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| 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 here 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 there's no need to 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. (And this practical approach is more likely to yield results than getting therapy and "letting your subconscious speak" or any such nonsense.)
“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.
