CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN

by Rob Lopresti

“Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.”

—Mark Twain

The photo above shows your humble scribe celebrating one of the perks of his status as a faculty member at a university, namely the privilege of helping our new graduates solemnize their achievement. (My, what fancy words. Must be the influence of the robes.)

Back in the good old days of inquisitions and witch hunts, professors were expected to dress like that every day. Are there any universities left in the world where the faculty have to wear a uniform? Corduroy jackets with elbow patches don’t count.

Alas, there is not yet a uniform for mystery writers. I think it is a change that is long overdue. We might need to have separate designs for cozies, hardboileds, etc. Until that happy day arrives I want to talk about a writer, one even more famous than me, who chose his own memorable outfit.

The sage of Hannibal

Take a moment to picture Mark Twain. Not just the rugged face. Try to call up the entire continent of Twain, from North Pole to South. Got it?

What’s he wearing?

If you see a pure white suit it just shows how good a marketer Mr. T. was. (Not the guy with all the jewelry. The original Mr. T.) He intended for those ice cream suits to be memorable and he succeeded admirably.

But here is the amazing part. Twain turned his wardrobe all white at the end of 1906, which means he wore that shade for less than four of his seventy-five years. And yet, that is inevitably how he we picture him. Pretty cool, huh?

I know all this because I am reading Mark Twain: Man In White, by Michael Shelden, which is exclusively about those last four years. Shelden points out that Twain’s first appearance in white – in December, no less, when no member of respectable society would wear a such a thing – was the day he spoke before a Congressional committee on the subject of copyright. Imagine that room full of men in black suits (“crows” he called them) and in walks one of the most famous faces in the country, wreathed by white hair, and wearing linen the color of milk. Did he have their full attention when he spoke?

Mrs. Clemens didn’t raise any dummies.

Shelden also makes it clear that the change of costume wasn’t just about marketing. Twain had had some bad times in the early twentieth century, suffering the deaths of a child and his beloved wife. Apparently in 1906 he decided he was done with outfits that reminded him of funerals. He was going to do his best to enjoy the time he had left, and he dressed to fit the part.

In the mystery shelves…

So, who in our little literary the world is as famous for one item of clothing as Mark Twain? I don’t think anyone anywhere in the world can wear a deerstalker without making people of Sherlock Holmes. Then there’s Father Brown with his coal-shovel hat and clerical collar, Nero Wolfe with his yellow shirt, and Miss Marple with her hand-knit scarf.

But if you start thinking that fashion statements only belong to the cozies (and Holmes counts as more cozy than anything else), consider this famous description:

I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

For anyone who doesn’t recognize it, that is part of the opening paragraph of Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep, one of the most famous hardboiled mysteries extant.

We see what we expect to see

Appearances can be deceptive, even in fiction. Jo Dereske writes a wonderful series of novels about a librarian named Miss Zukas. Wilhelmina Zukas is single, more or less middle-aged, and in many ways a stereotypical librarian. Fans sometimes write to Dereske and ask: Why did she make Miss Zukas so ugly?

Well, here’s the thing. Except for her height (relatively short) and her hair (a stubborn curl on her forehead) there are no physical descriptions of Miss Zukas in the books. People see what they expect to see. If you don’t believe me, ask the man in the white suit.