Oh! it is absurd to have a hard and fast rule about what one should read and what one shouldn't. More than half of modern culture depends on what one shouldn't read.
Replies Algernon Moncrieff in Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest shortly after having read the inscription of his friend, Jack Worthing’s private cigarette case. It goes without saying that Oscar Wilde is certainly part of the literature one should read but our new series “Literary Looks” is no literary criticism. In fact, it is much more concerned with the costumes of literary characters. In the first episode: Algernon Moncrieff.
Act I: Algernon Moncrieff (left) reads the inscription of Jack Worthing’s cigarette case.
Algy is one of the many youthful dandies of Oscar Wilde’s works. Although it seems like these days dandyism has become a fairly shallow term, applied generously to anyone who dresses “out of the ordinary”, Algy is one honorable representative. His dress is always impeccable. He despises the moralising lectures of his contemporaries and spends his time indulging in cucumber sandwiches and cynical comments on the conditions of society. A source of great pleasure are his ponderings on the alleged merits of marriage. The conversation he is having with Lane, his servant, in the beginning of the play is characteristic. Upon Algy’s question on why his attendants have made a habit out of drinking his champagne, Lane replies:
LANE: I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. I have often observed that in married households the champagne is rarely of a first-rate brand.
ALGERNON promptly responds: Good heavens! Is marriage so demoralising as that?
When his friend Jack Worthing comes by a little later to propose to Algy’s cousin Gwendolen Fairfax, Algy makes his point even clearer:
JACK: I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to propose to her.
ALGERNON: I thought you had come up for pleasure? … I call that business.
JACK: How utterly unromantic you are!
ALGERNON: I really don't see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal. Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the excitement is all over. The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If ever I get married, I'll certainly try to forget the fact.
However, Algy’s dandyism does not stop here. In fact, he is leading a carefully constructed double life. He invents a sickly friend called Bunbury who serves as a welcome excuse for avoiding social engagements. Bunburying, as Algy assures, is the only thing he is taking seriously.
ALGERNON: […] I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose. Bunbury is perfectly invaluable. If it wasn't for Bunbury's extraordinary bad health, for instance, I wouldn't be able to dine with you at Willis's to-night, for I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a week.
Although Jack himself has invented a brother for the very same purpose, he criticises Algy for his imanginary friend. Seldom is Wilde’s opposition to the Victorian double standard in morality as apparent as in this example. Jack’s doings are exactly as corrupt as Algy’s, but he feels the need to reprimand friend:
JACK: If you don't take care, your friend Bunbury will get you into a serious scrape someday.
ALGERNON: I love scrapes. They are the only things that are never serious.
JACK: Oh, that's nonsense, Algy. You never talk anything but nonsense.
ALGRNON: Nobody ever does.
Eventually, both of their double lifes are about to be found out and they come under pressure for failing to offer an explanation. Alongside Bunburying, there is one other passion Algy is taking very seriously: his appearances. He is described as debonair – his clothes would always be pristine.
So what exactly is Algy wearing in the play?
In the first act, he is dressed in a black Morning Suit and a dove grey double-breasted waistcoat. The trousers have a high waist and straight legs. The outfit is completed by a polka-dot cravat, a crisp white shirt with a very high collar and black Oxfords. Algy’s looks are very much up to date for the late 19th century. It is certainly no coincide that Jack is wearing frock coats which had already become less fashionable. It seems as though Algy is always ahead of the game. A fact that Algy makes no secret of. By far the most important part of his dress is the buttonhole – without it, he loses his appetite.
ALGERNON: […] Might I have a buttonhole first? I never have any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first.
CECILY: A Maréchal Niel?
ALGERNON: No, I'd sooner have a pink rose.
CECILY: Why?
ALGERNON: Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.
The second act takes place in Jack’s garden. Algy changes his dress accordingly and is now wearing a gingham-checked, grey Morning Suit made of tweed. He replaces the cravat with a checked bow tie and adds a boater hat. The white shirt, the shawl collar waistcoat and the black Oxfords are the same as before.
Act II: Algy and Cecily Cardew.
Jack appears in full mourning as his imaginary brother has passed away in the meantime – so much for his moral superiority. As Algy might reveal the fact that Jack has been leading a double life, Jack is eager to send him off to Australia. Jack even goes to London to buy his friend a new wardrobe for his trip. Algy, who does not have the faintest intention of going to Australia, takes the chance to ridicule Jack’s poor sense for neckties:
ALGERNON: I certainly wouldn't let Jack buy my outfit. He has no taste in neckties at all.
CECILY: I don't think you will require neckties. Uncle Jack is sending you to Australia.
ALGERNON: Australia! I'd sooner die.
Act II: Algy, Cecily and Jack (in full mourning).
As Algernon shows no interest in leaving, Jack seeks different measures to get rid of him. Once again, though, Jack cannot convince Algy. When he is accused of overdressing, Algy returns the favour with one of his signature witticisms.
JACK: Well, will you go if I change my clothes?
ALGERNON: Yes, if you are not too long. I never saw anybody take so long to dress, and with such little result.
JACK: Well, at any rate, that is better than being always over-dressed as you are.
ALGERNON: If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.
The mere fact that Jack intends to change Algy’s mind by changing his clothes is testimony to the great power that Algy ascribes to clothing. Nevertheless, Jack’s accusation remains ineffective and Algy stays put.
Once we learn about Jack and Algy’s family circumstances, it turns out that Algy’s name is in fact Ernest. Since Cecily has always been looking for a man by the name of Ernest, she is most enchanted by this revelation and – his earlier skepticism forgotten – Algy is eventually getting married. Alongside Jack and Gwendolen as well as Canon Chasuble and Miss Prism, Ernest (Algy) and Cecily are married in the play’s final scene.
Hence, even Algy must recognise the importance of being Ernest.
Now, if you should be tempted to give up your double life or if you are simply about to be married, we would suggest the following outfit:
A three-piece Morning Suit consisting of a black herringbone jacket with wide, peak lapels and a link-front closure. We would recommend mid-grey trousers which might feature Stresemann-stripes or a houndstooth check. Combine it with a double-breasted linen waistcoat in pink, yellow or baby blue and finish it off with an ecru shirt, a beige glencheck tie and black Oxfords. Don’t forget the buttonhole – you might lose your appetite.
Please excuse me for now, I need to take care of a sickly friend.
