Stewardesses

United Airlines uniform in 1968

BEA's classic uniforms from 1960

Japan Airlines uniforms by Mohei Ito from 1958

Alitalia crew uniforms in the 1990s by Giorgio Armani

Germany's budget airline LTU  uniforms - From L-R, 1968, 1969 and 1970

SAS uniforms designed by Mark McNairy in 1999

Braniff "Babes," as they were known, model Pucci uniforms in 1966

Olympic Airlines uniforms designed by Yannia Tseklenis in 1971

Southwestern Airlines boots and hot pants in 1973

BOAC stewardess in 'Suzy Wong' style dress - 1966

Janet Jackson of American Airlines tests public reaction to a miniskirted uniform in 1965

Back when I was married there were a number of my wife's friends from D.C. who couldn't make it to our wedding. A few, I had never met, so we'd get together for dinner, usually in Old Town Alexandria, where we had a favorite Chinese place on King Street.  One of my wife's friends was a stewardess for American Airlines.

Even though we were seated at a table, I couldn't help but notice how tall my wife's friend was, at least six feet.  Without any makeup she was utterly striking.  Light brown hair, high cheek bones... I don't think it's an exagerration to say she resembled Marisa Berenson in Barry Lyndon.  And like Berenson, she had an exceptional body. 

I was trying not to look at her, less I stare in front of my new bride, and found distraction by slathering plum sauce on a Moo Shoo pork pancake.  Head down and focused on my plate, she and my wife discussed her recent illness and inability, the stewardess thought, to shake a cold due to a confined L-1011  aircraft and the huge number of passengers who were sick with colds.

My wife asked if she had seen a doctor as I greedily brought the Moo Shoo filled pancake to my mouth, took a bite and chewed while focusing my attention on my Tsingtao label.  "I really don't like seeing my doctor," she said.  My wife asked why not.  She said every time she saw her doctor he would have her disrobe and run in place for about a minute, after which, he would take her pulse.

I stopped chewing, slowly looked up from my beer label and saw the stewardess shift uncomfortably in her chair.  My wife placed a hand on hers and asked, or confirmed, that the running was done naked.  The stewardess nodded and added it was part of the exam - according to her doctor.  I asked how old her doctor was.  She wasn't sure but thought he looked a lot like Ben Franklin.  I asked what the doctor did while she was running in place.  She said he did nothing -- He just sat in front of her and watched.

It seems everyone in NYC has a cold or the flu.  I'm not sure I can run in place for a minute.  These days, I get winded rolling over in bed.  Still, as old Ben would say, "an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."

The Duke's Closet

I try to keep my other blog separate from The Trad but did want to share something on Veteran's Day. You can see it here.

There were many influences on my southern sartorial upbringing. A golf pro cousin in Hilton Head. The Cowan's Ford Country Club on Lake Norman. Chapel Hill. The Ft Monroe Officer's Club. But nothing comes close to the effect my enlistment in the army had. Your appearance was everything and rarely did a good soldier dress like Joe Shit the Rag Man... although I was a good example of a poor soldier dressing well.

The Duke was a soldier, sailor and airman. Certainly there was an affection for uniforms but this love of the cloth -- and of the very best military tailoring -- must have influenced him for the rest of his life. Tailoring in my army consisted of $10 to the cleaners for pegged trousers and buying jackets one size smaller. I guess you have to start somewhere.

Trad Duffel Bag

There were a lot of bloggers going through attics over the holidays. Maybe we're all looking to the past for inspiration as well as waist sizes to be proud of. Hey, I wasn't always a fat bastard.

Last winter Rugby came out with a pretty snappy field coat. It was a dead ringer for the Army Issued Field jacket. Rugby wanted $350 for their version. Mine was free. Actually, I paid $20 for this at a Army Surplus store and had the patches from my issued field coat sewn on. I did this for two reasons: 1-The purchased field coat is from the early 50s and looks better than what I was issued in the 70s. 2- I can't fit into my issued field coat.

A mixture in a duffel bag of my stuff and my fathers. Like a Bordeaux, the tannins have softened and the material has taken on a patina. A mishianza of issued (my stuff) and purchased (Dad's stuff) apparel made by manufacturers long gone.

The helmet graffiti from a Cold War steel pot hardly means what it used to. How I miss godless communism.

I wore my Dad's dress blue trousers to high school. The old man would have never allowed this so I put a pair of jeans over them at home and took the jeans off when I got to school. While shooting for a John Wayne like effect --it came off more like F Troop. I do not recommend this to the Army Brats of today.

My father was on a couple of rifle teams in the Army and I was given this ^ jacket when I joined a rifle team at Ft Monroe at 15. I remember wood blocks of .22 LR cartridges and my father coaching me. Kneeling next to my prone position he whispered, "Don't look at the target. Put the blur of the target on top of your sight." Four years later on a M16 range I qualified second highest in my basic training company (76/80) and got to ride back in the Mess Hall truck rather than force march back to the barracks with the sadistic, Drill Sergeant Hunt. I never did thank my father for this.

Fatigues from the late 70s and early 80s. All cotton before the wash and wear started popping up everywhere. U. S. Army stood for, "Uncle Sam Ain't Released Me Yet"

A Judo Gi. Soft as cashmere today but I remember it hard and crusty in high school. A third degree brown belt. Sankyo was it? My father was taking Judo as well. I beat him to the Brown and offered him a Randori. He told me he would bite my adam's apple out and spit it in my face. I never brought the subject up again.

A bespoke hybrid of sorts. A Vietnamese field jacket custom lined with a U.S. Army issued poncho liner. My father wore this in Vietnam along with the much sought after French Foreign Legion Paratrooper smock. Currently in my collection as well. Army poncho liners from the 60s were the softest things going. Having your sleeping bag lined with one of these beautiful babies was real luxury and if not the sign of a lifer...certainly the sign of an erudite hedonist.

The label ^ appears to be all the rage in fashion today. Knocked off by RL and his designers (I'd still like to know if any of his people ever served?). I guess they like the realism of washing instructions. Army labels were always written for morons. For instance, the always interesting warning on a Claymore Mine, "This Side Towards Enemy" Good to know your audience.

That's ^ a Class A Blouse or jacket. I love the name of the manufacturer. Saddly, a Google search only brings up Ebay listings for old uniforms.
Those ^ are Canadian Fatigue trousers secured via a trade while going through Canadian Jump School. Worn throughout college with boy's size 20 Polo oxford buttondowns. That was one advantage to being short and skinny.

The Army loved permanent creasing. Tennessee Overall Co? Gone. Long gone.

I am so bloody proud of those wings. It took a lot of Labatt's Blue and Export A's to get them.

Uniforms

I have a love of uniforms. I guess they represent a stability and security I grew up with. The photo above is my father about the time the photo below was taken of me preparing a bivouac.

I grew up immersed in starched khaki and olive drab. Dress blues and green berets. Jump boots and Jungle boots. I couldn't wait for my first uniform.

And here it is. Cub Scouts not only provided a uniform but also a closed world of shopping at Belks in the Boy Scout department. Only open to members you see. Jack knives, balsa wood scarf holders that I never could finish and a library of books and badges. My introduction to the love of bobbles.

Next came Junior ROTC. Certainly the Naval uniform stood head and shoulders above those Army and Air Force affairs laden with ugly patches, ranks, ribbons and medals for brushing your teeth five days in a row.

The Army was not junior ROTC but I'd be lying if I told it wasn't close. A common chorus among the troops, "What's the difference between the Boy Scouts and the Army? The Boy Scouts have adult leadership." Still, that beret was a jaunty piece of head gear. I ripped the lining out of mine and wore it in the shower a few times until it molded to my head. I was not alone in doing this. I also had my fatigue trousers tapered and spent hours shining those jump boots

After college there was another uniform. Ivy, Trad, North American Traditional (NAT?), whatever you wanna call it - -I called it home. It was (and is) the prefect uniform for someone who doesn't have a uniform anymore. The picture above is at a friends wedding on the Main Line in the late 80s. I was wearing the Summer uniform. Seersucker suit, white bucks, argyle socks, rep tie and braces. I'm not saying it's the only thing to wear. I'm just saying it's simple.

When my Grandmother asked for a retirement portrait of my father in his dress blues - - I don't think the above is what she had in mind. Olan Mills would have sufficed but as I've mentioned before--my old man is a bit out of the box. A genius. But out of the box. Still, he wore what meant the most to him and his career... his Combat Infantry Badge and Jump Wings rather than the three rows of medals - - some for brushing your teeth five days in a row. Of course, he never had a girlfriend paint his portrait.

I miss uniforms. They made me feel like I belonged to whatever it was I was doing at the time. Cub Scouts, ROTC, Paratrooper, Deputy Sheriff, Park Ranger...even a salesman. Starched oxford cloth button down, pressed khakis, shell cordovan shoes, a navy blazer or suit...It's still about feeling a part of something. Whether you belong or not doesn't really matter.