Executive Suit

Latest word from the prognosticators of the good life in 198X is that we will all be engarbed in "air conditioned suits." This advance tip gives no indication of whether the compound miracle of tailor and engineer will depend on portable battery power or atomic energy (or perhaps we will just plug ourselves into any convenient outlet?). All of which tumbles us pell-mell into the battle of survival-with-propriety through the summer heat, and a stout brawl it's going to be.

The first Highland laddie who ever slipped into a pleated skirt probably had the best answer to natural air conditioning. But in a fast-paced society with all sorts of sudden drafts, the interpretation of kilts in lightweight worsted would undoubtedly raise more than a couple of eyebrows. The next practical step is the suit with knee-length, matching shorts: practical, yes . . . and even available on the market. But the fact that short pants are featured as part of a two-trouser suit (the second pair full length) is itself mute testimony that such rakish individualism in the office doesn't always meet with acceptance much beyond the conference rooms of the more avant advertising agencies.

The fact that this style trend is catching on for campus wear, however, is going to make many a grad feel he was born 20 years too soon. The Eastern schools pioneered the spirit which is now spreading across the nation and the matched coat approach fills the demand for comfort when the contrasting blazer-walk shorts combo might be a bit too sporty.

And so the urban man-about-business is still outfoxed by tradition. He is left (continued on page 66)Executive Suit(continued from page 21) to figure out for himself how to look sharp and be sharp while working in a mid-town steam cabinet.

Let's tackle the question of summer comfort partly from a point of fact and fashion and partly from the vantage point of fairly well-considered ad copy psychology. Is summer comfort purely a matter of suit fabric weight? Does this rule out tweeds from May to September? Are the test tube fibers the end-all to the problem? Is "wash 'n' wear" myth or miracle?

The weight question is a hefty problem. There's no debate that comfort counts a lot in the psychology of thinking you are cool, and getting a load off your shoulders–even just by ounces–is a good starting point. But given two fabrics of the same weight, you will sadly discover that the one in tight weave will provide a custom-fitted hot box, while a loose weave pronounces open season on a cool breeze.

(A gabardine, for example, is among the tightest of woven fabrics–so tight as to effect a natural water repellency. A lightweight gab is excellent for a day in spring or even for the first few days of summer, but in spite of the light weight of the yardage or its soft, summery colors, this is no weave for a hot weather wardrobe.)

Loosely woven tweed fabrics which often have bulk without weight are good (concluded overleaf) insulators and a good choice for spring wear but some of the coarse weaves with mannish splinters of fiber may be a bit rough for cuddling. Conclusion: try a cashmere to impress her all the way 'round (if a cashmere budget isn't your way of figuring, try a wool and orlon blend and she probably won't know the difference). Moving into the dog days of summer, tweeds are generally put to the back of the closet – they don't look or feel the summer role. Through the 30s and early 40s a "summer suit" was placed in the 11-13 ounce bracket. Loose fitting flannels in light colors "looked summery" and were staples. Tropical worsteds were popular only with those with enough green stuff to pay for the crafts-manship necessary to make lightweight wool into a tailor's showpiece.

Out of the research of the war years came the miracle test tube fibers. Here was a chance to add a 5% strength increase to a blended fabric with each 1% increase in content of some synthetics (nylon in particular). Of course a few experimenters lost their heads and went too far too fast. The customer sometimes found his new suit melted like butter on the ironing board, became scorched in the pressing room or returned from the cleaner with knife-sharp creases "welded" into the fabric. But, by gum, the weight of the fabric went down and the strength went up, and the poor gink who lost out in the process can take solace in the knowledge that he aided science in its sterling search for the good way of life. Today, the value of the synthetic fiber is heightened in a blend with natural fibers and the most popular is the 55% dacron–45% wool combination in a nine-ounce fabric.

Unless you're blind or illiterate, you're aware of the rash of wash-and-wear garments in circulation. If the accumulated impact of the ballyhoo for shirts, shorts, socks and suits were brought to fruition, GE would be out of the iron business and into research on the "wash-while-you-wear man-sized tumble laundromat." We have yet to see the Madison Avenue brigade bending an elbow over this washable, three-button treat. But with a good strong lead by Haspel, effective styling on modified Ivy League lines, a healthy promotional budget and an attractive pricing under $40, the cord suit is definitely in for another big season.

Before you climb into a cord with the thought of looking like a Neiman fashion drawing for playboy, be forewarned: this suit is always worn with a traditional don't-give-a-damn, casually crushed air which indicates you've just lost the wrestling match with a new research assistant from Wellesley but had great fun in the process. This visual impact is heightened in direct proportion to the amount of cotton in the fabric (a market rundown shows blends from 75% dacron and 25% cotton to the old-fashioned but strongly traditional all cotton models). Some men wear cotton cords immaculately; others just let them get baggy in the knees and elbows. Let's say this–it's not the suit for the heavy man.

Stylewise, almost all of the wash-and-wear suits are cut with pleatless trousers, three-button coats, single breasted. Some lightweight outfits are completely stripped of trim and padding, and the models with modified built-up construction (small shoulder pads, strip lining) offer effective counter-action to the drooping, wilted look sometimes mistakingly interpreted as Ivy League.

Haspel's newest introduction to the '56 summer picture is a smooth finish fabric (not corded), approximately six ounces, blended of 65% dacron and 35% cotton. Again the slightly built-up construction helps to retain the style line of the suit that sells in the $50 bracket. There's a nice bit of tailoring in the garment, but, again, don't demand too much of these cotton blends for heavy duty wear. They do offer a terrific psychological kick in that you'd swear you just slipped into the lining of your previous suits.

For those with an eye to statistics: One of the finest summer fabrics we've had the pleasure of packing, wearing and repacking with little attention to pressing has been from the Palm Beach mills. About five or six years ago this fabric was introduced under the name "Java Weave." The fabric no longer carries that tag, but is still a major part of the line with some modifications in fiber content. For '56 the content is 25% dacron, 15% mohair and 60% viscose. With a full range of colors, the fabric has a linen-like appearance and luxury-lined models (worth the few dollars over the unlined models) of Palm Beach suits sell nationally at about $40. The Spring-weave line (about $50) by the same manufacturer has more of the look of the tailored tropical worsteds with a fabric blended of wool and mohair.

Best news of the season for the guy who wants to look like a million bucks is that the coveted silk suit is down off the pedestal and on the ground floor pricewise. Five years ago you couldn't touch this outfit with a ten-foot silk worm for less than $125-$135 on the rack (and the custom houses were having a field day). Last year there was joy in the sartorially elegant world to see the price tag dwindle to a modest $90. This year a batch of the famous Dupioni silk from Italy was snagged hot out of the dye vats by Carson Pirie Scott of Chicago, tailored to special order and will undoubtedly have a rousing ad campaign to announce silk suits at $75.

Let's face it: we all know that you can't even bend an arm over a Martini without creasing the silk fabric. And we'll admit that the upkeep in terms of a pressing bill after each wearing is monstrous, but there's something in the feel and look of a silk that just can't be matched by the highest lustre of a mohair (which also crushes like crazy). Silk is no more practical than vicuna or cashmere, but we'll take two for the season, even if we have to hock the souped-up Vespa to pay the pressing bills.

Executive suits left to right: summer-weight dacron-wool blend in gray-brown Glen plaid by Springweave (Palm Beach), in the new "Savoy model," natural cut, three button, about $50. Olive shade spring-weight gabardine in Ivy League cut, three button, tapered shoulder, pleatless trousers with belted back, tailored by Maxwell, about $70. A summer tradition, the cord suit interpreted in two new, natural models by Haspel, blended of 75% dacron, 25% cotton, tan, gray and blue, about $40. The elegance of silk: a natural cut model in light beige Dupioni silk costing about $75.