At the front of the latest Details, there are three consecutive
advertisements: a black-and-white ad featuring a waifish model
for the cologne “Obsession for Men”; a two-page spread for
Evian water, including a poem: “In me lives a wildcat who
chases the moon and races the wind . . .”; and a color photo of
a man in his undies for “Versace Intensive.” Not so long ago
someone might have flipped through these pages and asked: Is
Details li^ay magazine.>
But the sensibility of those ads pervades the men’s-magazine
market, “KISS WITH CONFIDENCE AND BEAT BAD BREATH”
and “CALM DOWN! CALM DOWN! DEAL WITH PANIC ATTACKS”
are cover lines one might expect from TM or Seventeen, but
instead they appear on the September issue of the British Gjg
spin-off, GQ^Active (“Admittedly,” says the article inside, “80
per cent of these [victims of panic attacks] will be women, but
that still leaves 250,000 to 600,000 of your Y-chromosomebearing
colleagues suffering a debilitating condition. . .”).
What’s happened? First, the old masculine attitude toward
personal appearance has all but disappeared. If childhood
(Continues on page 80)
Dressing Down
IT’S A DIFFICULT time of year for
me. The fashion magazines have
their big fall issues on the stands,
bursting with style news. I buy them
all and look at the pictures. It doesn’t
help. I’m garmentally challenged.
It’s a Nineties thing. My mother, who
came of age in the Fifties, is the epitome
of style. I’m a slob. God knows she
tried to impart her natural sense of style
to me, but when I was young and impressionable,
Calvin and Ralph told me
I could wear jeans anywhere.
I’m not saying every member of my
generation is an unkempt clod, but we
miss a clothing savvy that was fundamental
a few decades back. Even the
very fashionable these days opt for casual
ease when their time is their own.
Hey, was that JFK Jr. or a bike messenger?
Women in the Fifties and Sixties saw
Jacqueline Kennedy first as a trendsetter
and then as a one-woman style revolution.
But when I turned 18, Rosalynn
Carter was First Lady—attractive woman,
not a style maven. Now Hillary
Clinton—interesting hair story there for
a while, but iioTacaetl-T-a-fashion role
model. The Fifties career girl was Doris
Day. Ours is £li®B-~DeGen_eres. (Wh^S
with the pants all the time? Oh, right.)
Their TV mom was June Cleaver.
Ours—RoseaUQ®?”^
We used to have standards and expectations.
And hats, gloves, and hosiery to
Mrs. Konig is a former editor o/Seventeen.
match. Formality was Ae rigueur. Appearance
counted for something; it reflected
one’s background and upbringing.
Young people at mid-century had begun
life during the Depression and spent
childhood enduring a world war. So
making the best of what they had was a
matter of pride.
Forty years ago, women went to work
in trim skirt-and-sweater sets and pearls,
nylons, and high heels. Up five hundred
steps to the elevated train and across 47
avenues to work, as mother tells it, in
heels. No slipping into sneakers. Now
we’re roller-blading there.
Perhaps the decline began in the Sixties,
when people had a reason for looking
bad. It was a metaphor for revolution,
man! But who can explain the
Seventies? I spent the entire decade in a
school uniform, so I don’t think its
groovy fashions contributed to my own
lack of style.
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