that pegs all three scales for formal, town, historical wear. Of course, it's the dress suit again: bespoke tailcoat and trousers, boiled-front shirt, pique Marcella waistcoat, stiff detachable wing collar, white tie, and patent leather pumps, with all the accompanying studs, links, straps, braces, and buttons that go with it. You can't get more Formal-Town-Historical than that. It's a very exacting and unforgiving point on the cube, right at the end of the limits, and must be followed precisely, because right on the apex of the cube is where it belongs.

Because of its precarious position, the dress suit is easily knocked off its apex by the addition or alteration of any detail. A simple boutonniere will skew the outfit slightly down the X axis, ever so slightly away from Formal. Substitute balmorals for pumps, and the skew jumps further down the Sporty scale, as well as the Country, and even slightly Innovative, and just like that – you're off the face of the cube and into the interior. This lone example also demonstrates why proper white tie is as exacting as it is.

Why is nudity the “Fully Undressed Point,” and not, say, swimming trunks, or even underwear? Because even swim trunks are subject to variations in sportiness, color, texture, and historicity, all of which will place it somewhere within the boundaries of the Cube, even if it is just adjacent to the apex. There just isn't a garment that is the opposite of a dress suit: as the limits of the axes are reached, the options of the furthermost point dwindle down, until the point of the apex is...nothing.

The apex and surface points are for our purposes theoretical: since a limit by definition can never be reached, you won't be dealing with the extremes on the faces of the cube. You will be dealing with any number of factors that will average into a value somewhere in the middle interior of the continuum.

Now, the three-dimensional Continuum Cube only works as far as the physical aspect of your clothes – but as we’ve found, how you wear your clothes, your degree of insouciance and panache, has an effect on where they skew on the Cube as well. This is of particular interest, as a properly insouciant attitude is integral to being perceived as well-dressed. So we must bring another axis in play – a W axis, at right angles to the other three, to make a hypercube.

What’s that you say? You’ve no idea how that works? Well, let’s work through the progression mentally. Take a point, and put another point at right angles to it. (Since a point has no dimension, technically “right angles” is any direction at all, but we’ll call it “right angles” for the sake of consistency of the illustration.) These two points form a one-dimensional figure: a line segment. It runs in one direction—length. Now take a line segment, and put four of them at right angles to each other such that they define an area. You have made a two-dimensional square: it runs in two directions—length and width. Now take six squares, and put them at right angles to each other so that they define an area. You have a cube now: three dimensions, three directions—length, width, and depth. Of course, here on your computer screen it’s merely a shadow of a three-dimensional form, but your brain recognizes it as a cube, even though all the sides aren’t the same length and the angles aren’t ninety degrees.

So far so good, but now it gets tricky. Continue the pattern: two points, four lines, six squares – now what? Of course, eight cubes; at right angles to each other such that they define an area of four dimensions. The problem comes when we try to imagine the W-axis, at right angles to the X, Y, and Z axes. What’s after height, width, and depth? The best we can see is a three-dimensional shadow, reduced again to two dimensions on your screen – a mere shadow of a shadow.

Because it is so devilishly hard to imagine a four-dimensional hypercube, and even more difficult to represent it on a two-dimensional computer screen, I won't even attempt to include it graphically. That fourth dimension represents the manner of the method and attitude of wearing your clothing and the degree of precision of its physical execution. At one limit, we have nonchalant, detached, easygoing, and breezy. At the other extreme, calculated, purposeful, precise, and severe. 

Graphed against the other 3 axes, the limit of Nonchalance coincides with the “Fully Dressed Limit” of Town-Formal-Historical, and the limit of Precision coincides with the “Fully Undressed Limit” of Sporty-Country-Innovative; thus, the closer to fully dressed one is, the more nonchalance is required. Contrariwise, the more casual your clothing, the more precision is required to offset the ever-present danger of slovenliness.

This presents a useful method of representing the fourth dimension of the Continuum Cube in relation to the other three directions. We know the limits of Nonchalance/Precision coincide with the limits of the other three continua, and we know each three-dimensional point is subject to the complete four-dimensional variance. (If this is befuddling, just reduce the exercise by one dimension: every single point on the two-dimensional graph of Formal/Sporty and Town/Country is subject to the entire scope of the Historical/Innovative variation.)

If the four extreme limits located at opposite apices of our hypercube (the F/T/H/N and the S/C/I/P limits) are then connected by a line, it will also pass through the midpoint of the W, X, Y, and Z axes, (at 0,0,0,0,) and a new axis is created: what I shall call the DANDY AXIS. (Dandy in its historical sense: as representing the apex of the art of dressing well from a holistic mind/body standpoint.)

Quite simply, for any circumstance, the most elegant mode of dress will exist at some particular point along the Dandy Axis, wherein all four continuua shift together in an equalinear progression. All four factors will then be in harmony, no one variation will stand out among the others, and for any given situation there exists a correlating given point on the Dandy Axis wherein you will assuredly be properly dressed, and John Bull will be given no reason to turn his head to look after you.

The relationship of the Dandy Axis to the four directional axes W, X, Y, and Z can be easily illustrated by separating the four dimensions out and placing them alongside each other, as scales on a slide rule. The Dandy Axis is represented by the movable cursor, which intersects all four axes perpendicularly along congruent points. This is a handy mental tool for determining correct dress: when only one factor is known, the other three are immediately apparent. In other words, for any given known Purpose (X-axis,) the proper relative degrees of Location (Y-axis,) Tradition (Z-axis,) and Execution (W-axis) are revealed in their correct place.

But now, back to the Continuum Cube itself. The Dandy Axis is the average of all the values at each point of the cube. This is an important relationship: for at whichever point in the interior of the cube you may find yourself, that point will always be perpendicular to a correlating point somewhere along the length of the Dandy Axis, as well as set a certain distance apart from it.

The Dandy Axis is thus very useful in revealing instantly, in a relative way, both “how dressed” you are, as a function of the point along the Dandy Axis' length, as well as any deviation from the proper standard, as a function of your point's distance from the Axis.

It can also be a useful compass, to give you an “absolute value” of just how dressed you are compared to any other point in the Continuum Cube. Let's take an example, and a rather obvious one, that demonstrates graphically how “more dressed” doesn't necessarily equate to “more clothes.” First, we'll take a tee-shirt, flip-flops, and cargo shorts, and plot its point within the Cube.

This graphic is looking straight down along the Dandy Axis, through the cube, to its S/C/I/P apex. The cube has been “sliced” through our point on a plane perpendicular to the Axis, resulting in the small tetrahedral figure. The size of the tetrahedron indicates that our point is close to the “undress limit” of the cube. Note, too, the distance of our point from the Dandy Axis.

Now, let us compare this to a different point, this one representative of a polo shirt, Bermuda shorts, and boat shoes.

This outfit covers the same amount of skin, and fulfills the same function, as the previous one. Its relative position in the Cube, skewed toward the Historical and Formal ranges slightly, cause it to sit perpendicularly to the Dandy Axis further along its length from the “undress apex,” (indicated by the larger size of the tetrahedron; due to the larger “bite” of the cube the cut has taken) and closer to the Dandy Axis itself: resulting in being “more correctly dressed,” with the same amount of clothing. (This assumes the optimal dandy values along the W axis for each point, as well.)

With practice, you can keep the Continuum Cube in your minds' eye as you decide what to wear, place a target point within the cube along the Dandy Axis, and choose clothes that will average into that target point. By looking at what you wear in this theoretical way, and fitting it into this matrix, you needn't be operating solely on intuition and guesswork, and you will have a solid guide for making wise sartorial decisions that will never inadvertently hit wide of the mark, by being too showy, anachronistic, or situationally inappropriate...or as Brummel would say, “too stiff, tight, or fashionable.”

Click here to go back to the installment that this Appendix references.

Keeping Your Balance

Chapter 70

Dressing well is all about sartorial balance. 

Formality against informality...

Color against color... 

Pattern against pattern... 

Contemporary style against historical fashion.

Any imaginable variation on any style of fashion, in fact, must be weighed, and weighed carefully, against its opposite variation to achieve a harmonious whole. The goal is always an average between the two extremes that is not too far out of the range of normal for the particular place that you are; whether this is attending a wedding or shopping for groceries. The problem, of course, comes when a man doesn't know what to wear at all, much less how to find what an average value is, and even less how to work the extremes to maintain that balance properly. 

This is most glaring when celebrities attempt to do casual-formal wear, as we have seen recently. So we are subjected to such aberrations as a tuxedo jacket with sneakers, or a patterned shirt, or a loosely-knotted long tie, or a silly hat, or sloppy jeans. Their thinking is that the dinner jackets' formality will be offset by the other things, and the average will be dressy-casual. 

This doesn't work, of course, because the attempt to balance two polar opposites is increasingly unlikely to create a harmonious average the farther apart those extremes are. In fact, dinner dress is so extremely proscribed, it takes very little to push its balance to a place of informality: as little as a subtly-colored boutonniere, a flash of pocket square, a rakishly-designed waistcoat, or even the material of the jacket itself, is all that is needed.

Creating a balance in everyday wear is much easier than attempting the same in formalwear. Most men have a passing experience in the art of color and pattern matching. At its most basic, it is an intuitive reflex. A dark suit needs a light shirt and a bright tie, for instance; or else the suit looks muddy and somber. A light suit looks better with a patterned shirt of a darker color, and so on. Making informed decisions regarding pattern takes more experience, but is also largely intuitive. Matching a plaid shirt with a plaid tie may look busy if they are in the same color range and size, especially if paired with a plain suit; but a suit with a subtle pattern paired with a very light plaid shirt and a very strong plaid tie may look very handsome indeed. It's all in the balance created between the factors.

These basic style decisions can be complicated with variable factors such as the time of year and the immediate weather conditions. For instance, on a bright day, a pair of tan trousers may look fine with a mid-grey plain weave jacket; but on an overcast day, a darker grey herringbone jacket may look better. In the heat of summer, a shirt and tie may look overdressed in lieu of a simple polo shirt under your jacket; but in the fall, going without a tie may result in an underdressed appearance.

Another factor to balance is your immediate purpose. A matching three-piece looks official and professional for a business meeting, but a simple change out for an tattersall waistcoat looks less stuffy for an evening out. Running to the auto-parts store to buy an oil filter and spark plugs in a suit and tie may raise some eyebrows, but a hardy tweed jacket, open-collar shirt and dungarees says grungy business is at hand. A seersucker suit, loafers, and bow tie looks fine on the boardwalk, but you wouldn't wear it to church. Again, most of this is a matter of intuition for most men, once one gets past the mistake of mistaking the social average for the sartorial average.

Notice I have said nothing about shorts and tee shirts and flippy flops. These are not adult clothes, despite the depressing number of adults who wear them. Striking a balance is not about looking like the uninformed man-children surrounding you. It is about the grownup clothes you choose to wear. It is possible to be properly-dressed and not look out of place, as the above examples prove -- in fact, the proper result of a well-balanced, properly-dressed man is to make those who are not properly-dressed feel suddenly ill-at-ease and self-conscious in their own clothes, awkward and naked. This is not a result of any action on your part, nor in fact should it be: you, merely and simply dressed, should be all the catalyst necessary.

If this all seems a little overwhelming, take solace in the fact that you are not alone, nor are you solely at the mercy of your intuition. All the major factors of sartorial balance can be reduced to three continua, and these continua can be visualized and plotted against each other as axes on a three-dimensional graph.

The graph can be viewed as a cube, with any point within it defined by the three balance factors. The continuum has definite limits; it is not unbounded on all sides. The axes divide the cube into eight octants, which represent the limits of the extremes in the factors of grownup clothing. The ideal is not the exact center of the cube -- depending on external factors as noted above, the ideal for any given circumstance would describe a point somewhere in the cube's interior. The external edges of the cube are the limits of perspicacity, where clothes become costume. 

Let's use the Continuum Cube to demonstrate just how skewing works. We'll start at an easy point to visualize: the corner of the cube that pegs all three scales for formal, town, and historical wear. Can you guess what it is? Of course, it's the dress suit: white tie, tails, boiled-front shirt, and patent leather pumps. You can't get more formal/town/historical than that. 

As you can see, the dress suit is easily knocked off its apex by the addition of a simple boutonniere, which will skew it down the X axis, slightly away from formal. Substitute balmorals for pumps, for instance, and the skew moves toward sporty and country, and even slightly innovative, and just like that we're off the face of the cube and into the interior. This simple example demonstrates why proper white tie is as exacting as it is.

With everyday wear, you won't be dealing with the extremes, though; you will be dealing with any number of factors that will average into a value on the continuum. The Continuum Cube only works as far as the physical aspect of your clothes -- but how you wear them, your degree of insouciance and panache, can have an effect on where they skew on the Cube. 

With practice, you can keep the Continuum Cube in your minds' eye as you decide what to put on, place a target area within that cube, and choose clothes that will average into that target area. By looking at what you wear in this theoretical way, and fitting them into a matrix, you needn't be operating solely on intuition and guesswork, but have a solid guide for making wise decisions, and thus a greater opportunity to always be Dressed Like a Grownup.

Click here to go to Appendix 2, which covers the complete Continuum Cube in more depth.

Click here to go to the next essay chronologically.

Click here to go to the previous essay chronologically.

Click here to go back to the beginning.

A Pocketful of Balance

Chapter 69

This week, we shall take another peek at the concept of balance. Not "balance" in the tailoring sense of the physical relationship of the front and back halves of a piece of clothing -- we've discussed that issue thoroughly and recently enough on The Island. No, this is balance in its more basic and holistic sartorial form, as previously discussed in The Dressing the Average Guy series. 

In addition to the basic color, cut, and pattern of a suit, balance can be created or skewed by the addition of accessories. The form of the shirt collar, the type of tie, the knot of the tie, and the presence or absence of "furniture" like collar stays, collar bars, tie tacks, cuff links, or lapel pins can add variables to set and fine-tune the sartorial balance of a suit. 

Another method, and a very useful and convenient one, is stuffing a pocket square in the jacket's breast pocket. The squares themselves, usually hand-rolled silk, serve no useful purpose other than sheer decoration. The methods of employing them are virtually unlimited. The simplest is to lay it out flat, pinch it up from the center, flute it with one hand, fold it in half with the other, and stuff it either points-down or points-up. That's the most informal method, and the best way to offset a very precise fit with a casualized balance. There are a wide range of standard "folds" that give specific effects, and each style can be used to adjust a jacket's sartorial balance to give a greater or lesser casual influence to the outfit as a whole, depending on the fold's symmetry, height above the pocket line, and whether the "show" of the square involves the edge or the field.  

Pocket squares have one thing in common, however, and it's an important point to make -- they only adjust the balance of a jacket toward the casual. A nice silk square can make an outfit dressier, more snappy, and more dandy, but it cannot add formality: silk's casual nature can only skew the sartorial balance of an outfit in a casual direction.

This is a problem in the twenty-first century: for most outfits start out with a markedly casual skew to begin with. Even the most "dressy" suit is still much less than actually formal. What is needed is a pocket square that still skews the balance in favor of dressiness, but actually ramps up the level of formality as well. 

If you're familiar with Mr Thompson's Ties & Squares, you know the answer already.

*** WARNING *** SHAMELESS SHILLING AHEAD ***

Yes, I know the rules I set for myself: this blog is largely independent from the TT&S empire, and I'm not gonna use this as a grandstand to hawk my wares. But, when discussing pocket squares, I have to make an exception where Razor Squares are concerned, because, well, I'm the only person producing them. If you've read through the TT&S website (and if you haven't -- why not?!) you know the capsulized backstory and how they're made, so this is the Cliff's Notes version: Hand dyed cotton, starched till it's balsa-wood stiff, and folded in knife-edge sharp origami designs.

The purpose of a Razor Square is to take the pocket square concept, and use it to skew a sartorial balance toward formal as well as dressy. The inflexibility of the starched cotton and the precision of the square itself functions the same as a severely-tailored suit; to skew the sartorial balance in the formal direction. Its purpose is to take the very casual, nearly disheveled tailoring of modern off-the-rack jackets, as well as very worn secondhand items, and give the outfit a much-needed little boost toward the proper end of the sartorial spectrum. Used with a dress or dinner suit, it still skews casual, but not nearly as much as a silk square does.

The Razor Squares' designs capture some of the diversity of silk square designs within their hard-edged aesthetic. Some are traditional folds, some are complex and pleated, and a few are completely unique. They are easy to use, permanently folded, and pop right in the pocket with a minimum of fuss. And by an amazing coincidence (no, not really,) I've just introduced the ninth official Razor Square design, and the first new design since 2008.

*** WARNING *** STRONG INCIDENTAL DETOUR AHEAD ***

All of the Razor Squares have a sort of twisted logic behind their forms, and the Maya2012 is no exception. I bet you're wondering what the motivation for this one is...well, even if you don't, I'm gonna tell you anyway. You're welcome.

By now, most people have heard the "End of the Mayan Calendar" tales. The going story is that the Mayan calendar is very long and very unique, in that it has an end point at December 21, 2012, at which time the world will end. Yeah...no. A little bit of digging and research uncovered a fascinating tale. The Mayan ceremonial calendar, unlike our own, didn't stop at one year. They had the Kin, Winal, and Tun for days, months, and years. They had twenty days in a month and eighteen months in a year. (Their ceremonial year had 360 days. They also had an everyday calendar, to cover the remaining 5¼ days.) But their calendar didn't stop at a year -- they also had the K'atun: twenty Tuns, and the B'aktun: twenty K'atuns. The Long Count was thirteen B'aktuns, and the end of their "year."

If you're like me, and you process numbers better in graph form, here's the breakdown:

Kin . . . . 1 day

   x20

Winal . . .20 days

   x18

Tun . . . . 360 days

   x20

K'atun . . 7200 days; 19.71 years

   x20

B'aktun . .144,000 days; 394.25 years

   x13

end of long count; 1,872,000 days; 5125.25 years

We know that the Mayans established the Long Count on Feb 28, 747 BC. They then back-dated the original count of years to 8347 BC, with the "first creation." When the 13th B'aktun was completed in Aug. 11, 3114 BC, the "era of the gods" came to a close and the new count started with the "second creation." That era ends on Dec. 21, 2012 AD, with the last day of the 13th B'aktun. The important thing to see is that the calender then doesn't "end," it just rolls over to the first day of the next Count, like we do on Dec. 31st of every year. 

This is all very interesting, (I can hear you all saying to yourselves,) but why, in 747 BC, did they start in the middle, as it were, and calculate their start point back to 3114 BC and the end in 2012? For that matter, why only 13 B'aktuns, when the rest of the count is based on groups of 20? Why not 20 B'aktuns?

It's all about an astronomical feature called Precession. From our point of view, the sun moves around the earth once a day, and the starfield revolves around the earth once a year. Ideally, on any given day, say, January 1st, the sun should be in the same place in the sky from year to year. But seems to drift slightly each year. In fact, because the earth wobbles very slowly like a top as it revolves, the tropical year is 20 minutes shorter than the sidereal year, so it takes 25,694.8 years (more or less) for the sun to appear to drift completely around to where it started from. 

The man credited with "discovering" the periodicity of the cycle of the "Great Year" was the Greek astronomer Hipparchus in the 2nd century BC. But the Mayans not only were aware of it, likely several millennia previously, they were able to calibrate it by the 7th century BC. And they gave it a start point. Because the solar system's orbit is oblique to the galactic plane, the sun crosses the swath of the Milky Way once a year -- but the sun's position aligns with the core of the galaxy on the winter solstice only once a "great year." 

When? 

Why, 2012, more or less: (the sun is half a degree wide, and the Milky Way is quite thick, so there's about a 20-year margin for error.) Still, for a people who lived 2,759 years ago, that's not bad reckoning. So 13 B'aktuns is one quarter of a "great year," and the Mayan "first creation" in 8347 BC aligned the sun with the Milky Way on the summer solstice. That galactic-solar alignment, for the Mayans, was apparently a signpost writ large in the heavens on which they based their very long-range day-planner.

So it seems at least important enough that it warrants a new Razor Square to commemorate it! The four nested triangles are meant to represent alignment arrows, repeating endlessly every 13 B'aktuns, marking the matching alignment four times in the solar year to the Great Year. It's a very poetic, and elegant, and quite farsighted way to look at the passage of time.

It's the end of a long year, that started in 18,598 BC, and the first day of a new year that won't end until 27,638 AD. So party like it's 13.0.0.0.0!

Click here to go to the next essay chronologically.

Click here to go the previous essay chronologically.

Click here to go back to the beginning.
 

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.

Click here to go to the next essay chronologically.

Click here to go back to Part Three of The Essential Accessory.

Click here to go back to Part One of The Essential Accessory.

Click here to go back to the beginning.

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!




Click here to go to the next essay chronologically, Part Four of The Essential Accessory.

Click here to go back to the previous essay chronologically, Part Two of The Essential Accessory.

Click here to go back to the beginning.