Black Tie Still Required

• Share

They show no mercy. Face it. Women will say anything to get men to wear tuxedoes.

There is the traditionalist ploy. "The tuxedo has always been a man's uniform for night," says Nonnie Moore, fashion director of Gentlemen's Quarterly. "Men are being more businesslike, and the tuxedo is more important than ever."

There is intimidation. "I think any guy who doesn't wear a black tie when the invitation says black tie is really tacky," insists Glamour Editor Charla Krupp. "It's not cool anymore not to wear one. It's just cheap."

And there is something else. "I prefer to take a man home in black tie, not a sweater," confesses Fashion Designer Barbara De Vries. "I love it. The black and white is very sexy."

Want to fit in? Wear a tux. Want to hold your head high? Tie a piece of black silk under your Adam's apple. (Clip-ons are permissible -- if not entirely excusable -- only for maitre d's at restaurants that revolve atop the city's tallest building.) Want to -- be honest, now -- leave the party with some new company? Go in grosgrain.

Do you buy this? Yes, you do.

The numbers say so. Both sales and rentals of tuxedoes have split the seams since 1981. The American Formalwear Association reports that sales, which were at $65 million in 1981, hit $100 million in 1985. The Chicago-based Gingiss International, the nation's largest formal-wear rental chain, did $500 million in tuxedo rentals last year, up 50% from 1981. At New York City's Waldorf- Astoria, 60% of last year's banqueters showed up in formal gear, up from 45% in 1981. That means, according to the hotel, that 195,000 folks showed up at the Waldorf to put on the ritz. "The intensity of private fund-raising dinners, due to Government cutbacks, has increased and thus the increase in black-tie events," explains Waldorf Catering Director Lawrence Harvey. "In my set," says New York City Socialite Mrs. Thayer Gilpatric, "the tuxedo never went out." A century ago, however, the tuxedo almost got kicked out of Gilpatric's set. Griswold Lorillard -- scion, as social columnists would put it, of the tobacco Lorillards -- showed up in the rarefied regions of the country club at Tuxedo Park, N.Y., wearing a red waistcoat with his best bib and tucker. The incendiary vest was bad enough, but what really stirred up the swells was the inescapable fact that Griswold's tails did not have any. The tailcoat was cut even and short, like a suit jacket. Scion or not, Griswold almost got the bounce, until cooler heads and appraising eyes took over.

Not long after Griswold's entrance, tuxedoes became socially acceptable. By the turn of the century, tailors were producing tuxes as blithely as they turned cuffs; the rage became the rule. The first off-the-peg tux appeared around World War I, and tails were dusted off mostly for coronations. Movie stars such as Gary Cooper, William Powell, Cary Grant and Fred Astaire burnished the national formal-fashion ideal. Cooper looked as cool in a dinner jacket as he did in jeans.