OF THE CHIEF OUTWARD CHARACTERISTICS OF THE GENT.
ONE has only to look into the advertisements of cheap tailors, and the
windows of ticketed shops, to form a very good notion of the other
principal marks by which the Gent may be distinguished.
It should be borne in mind, that the main object of the Gent is to
assume a position which he conceives to be superior to his own.
Now this, he fancies, is in a great measure accomplished by
out-of-the-way clothes—a mark of superiority which has the advantage of
requiring but a small outlay of intellect; and cunning manufacturers
invent things on purpose to suit this taste, as the men of Manchester
export gay-coloured, large-figured patterns for the negroes.
For him the cheap Tailor announces the “Gent’s Vest”—which is the Hebrew
for “Snob’s Waistcoat”—as patronised by the nobility. To catch his eye
alone, are the representations of men of _ton_ put at the side of the
advertisements; and, for his inspection, do the dummies stand at the
doors of the shops, invested in the splendour of an entire suit, with an
impossible waist, “made to measure for the same terms.”
And we may observe that the Gents usually speak of their get-up as _the
ticket_—the term possibly being used in allusion to the badge which
distinguished their various articles of dress when exposed for sale.
And, in writing these, the leaning of the Gents towards distinguished
associations is very evident. A great coat must be a “Chesterfield,” a
“Taglioni,” or a “Codrington;” a little rag of coloured silk for the
neck is called a “Byron Tie;” and so on. If the things are not dignified
by these terms, the Gent does not think much of them.
To his taste does the ready-made Shoemaker appeal in the short fancy
_Alberts_, ticketed “The Fashion.” If you are accustomed to derive a
little gratuitous amusement from shop windows, as you go along the
streets, you will see in them the funniest things, meant for the Gents,
that it is possible to conceive. The most favourite style of _chaussure_
is a species of cloth-boot, with a shiny-leather toe, and a close row of
little mother-of-pearl shirt-buttons down the front; not for any
purpose, for they are simply sewn on, the real method of fastening on
the brodequin being by the humble lace and tag of domestic life, at the
side.
[Illustration]
But it is with the Haberdashers that the toilet of the Gents comes out
strongest.
You will see “Gents’ Dress Kid” ticketed in the window. Be ye sure that
they are large sized, awkwardly cut, yellow kid gloves, at
one-and-sixpence. The tint is evidently a weakness with the Gents, who
think them dashing, and say they come from _Hoobegongs_. But the
merchants, lacking discrimination, believe that the predisposition is
general. We will wager a dozen pairs of them that you never went into
one of these establishments, and simply and decidedly demanded a pair of
white kid gloves, but you were immediately asked “if you would not
prefer straw-coloured?”
And then the stocks—what marvellous cravats they form! Blue always the
favourite colour—blue, with gold sprigs! blue, with a crimson floss-silk
flower! blue Joinvilles, with rainbow ends! And, if they are black and
long, they are fashioned into quaint conceits: Frills of black satin
down the front, or bands of the same fabric looking like an imitation of
crimped skate; or studs of jet made like buttons, as if the Gent wore a
cheap, black satin shirt, and that was where it fastened. And the white
stocks are more fanciful still. They are not very popular in their
simple form; for the Gents feel that they cannot help looking like
waiters in them; and so a little illegitimate finery is necessary. Hence
they have lace ends, like the stamped papers from the top of _bon-bon_
and French plum boxes. And the effect in society is very fine.
[Illustration]
The Jewellers consult the Gents, and for them manufacture various
dashing articles in electro-gold. Some of the ornaments for the cravat
are like large white currants, with gilt eels twisting round them; and
others like blanket-pins with water on the brain. We have also seen some
sporting Gents—of whom we shall hereafter speak—with mosaic gold heads
of horses and foxes stuck in their stocks. And they love rings in
profusion, which we have seen them at times wear outside their gloves.
But this, perhaps, was an advantage, as Gents are accustomed, in
general, to wear their hands large and red, with flattened ends to the
fingers.
[Illustration]
It is for the Gents to buy, that the print-sellers put forward those
dreary pictures of the _Pets of the Ballet_; consisting chiefly of
chubby young persons, in short petticoats and ungraceful attitudes, like
nothing ever seen on the stage anywhere; and coloured lithographs of
housemaids cleaning steps; and chambermaids with flat candlesticks in
their hands; and women with large black dots of eyes and heavy ringlets,
trying on shoes. One was very popular a little time ago. It represented
a young lady something between a hairdresser’s dummy and a barmaid, with
a man’s coat and hat on over her own dress. She was looking through an
eye-glass at the top of a whip, and underneath was written
“_damme!_”—why, or wherefore, or in what relation to the singular mode
of toilet she has adopted, or what the word itself meant in the
abstract, we never could make out. But the Gents seemed to know all
about it, and bought the picture furiously.
By the tokens above mentioned—including always the staring shawl and the
_al fresco_ cigar—you may know the Gent when you see him, even if you
met him on the top of Mont Blanc—a place, however, where you are not
very likely to encounter him. He prefers Windmill Hill.
[Illustration]
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