Vogue's Book of Etiquett

What not to wear

Vogue’s Book of Etiquette was published just post World War Two. 

All etiquette books start “the old rigid formality of the past has quite gone, but we still need modern manners”. They then go on to guide you through throwing a formal dinner party with ten courses, and explain how to address an Archbishop in a telegram.

But apart from terrifying descriptions of equipping a house with the right kinds of wineglasses, chandeliers, chairs and bath towels, you can find some of the good sense promised by Clothes in Books. 

One of the most egregious form of rudeness is to give an invitation to one person in front of another, who is not included. 

In conversation, don’t monologue. Don’t lapse into a language not everyone understands. Don’t leave anyone out. Don’t embark on a difficult topic. Don’t attack religions, nationalities, groups of people. (I think this is what self-help books mean when they say “Don’t generalise”.)

Vogue instructs men to “bow while half-rising from your seat” if they spot a female acquaintance across the room. I’m glad this ungainly pantomime has gone out.

In a public place, a man may help a woman to carry a heavy bag up a flight of stairs, pick up something she’s dropped etc, but must not use this incident to scrape an acquaintance.

Do we still bow? Discreetly, when meeting a monarch. We also nod across crowded rooms, and sometimes bow slightly when shaking hands – but don’t go over the top and turn it into a comic performance.

There are rules for single girls who may even (gasp!) live alone. Don’t dine alone with a married man. Avoid being alone with a man, married or not, in his apartment or yours, in his hotel room or yours. Vogue adds: stick to one sherry, and a glass of wine at dinner. Vogue is right about all this, and warns against getting any kind of “reputation”.

Sometimes Vogue really hits the spot. Enjoying a party or dance is a “matter of technique”. If you find yourself without a partner or a prospect of one, and no table of friends to sit down with, instead of sitting alone on the sidelines and wishing you were dead – GO HOME! Parents should tell their daughters they can phone to be collected at any time, and should not force them to go to parties unless the girls want to go. How I wish my parents had read these wise words.

“Marriage is the single most important event in a lifetime”, but if it doesn’t work out, it’s the husband who leaves the family home. Vogue assumes that all women get married. 

Wear a suit to the interview: nobody “will take on a dull, lifeless, untidy and incoherent prospect, who cares only about getting a job as a practical necessity”. 

There’s a section on language that’s very like U and Non-U. “Contact” is barred – instead you should “reach” someone. Well, that explains “reach out”. Sofa is preferred to “settee” or any alternative such as “Davenport”. “Couch” is condemned as a “Gallicism”. (Davenport is from the A.H. Davenport company of 19th century Boston, says the dictionary.) As for pronunciation, avoid “cah-viar” or “ah-qua blue”.

“The procedure of entertaining” sounds unbearably strenuous, but “as always, the process of learning is not an unmitigated delight”. Vogue doesn’t tell you how to speed the parting guest, but gives timings for cocktail parties, dinners etc. 

THOU SHALT NOT

The “thou shalt nots” are far more amusing than the stuff about choosing Waterford glass and Rockingham china and French Provincial table settings. 

It is not decorous to sing or whistle on the street, less so in a crowded elevator.

Never smoke while dancing.

Women shouldn’t wear hats when entertaining at home.

Rings should never be worn outside a glove.

You don’t want to revolt fellow diners, but don’t be furtive or over-genteel.

Valenciennes lace and Valentine’s Day should not be shortened to “Val”.

Widow’s veils shouldn’t be worn with “bright jewellery or coloured stockings”.

Serve only three types of cocktail. More than this puts an unattractive emphasis on drink.

Banned on the exterior of your house are “would-be Tudor mullioned windows – a very Tea-Shoppe touch”. 

Indoors, avoid “tables with long, spindly legs and tops made of glass”. 

Fuchsia, lime, turquoise and chartreuse should be eschewed in the country, as shades for writing paper, and for your small daughter’s clothes.

Ladies, do not sport a tricorne hat in the hunting field – unless you’re in France.

More here, and links to the rest.

Classy Jobs

My upmarket accent means that people have always made assumptions about me. When I left university, I needed a job, any job. It was my ambition to “work in publishing”, which to me meant book publishing. Such jobs seemed to be few, or “like gold dust”, as we used to say. So I applied for secretarial jobs that sounded interesting. Sometimes I got as far as the interview, but when they heard my voice the interview panel would become inexplicably frosty. Why was someone like me trying to take a job away from someone who actually needed one? 

Posh people need jobs too. But as well as avoiding “trade”, those "jobs in the arts and publishing" were a way of staying among “those of a similar background” and even finding someone suitable to marry. And they paid less because it was assumed Daddy had bought you a London flat.

Oh, and the real value of having a job in publishing is being able to say "I work in publishing" to strangers you meet at parties. It's like saying "I really am middle class, don't worry". People used to say to me “But YOU can’t be a secretary!”. I thought they meant “you, with your brains”, but it was like confessing to being a parlourmaid. 

Sometimes it's what other people want for you. Oh, you're a “nice young girl”? You'd better work in book publishing where you'll “fit in”. It's almost protective. But perhaps they don't want anyone to step out of their niche. Sometimes they want you to fulfil a fairytale they believe about the lives of the “posh”. A man once asked me “Why aren't you married to a barrister and living in Fulham?”. (Because one didn’t ask me to marry him, that’s why.)

I cleverly worked out I couldn’t afford to work in book publishing anyway. Girls who could operate these new-fangled “word processors” were paid £2,000 a year more – and that was a lot in those days. I did a course, applied for a job, got taken on as a temp for a week and stayed for seven years. In publishing! Newsletters, not books. 

I once went to a party in Marlborough which was full of women who worked in book publishing. When I told them I worked in magazines they looked at me as if I was something the cat had dragged in. “I love magazines!” I enthused. “What are these magazines you love?” one asked with a sneer. Hadn’t she ever been to WH Smith in the high street? It had a wall of magazines, from Angling Times to The Zookeeper’s Gazette. Perhaps she was too grand to visit Smith’s and had The Lady delivered.

More here, and links to the rest.