CRAVATS AND CRINOLINE.
THE new generation is becoming self-conscious in dress as in all other matters, and instead of admitting changes as of old, without reference to any laws higher than caprice or convenience, is trying to introduce all at once great reforms based on some ideal standard of grace and principle. Paris, not snaking much of politics just now, has declared war on men's evening dress, while the attacks on the women's crinoline, never long intermitted, have recently be- come still more fierce and malignant. As usual, under such circum- stances, all kinds of experiments are being tried, most of them attended with very little snecess, Society has, it appears, decreed that evening dress is ugly, fantastical, and expensive, and decided on change, but without any very distinct idea of the direction in which change will be successful. One citadel, indeed, has been carried by a coup de main, but the victors seem inexpressibly puzzled what to do with the conquest which has illustrated their social heroism. The white neckcloth, ugliest of integuments, which made every handsome man look like a priest, and everybody else like a waiter, which it took such trouble to tie, and which when tied seemed always as if it had been slept in, has been formally sent to Coventry. Nobody is to rejoice any more in a spotless neckcloth; but that glorious feat achieved, the conquerors pause. What is a man to wear ? "The want is a bit of colour," remark the youngsters, greatly influenced by artists, and pink and lavender ties are for the hour the rage. They are not bad-looking at all on very tall and very florid young men, whose colour is only "toned" by the bright ribbon under their chins, but the innovation cannot last. It is the old who bear rule, and a man of sixty with a bare neck and a pink tie, looks as ridiculous as a dowager of the same age in a dicolktee dress, and petticoats of sixteen. The colours do not suit pallid men, and Parisians are pallid, while in their violent contrast to coat and waistcoat they offend every principle of good taste. "Oh, but we will alter the coat also," screams Paris, delighted at a change so violent, so picturesque, and affording such scope for non-political gossip; so behold the elegant in pink neck-ribbon, light waistcoat, and blue flowing coat with gilt buttons, differing only in cut from the costume which was fashionable when Toni and Jerry was the town's favourite farce. The innovation is bold, but it will never do. People in these days will not lay them- selves up in lavender, and economy enters into every calculation. A dress coat is not kept to be taken out once a year, and for habitual wear, blue cloth, which is spoilt by the slightest stain, ruined by a drop splashed from the coffee-cup, or useless when a glass of claret has been carried a little too shakily, is intolerably expensive. Besides, none but those who look well in anything really succeed in blue, and the mass of young men, conceited as their sisters may think them, are generally conscious of so much of ugliness as requires the palliative of "gentlemanly" attire. The colours most pleasing to an artist's eye make mediocrity too conspicuous. The result of reform will, therefore, we may fairly begin to hope, be a compromise which, while banishing the white cravat, and expelling the abomination called a dress-coat—which the tailors must have originally copied from the crows—will leave our garments sad-coloured, and our necks as bare as climate and English prejudice will admit. The black tunic, made much looser, and therefore more flowing in outline, with an inappreciable collar and a black cravat which only defines the throat, is the handsomest, most convenient, and, on the whole, most economical dress the tailor has yet succeeded in manufacturing. It admits, too, of equality in dress, which no other costume does, and there is scarcely a tendency more observable than that towards the extinction of class distinctions in dress.
The movement against crinoline is in better hands ; for women are in dress seldom the victims of abstract principle, but even here there appears some danger of failure, from the absence of moderation. The capital sentence on crinoline recently passed by a ladies' committee, amidst the plaudits of everybody, except those who wear it, is both unjust and impracticable. The offending garment has been worn long enough to educate English eyes, and its absence would shock us with a sudden conviction of the disappearance of taste. Bad or ex- cessive crinoline, the garment which looks as if its wearer had an inverted umbrella under her dress, or which swells till the form it was meant to adorn looks like the fat toy which rocks but never turns over, we may abandon to the fate it deserves. But cri- noline in moderation rounds every outline, and consequently lends grace to every figure. Let any husband who doubts the fact, and sighs angrily over the limited space now left in his brougham, ask his wife to come down to breakfast, or, worse still, to appear in full dress without it. If the word " draggle-tailed " does not rise to his lips, its repression will speak much for his courtesy. The exces- sive expense, so much talked about, is a figment based on an abstract irritation at milliners' bills. It is convenient to abuse the fashions instead of scolding one's wife, and the paymaster gladly avails himself of an opportunity for a good hearty grumble without any personal application. Nobody railed at the expense of six flounces, which required as much silk, were opposed to every con- ceivable principle of dress, and " scratched " all the small women out of the social race. The danger of fire is imaginary, as three-half- pence a yard will make any muslin fire-proof, and though Angelina with her dress falling to pieces might look a little too much like the new picture of Cinderella, she would be in no danger of life. As to the im- propriety of the dress of which caricaturists and photographers make so much, it is the merest conventionalism. It is certainly a little unlucky that crinoline and short petticoats should have been intro- duced together ; but, after all, what were ankles made for except to be seen? Herring's idea of "feet, which, like little mice, peeped in and out," was a pretty conceit, but there are older texts than Herring's, written by men who understood beauty at least as well as the old rhymster. And after all, within the limits of civilized and English decorum, beauty is the sole rule for women's dress, and though we trespass on the forbidden ground, we suppose as we write in defence of the beloved institution, we may be allowed to say that the crypto- Bloomerism which came in with crinoline, restrained it within those
limits. Virtuous letter-writers and irresistible John Leech have alike forgotten the discussion which preceded crinoline, Mrs. Jamie- son's clever papers, and the over-suggestive paragraphs strong- minded ladies used to print anent ladders, cold winds, and feminine costume. The dress is proper enough, if it is properly worn, and the edging—is that the right word ?—not made guile so transparent, and the "frills "—that is right, certainly—not quite so obtrusively visible, and the stockings some colour a little less pronond than crimson. People can dress for show if they like, in any costume, and though we prefer long petticolts on the principle that dress should be drapery, still London mud puts in a protest not to be disregarded. The real annoyance of crinoline lies in the room it demands, and if it induces us to widen our doorways, make the sides of cabs convex instead of straight, enlarge the chairs at the opera, and kick down the rabbit pens called pews, why, so much the better for us all.
Previous page
