It occurred to me recently that I have failed to weigh in on the difference between fashion and style as regards the schmatte trade. Schmatte, for those whose grasp of the Yiddish language is less than elementary, means “rags.” It can also be used to define a bad haircut, as in “where did you get that schmatte haircut?”
It is also used to refer, in the broadest sense, to the garment industry.
Fashion is a catch-all word that describes those clothes paraded by stick-figure models on the runways of Paris and Milan that nobody with any self-respect would be caught dead wearing. They were created by a cadre of fashionistas who seem to be known by a single name. And they ply their trade of haute couture—French for “high sewing,” whatever in hell that means— with a flair typical of RuPaul’s.
Style, on the other hand, is far more elusive.
For men, style might be displayed with accents of dress—a designer tie, cufflinks, a camelhair overcoat. It could be an outfit of gray slacks and a navy blazer, or a well-tailored pinstriped suit. Style does not include inflatable knickers or anything that might be seen on a golf course full of weekend duffers.
For women, style is that little black dress with a single strand of pearls.
What brought all of this to my attention was learning that Juli Lynne Charlot recently died. She was 101. Though hardly an Armani or Halston or Gucci, she nevertheless laid claim to a moment in the fashion sun by designing the poodle skirt, a below-the-knee skirt made of felt and decorated with appliqued silhouettes of poodles and flamingos. (No matter the applique, they are all poodle skirts.)
While her success was considerable, what her fellow fashion designers couldn’t claim was having performed with the Marx Brothers.
Created in 1947, the poodle skirt was less an example of fashion than it was of rage—as in “all the rage.” Or you could simply call it a fad. Today, the skirt has been relegated to 50’s sock-hop revivals and Halloween.
My sister had a poodle skirt. She wore it relentlessly. As I recall, it was a muted pink in color with a black poodle decorated with spangles. The poodle carried an umbrella. If I saw her coming down the stairs wearing it, along with the de rigueur saddle shoes, I would duck out the back door and travel the back alleys to school. She was a major embarrassment in my youth and, for different reasons later in my life.
I don’t remember anybody other than my sister who wore a poodle skirt. My mother might have—a demonstration so traumatic that I’ve erased it from my memory.
My mother’s fashion statements were made via hats. She wore them a lot and couldn’t walk past the State Street windows of Marshall Field without ducking in to buy yet another one. Most of the ones I remember were shaped like beehives. An occasional pillbox hat was worn rakishly over her left brow. For funerals, she would add a netted veil.
At her father’s funeral, she wore a red dress. It shocked the community of Callaway, Nebraska—a bedroom community of Broken Bow—to such an extent that they still might be talking about it. They, of course, had the good sense to wear clothing that lacked both fashion and style, but were at least black in color.
I don’t remember what I had to wear, but I do recall with great disgust the lime Jell-O with suspended pieces of carrots. Many of the casseroles seemed scary as well. Whatever it was that I wore must have met both the funeral standards of rural Nebraska and displayed enough cuteness to cause completely strange women to pinch my 10-year-old cheeks.
My father never owned a suit. He wore sports coats, most of them with some sort of pattern in the cloth. He liked plaid. He wore slacks, short-sleeved shirts, and neckties that were muted in both color and design. For the country club, which he visited almost daily, he had a rack of trousers in wild arrays of color and pattern. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he did his clothes shopping at the Barnum & Bailey thrift store.
I’m curious, though not so curious as to research the subject, when the concept of dressing came to rely on the impressions it made on others. Initially, clothing consisted of materials that would help protect one from the elements. That was the pragmatic view that changed with the advent of air conditioning. As a species, getting cool after a hard day of laboring in the sun was essential. Nobody could afford AC in those days, so we went to movies whose marquees advertising the atmosphere was more inviting than the actual movie.
Of course, a lot of our clothing makes no sense.
When, for instance, was the ascot replaced by the necktie? And why was there ever an ascot? Have you noticed lately that few of the men on MSNBC and CNN wear them anymore?
Another oddity is to consider the cuff link. It was replaced by buttons that have now been replaced with cuff links if you can afford a dress shirt with French cuffs.
At my funeral, which I hope isn’t any time soon, I want to be the only guy wearing a black suit. I’d like the women to wear red with black hats. The girls should wear, obviously, poodle skirts. There are to be no Jell-O salads, casseroles with corn flakes or cream of Campbell’s anything.
There should be a no-host bar.
Photo illustration by Courtney A. Liska
Tuna Noodle Casserole
This crowd-pleaser works well for post-funeral receptions.
12 ounces farfalle (bow ties) pasta
4 Tbs. unsalted butter
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 Tbs. all-purpose flour
3 cups whole milk or half-and-half
1 1/2 cups frozen baby peas
3/4 cup fresh piquillo or red-bell peppers, chopped
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
Two 5-ounce can solid white tuna in water, drained and flaked
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup panko bread crumbs
Heat the oven to 450°. Cook the farfalle pasta in a large pot of boiling salted water until al dente. Drain.
In a large saucepan, melt 3 tablespoons of the butter. Add the onion and cook over high heat, stirring, until softened (about 3 minutes). Add the flour and cook, stirring, for a minute or so. Add the milk slowly and bring to a boil. Cook the sauce over moderate heat, stirring frequently, until thickened (3-5 minutes).
Add the pasta, frozen baby peas, sliced piquillo peppers, Parmigiano cheese and tuna and season with salt and pepper. Transfer the mixture to a large baking dish.
In a small skillet, melt the remaining 1 tablespoon of butter. Add the panko and cook over moderate heat, stirring, until golden, about 1 minute. Sprinkle the panko over the casserole and bake for 10 minutes.
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