Etiquette, Emily Post [read people like a book txt] 📗

that his own crudeness is strong, and manly, and American!

The "X" Markers

But let "success" come to this same inexpert man—let him be appointed to high office, let him then shuffle from foot to foot, never knowing what to do or say, let him meet open derision or ill-concealed contempt from every educated person brought in contact with him, let opprobrium fall upon his State because its governor is a boor, and let him as such be written of in the editorials of the press and in the archives of history! Will he be so pleased with himself then? Does any one think of Theodore Roosevelt as "soft" or "effeminate" because he was one of the greatest masters of etiquette who ever bore the most exalted honor that can be awarded by the people of the United States? Washington was completely a gentleman—and so was Abraham Lincoln. Because Lincoln's etiquette was self-taught it was no less masterly for that! Whether he happened to know a lot of trifling details of pseudo etiquette matters not in the least. Awkward he may have been, but the essence of him was courtesy—unfailing courtesy. No "rough, uneducated" man has command of perfect English, and Lincoln's English is supreme.

One thing that some Men of Might forget is that lack of polish in its wider aspects is merely lack of education. They themselves look down upon a man who has to make an "X" mark in place of signing his name—but they overlook entirely that to those more highly educated, they are themselves in degree quite as ignorant.

Sons Of Self-Made Men

And yet, speak to self-made men of the need of the social graces for their sons, and nine out of ten stampede—for all the world as though it were suggested to put them in petticoats. Do they think a poor unlettered lout who shambles at the door, who stands unable to speak, who turns his cap in his hands, who sidles into the room, and can't for the life of him get out again, well trained for the battle of life?

Picture that Mr. Strong Man who thrusts his thumbs into his armholes and sits tipped back in his chair with a cigar in the corner of his mouth and his heels comfortably reposing on his solid mahogany desk. This is not in criticism of his relaxation, it is his own desk and certainly he has a right to put his heels on it if he wants to; likewise thumbs and armholes are his own. It is merely a picture that leads to another: Supposing a very great man comes into Mr. Strong Man's office—one whom he may consider a great man, a president perhaps of a big industry or of a railroad, or a senator—and shortly afterwards, Strong Man's own son comes into the room. Would he like to see his son abashed, awkward, spasmodically jerky, like the poor bumpkin who came the other day to ask about removing the ashes, or worse yet, bold and boisterous or cheeky; or would he like that boy of his to come forward with an entire lack of self-consciousness, and as his father introduces him as "My Son!" have him put out his hand in frank and easy and yet deferential friendliness? And then saying quickly and quietly whatever it was he came to say, as quickly and quietly make his way out again? Would he be sorry that the big man thought, "Fine boy that! Ability too!" Why would he think he had ability? Because the ease and dexterity with which he handled the social incident automatically suggests ability to handle other situations!

Etiquette And Business Authority

Another point: Does the self-made man stop to realize that his authority in business would be even greater than it is if he had the hall-marks, of cultivation? For instance, when he comes in contact with college graduates and other cultivated men, his opinions gain or lose in weight exactly in proportion as he proves to be in their own "class" or below it.

A man unconsciously judges the authority of others by the standard of his own expert knowledge. A crude man may be a genius in business management, but in the unspoken opinion of men of education, he is in other contacts inferior to themselves. He is an authority they grant, but in limited lines only.

But when a man is met with who combines with business genius the advantage of polished manners and evident cultivation, his opinion on any subject broached at once assumes added weight. Doesn't it?

CHAPTER XXXIII

ToC

DRESS

Clothes are to us what fur and feathers are to beasts and birds; they not only add to our appearance, but they are our appearance. How we look to others entirely depends upon what we wear and how we wear it; manners and speech are noted afterward, and character last of all.

In the community where we live, admirableness of character is the fundamental essential, and in order to achieve a position of importance, personality is also essential; but for the transient impression that we make at home, abroad, everywhere in public, two superficial attributes are alone indispensable: good manners and a pleasing appearance.

It is not merely a question of vanity and inclination. In New York, for instance, a woman must dress well, to pay her way. In Europe, where the title of Duchess serves in lieu of a court train of gold brocade; or in Bohemian circles where talent alone may count; or in small communities where people are known for what they really are, appearance is of esthetic rather than essential importance.

In the world of smart society—in America at any rate—clothes not only represent our ticket of admission, but our contribution to the effect of a party. What makes a brilliant party? Clothes. Good clothes. A frumpy party is nothing more nor less than a collection of badly dressed persons. People with all the brains, even all the beauty imaginable, make an assemblage of dowds, unless they are well dressed.

Not even the most beautiful ballroom in the world, decorated like the Garden of Eden, could in itself suggest a brilliant entertainment, if the majority of those who filled it were frumps—or worse yet, vulgarians! Rather be frumpy than vulgar! Much. Frumps are often celebrities in disguise—but a person of vulgar appearance is vulgar all through.

The Sheep

Frumps are not very typical of America, vulgarians are somewhat more numerous, but the greatest number of all are the quietly dressed, unnoticeable men and women who make up the representative backbone in every city; who buy good clothes but not more than they need, and whose ambition is merely to be well enough dressed to fit in with their background, whatever their background may be.

Less numerous, but far more conspicuous, are the dressed-to-the-minute women who, like sheep exactly, follow every turn of latest fashion blindly and without the slightest sense of distance or direction. As each new season's fashion is defined, all the sheep run and dress themselves each in a replica of the other, their own types and personalities have nothing to do with the case. Fashion says: "Wear bolster cases tied at the neck and ankle," or "A few wisps of gauze held in place with court plaster," and daughter, mother, grandmother, and all the neighbors wear the same. If emerald green is the fashionable color, all of the yellowest skins will be framed in it. When hobble skirts are the thing, the fattest wabble along, looking for all the world like chandeliers tied up in mosquito netting. If ball dresses are cut to the last limit of daring, the ample billows of the fat will vie blandly with the marvels of anatomy exhibited by the thin. Comfort, convenience, becomingness, adaptability, beauty are of no importance. Fashion is followed to the letter—therefore they fancy, poor sheep, they are the last word in smartness. Those whom the fashion suits are "smart," but they are seldom, if ever, distinguished, because—they are all precisely alike.

The Woman Who Is Really Chic

The woman who is chic is always a little different. Not different in being behind fashion, but always slightly apart from it. "Chic" is a borrowed adjective, but there is no English word to take the place of "elegant" which was destroyed utterly by the reporter or practical joker who said "elegant dresses," and yet there is no synonym that will express the individuality of beautiful taste combined with personal dignity and grace which gives to a perfect costume an inimitable air of distinction. Une dame élégante is all of that! And Mrs. Oldname is just such a person. She follows fashion merely so far as is absolutely necessary. She gets the latest model perhaps, but has it adapted to her own type, so that she has just that distinction of appearance that the sheep lack. She has even clung with slight modifications to the "Worth" ball dress, and her "wrapped" or fitted bodice has continued to look the smartest in every ballroom in spite of the Greek drapery and one-piece meal bag and all the other kaleidoscopic changes of fashion the rest of us have been through.

But the average would-be independent who determines to stand her ground, saying, "These new models are preposterous! I shall wear nothing of the sort!" and keeps her word, soon finds herself not at all an example of dignity but an object of derision.

Fashion Has Little In Common With Beauty

Fashion ought to be likened to a tide or epidemic; sometimes one might define it as a sort of hypnotism, seemingly exerted by the gods as a joke. Fashion has the power to appear temporarily in the guise of beauty, though it is the antithesis of beauty nearly always. If you doubt it, look at old fashion plates. Even the woman of beautiful taste succumbs occasionally to the epidemics of fashion, but she is more immune than most. All women who have any clothes sense whatever know more or less the type of things that are their style—unless they have such an attack of fashionitis as to be irresponsibly delirious.

To describe any details of dress, that will not be as "queer" to-morrow as to-day's fashions are bound to be, would seem at the outset pretty much like writing about next year's weather. And yet, there is one unchanging principle which must be followed by every woman, man and child that is well dressed—suitability. Nor does suitability mean merely that you must choose clothes suitable to your age and appearance, and that you must get a ball dress for a ball, and a street dress to walk in; it means equally that you must not buy clothes out of proportion to your income, or out of keeping with your surroundings.

Disproportionate Expenditure In Bad Taste

About fifteen years ago the extravagance in women's dress reached such a high-water mark that it was not unheard of for a New York woman to spend a third of her husband's income on clothes. All women of fashion bought clothes when it would not have occurred to them to buy furniture—when it would have seemed preposterous to buy a piece of jewelry—but clothes, clothes, and more clothes, each more hand-embroidered than the last, until just as it seemed that no dress was fit to be seen if it hadn't a month or two of some one's time embroidered on it, the work on clothes subsided, until now we are at the other extreme; no work is put on them at all. At least, clothes to-day are much more sensible, and let us hope the sense will be lasting.

The war did at least make people realize that luxuries and trimmings could go too far. Ten years ago the American woman who lived in a little cottage, who walked when she went out or took the street car, wore the same clothes exactly that Mrs. Gilding wore in her victoria, or trailed over