Allan Stewart Koningsberg was born in Brooklyn today in 1935. In the early part of his career, he sported the requisite garb of a New York intellectual: buttondown collars, knit ties and natural-shouldered jackets. He’s pictured above in a 1966 Smirnoff ad in white buttondown, navy and red rep tie and navy jacket — practically the same outfit worn by handsome leading man George Peppard in “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” (Continue)
“Vassar College’s touch football team today issued a challenge to the Kennedy family in Washington: play us,” announced The Poughkeepsie Journal in November 1962.
The reason for such sporting confidence? In the fall of that year, Vassar students had formed the first all-female college touch football teams. With names like the Joss Jocks, Noyes Nymphs and the Senile Seniors, the good-natured teams started out by playing against each other for fun. However, in typical trailblazing Vassar fashion, football quickly became much more than a casual campus pastime. With no other female college teams to play against, they extended invitations to teams from neighbouring men’s schools, including Yale, Princeton and Siena, which led to some high-octane excitement, as students fought it out to be victors in the Vassar “Wash Bowl.”
The national press reveled in the prospect of Vassar women making a foray into the heart of typically masculine college sports. Although Vassar students were no strangers to press scrutiny, newspapers became especially enthralled by this latest sporting development, and their coverage ranged from the amused — with The New York Times observing that “Some of the dramatic highlights included huddles that resembled kaffeeklatsches” — to the mildly impressed, as The Philadelphia News reported: “Outstanding for the girls from Poughkeepsie was the speedy Dee Shell, who was a veritable reindeer in the flanker position.”
Perhaps inevitably, much of the press preferred to simply report sexist commentary and offensive jokes, with headlines like, “Hold That Line! Hold That Well-Built Line!” Articles were also quick to point out that the games were far from dangerous, as the girls could not actually be tackled, rather, they tucked a sock into the back pocket of their blue jeans and if the opponent retrieved the sock, they were tackled. Vassar players quickly realized however, that they had a much greater chance of winning if they tucked the socks deeper and deeper into their pockets, or swapped the sock to different sides constantly throughout the game, leaving their Yale or Princeton opponents in despair.
The rules may have been adapted to give the Vassar students an advantage, including being allowed more players and getting more points for touchdowns, but there was one aspect of the game that was firmly on a level playing field: the styles being worn. Photographs of Vassar students dressed in dirty denim cut-offs, Bermuda shorts, Capri pants, VC sweatshirts, crew neck sweaters and sneakers, being chased by men in equally casual garb, found their way into newspapers across the country.
The Kennedys may have become synonymous with idyllic touch football games on their estate at Cape Cod, all pastel polo shirts and perfectly rolled chinos, but Vassar girls and their opponents cultivated their own mode of football fashion that was equally appealing. The school spirit sweaters, comfy chinos and well worn denim all play an important part in that effortless, classic Ivy League and Seven Sisters uniform of the early 1960s. Perhaps the best accessory for this casual style was a rousing rendition of the chant penned by the New York Times in commemoration of Vassar’s touch football prowess: “Watch the Runner, Watch the Passer, Let’s Go Team, Let’s Go Vassar.” — REBECCA C. TUITE
Rebecca C. Tuite is a writer and fashion historian based in London currently pursuing graduate studies at University of the Arts. Her research is focused on collegiate American fashion, including the construction of the Vassar Girl style as a key archetype of American fashion and womanhood in 1950s American media. She completed her undergraduate studies at the University of Exeter and Vassar College.
Forty-eight years ago today, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, TX. Richard Press remembers this icon of American politics and who won the battle to dress him.
The epic saga of President John F. Kennedy’s individual travail and public triumph is recounted with explicit and captivating detail by Chris Matthews in his new best-selling anecdotal biography, “Jack Kennedy: Elusive Hero.”
Scant attention is paid in the book to the candidate’s wardrobe, but Matthews included a revealing moment from the 1959 Wisconsin primary. Kennedy’s local operatives wanted him outside the factory gates at six in the morning in sub-zero temperature, and figured he would wear his heavy blue overcoat topped with a fur-trimmed aviator hat. Instead, JFK threw out the hat and braved the cold in his favorite H. Harris custom-tailored Shetland Tweed Herringbone Topcoat.
Matthews failed to include JFK’s dumping of H. Harris, his longtime Savile Row tailor who maintained a New York branch on 57th Street run by third-generation family member Sam Harris.
Seven months after the inauguration, “Tailor” Sam Harris, as he was condescendingly described in LIFE Magazine, disclosed the intimate wardrobe details of his most prominent customer. Harris concluded his comments with a benediction from hell, “He is the best dressed president since Grover Cleveland. We made his suits, too.”
There were no more “happily-ever-afterings” in Camelot for Sam Harris.
This was all undisclosed to the public, but Frank Brothers/Fenn Feinstein leaked to a Connecticut newspaper that the president got rid of his tailor because of the LIFE article. Fenn Feinstein, whose client roster included Kennedy brother-in-law Sargent Shriver and Gov. Abe Ribicoff, speculated that JFK might come on board.
Irving Press and my father, Paul, reached out to our J. Press regulars. The Kennedy circle included Charlie Bartlett, who introduced Jack to Jackie, longtime JFK intimate Chuck Spalding, Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., FAA head Jeeb Halaby, foreign affairs advisor Bill Bundy, Kennedy personal photographer Mark Shaw, and his chief economic advisor Walter Heller.
Chipp, however, won the contest by default. Their stalwart customers included JFK’s brother Bobby, brothers-in-law Peter Lawford and Steve Smith, and Defense Secretary Robert McNamara. Sid Winston, his son Paul and master fitter Bob DiFalco began to include the White House on their finished-garment schedule.
These tailoring tidbits were admittedly incidental to Matthews’ great new addition to Kennedy lore.
The night Marilyn Monroe delivered her allegedly drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” to JFK in Madison Square Garden, Jimmy Durante also croaked his birthday tribute to the president in raspy Brooklynese, “The song’s gotta come from the heart.”
Chris Matthews’ book comes from the heart. — RICHARD PRESS
H.I.S Inc. may be the missing link between workwear and Ivy-styled clothing.
The company was originally founded as Honesdale manufacturing in 1923 by Henry I. Siegel. It specialized in workwear, including denim, and was a contract manufacturer for JC Penny and Montgomery Ward. The firm was headquartered in New York with manufacturing facilities in Tennessee. HIS continued its contract work through World War II, making field jackets for the war effort.
Upon Siegel’s death in 1949, his son Jesse, who was only 19 years old, took control of the company. A graduate of Columbia, Jesse Siegel decided to move the company into the fashion realm by making modifications to its existing lines. Among other things, he is credited with putting a buckle on the back of khakis, which started a campus fad.
In 1956 Siegel introduced the company’s first house brand. It was called h.i.s. and named after his father. The brand targeted the middle-market teenager and college student, and was very successful tapping postwar Baby Boomers. The company went from $9 million in sales 1949 to $18 million in 1956, and b 1964 the company was doing $42 million a year in sales.
The h.i.s product line included odd trousers, shorts, sportcoats and suits. As a mass-market Ivy-inspired brand, h.i.s was sold in stores like Irv Lewis, Morris’, and The Squire Shop in Ithaca, New York. A 1964 joint advertisement for the later two Cornell outfitters claimed, “They provide the classics — the ‘bread and butter’ — the uniform items in the curricula of college clothes.”
According to the advertisement, those other brands included Botany 500, Hathaway shirts, Keds, Alder socks, Pendleton and Viyella. — CHRISTOPHER SHARP (Continue)
If you’re a sucker for the “Mad Men” vibe of cool dudes, sexy chicks and midcentury style, you should really check out “Playboy’s Penthouse,” Hugh Hefner’s variety show from the early days of his budding Playboy empire. Episodes are available on DVD, including through Netflix.
The episodes were taped in a party atmosphere that brought together a cross section of fashionable society (the kind of crowd seen in our post “A Swellegant, Elegant Party“), and adult music (jazz, vocalists) that’s a far cry from the musical acts featured on today’s late-night shows.
And then there’s everybody smoking, including the singers while they perform. Is smoking glamorous? Don’t be daft: Of course it is.
In a February 1960 episode, a young beauty from Hef’s harem asks him about the turnback cuffs on his dinner jacket. Hefner, who had previously donned the Ivy League Look, proceeds to bore the girl to death with a dissertation on men’s tailoring, pointing with his Dunhill shell briar for effect.
Here’s what he says:
Well, this suit is Continental, Elsa. It’s a new style in America. Look, Tom’s formal is Ivy, which has been very popular. The difference is in the cuff. This has a little more cut to the jacket; it’s a shorter jacket. You’ll notice Tom has flaps on his pockets. These pockets are slanted.
After the war, when everybody was wearing full shoulders and full suits, Ivy came in. Ivy had been with us in the East for a long time, but it became very popular on a national level. Ivy has enjoyed a strong popularity, but just this last season something new has come over from Italy, and it’s Continental. It’s like Ivy in that it’s slim, but it’s a little more trimmed at the waist, a little more padding in the shoulder, the pockets are often slashed, and in addition the jacket is a little shorter, and you get accessories sometimes like the cuff and no belt.
Then Tom (the Ivy-clad fellow pictured above at left), perhaps concerned that the fashionableness of his attire may be nearing its expiration date, asks “Do you think Continental will replace the Ivy League style?”
Hef replies:
Playboy doesn’t think so. We did an article on it a couple of months ago. Ivy is so fundamental that I think it’s going to be with us. It’s basic, good conservative dress, and we think it’ll stay with us always. But Continental has a little more flair, it’s a little more elegant, and we think it fits those occasions when a man wants to dress up. We think there’s a place for both.
Ditching Ivy for Continental may be an error in judgment for us natural shoulder fans, but it’s not as bad as ditching clothing altogether in favor of pajamas.
After Hef’s style speech, he introduces Cal Tjader, who goes on to play the vibes in a gray sack suit and black knit tie (and with his specs and receding hairline, kinda looks like Newton Street Vintage circa 2009).
Here’s Tjader doing the lovely “Shina no yoru,” originally a Japanese propaganda song from the ’30s.
I like to sing it Nihon-go de in the shower. — CC
I banged out a little piece on the navy blazer for Gilt MANual, calling it the Swiss Army Knife of tailored jackets. And yes, I’ve actually worn it as a warm-up jacket to the tennis court. That’s probably a bit affected.
But it’s all part of downplaying the blazer’s stuffiness, since many guys find them garish (gold buttons) or boring.
While writing it, I thought of the 1964 Yale student in the photo above, who downplays his rep-striped and blazered propriety with sunglasses indoors and no socks, which, speaking of affectation, somehow seems a lot more natural in front of the lens of LIFE Magazine in 1964 than in front of street-style photographers in 2011. — CHRISTIAN CHENSVOLD
Last week Women’s Wear Daily ran a feature on the upcoming book “Preppy: Cultivating Ivy Style,” by Jeffrey Banks and Doria de La Chapelle.
Among other things, the story includes the great photo above of Deerfield Academy’s class of 1961. The story’s author, David Lipke, goes on to note preppy style’s relative imperviousness to change in the 50 years since the photo was taken.
Princeton gets mentioned as the leading artiber of the Ivy League Look in the following passage:
The book traces the origins of the style to the Ivy League universities of the East Coast, where, following World War I, a privileged set of young men developed a new style centered on a greater amount of leisure time and athletic influences. Princeton, in particular, was fertile ground for the cohesive new look, as it was among the more homogenous and isolated of the Eastern schools, with a student body largely compiled from just a handful of preparatory schools.
“Preppy: Cultivating Ivy Style” is due out October 4. — CC
Today is Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis’ birthday (she would have been 82), and obliquely in her honor we present a photo of her late husband captured wearing a buttondown collar, which he eschewed upon entering the national spotlight, saying they were “too Ivy League.” — CC
As an encore to last week’s Japanese illustration gallery, here’s a super-cool discovery: A pack of 1960s playing cards using cover art for the magazine Heibon Punch, by artist Ayumi Ohashi.
The cards, our translator tells us, depict a wide range of social situations and leisure activities and the proper attire for each. — CC (Continue)
The French preppy blog Greensleeves To A Ground dug up a series of photos depicting couples at Eastern Kentucky University from 1963-1964. Plenty of chinos, penny loafers, collegiate haircuts, and third button on the back of shirt collars.
Not to mention young couples gazing longingly into each other’s eyes at the most feverish “should we or shouldn’t we?” point in American history. — CC
