LOUNGEWEAR

Sartorial

CHAP ABOUT THE HOUSE

Chris Sullivan advocates embracing the noble tradition of wearing pyjamas and dressing gown while ensconced in one’s chambers

Of late, chaps the world over have been required by law to stay within the confines of their abodes, many working from home or at least pretending to, so surely the time is nigh for the well-dressed chap about the house to be suited, slippered and as well-dressed indoors as out? Some lesser mortals might consider the very concept of ‘well dressed’ at home a total anathema, as they slouch about in their ‘sweat’ pants and ‘sweat’ shirts, ‘sweating’ for Europe. But for the ready, willing, able and sartorially open-minded, the only possible solution is loungewear. This genre includes bedwear and its older relative, the dressing gown, and the luxuriously louche smoking jacket.

“Noel Coward, Rock Hudson, Ronald Coleman and George Sanders claimed the item as their own, until the image of the louche bedchamber buccaneer, replete in monogrammed silk pyjama, dressing gown and slippers, with a cigarette holder, was ingrained in our consciousness”

Some Edwardian chaps even went full kimono

A declaration of relaxation, the pyjama should command a sacred place in any man’s wardrobe for all manner of reasons. My Jama Dharma moment was delivered to my door in the form of a pair of Derek Rose pyjamas some years ago. Within a year I had accumulated another three pairs. Settling indoors after a hard day at the office, the switch to mufti is a declaration; a sartorial assertion both to myself and others that ‘I am not going out.’

In days of yore, when I suffered the infernal yoke of marriage, before I was halfway through the door, ‘er indoors would order me to the shop to pick up necessities like endive, ikan bilis or filé powder. There could be no argument, as she had had the good sense to don flimsy floaty things after dark that she considered unseemly down at the corner shop. Sometimes I would feign the need for ablution and quietly don the PJ while in the bathroom, to emerge untouchable. Ever since, I believe that my brain has subliminally associated the pyjama with peace and relaxation and, now that she’s long gone to pastures less interesting, I use the conceit on myself and totally disallow yours truly to pop out for anything whatsoever once in pyjamas. The result is that sometimes I have to opt for tea without milk, gin without tonic and potatoes without salt.

It seems that others agree with my infatuation; pyjamas are the favourite garments of Iggy Pop and Christopher Walken, while the late Hugh Hefner, who often teamed his with a smoking jacket, was rarely seen out of them. ‘I have about 100 pairs of pyjamas,’ he once declared.

The word pyjama comes from the Hindi word pai jama, meaning leg clothing, as initially they consisted of just the pants worn underneath a knee length tunic in India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Iran, and first appeared in the West during the Renaissance. Pyjamas were popular in the UK until the 17th Century, when the nightdress, for some unfathomable reason, usurped their place.

Their popularity took an almighty leap after the Opium Wars in 1847 when P&O, after shifting 642,000 chests of Bengal and Malwa opium, used their Steam Auxiliary Ship to bear adventurous chaps to the Far East and beyond. Soon cheeky scamps of all ages were dragging back Oriental curios such as Japanese prints, and stimulants such as opium and hashish. Smoking both was more suited to staying in and dressing in the incredibly groovy loungewear they’d also picked up than going about town suited and booted. Thus the imported pyjama, whether Chinese, Persian or Indian, became a huge status symbol that conveyed its owner’s familiarity with those regions, from soldiers such as General John Nicholson, adventurers like Richard Francis Burton or mad, bad and sexually incorrigible aristocrats such as Lord Byron.

“I picked these up in Phagwara in the Punjab for a song,” he said when asked of his pyjama. “I far prefer them to the silk pair that were bestowed upon me in Hong Kong.”

“It was not done for a chap to swan about in his singlet and boxers for, apart from being indecorous, it was also too blooming cold, while today’s fashion for T-shirt and sweat pants is just not good enough. All they articulate is, ‘I am a slob’ whereas a pyjama says, ‘I care how I dress all the time”

Bohemians such as the sexually ambiguous Frederick Leighton – a frequent visitor to Algeria and Turkey – were often painted in loungewear against exotic and often erotic backdrops. Aesthetes such as Beardsley, Wilde and Whistler were often seen in dressing gowns or smoking jackets, while the monogrammed Chinese silk pyjama or authentic Japanese male kimono marked the true aficionado.

Post fin de siècle, the item took another drop in popularity that swung in favour of the nightshirt a-la-Scrooge. Perhaps the loose-fitting pyjama and the even loucher dressing gown had been so synonymous with the Aesthetic Movement, and especially the disgraced Oscar Wilde, that when he went down he took the pyjama with him, ushering in a new era of prudishness.

In the 1920s, men took to the pyjama en masse. In those days, one didn’t lounge about in one’s suit or shirt and tie after work. One hung them up, made oneself comfortable and slipped into the jim jam, now being produced by a bevy of fine companies such as Turnbull and Asser, New and Lingwood and Derek Rose who, in 1926, under the auspices of Lou Rose, started the business in London, using the finest silks and cottons to create luxurious nightwear.

In 1930, when the Hays Motion Picture Production Code was implemented across all US movies, the pyjama solved all the problems that said moral code posed when depicting a man in his boudoir. The item boomed, some in Cossack style buttoned at the neck, while others in a Grenadier or Musketeer fashion, prompting Men’s Wear Magazine to ask in 1935. ‘Will little timid fellows with bald heads buy these sleeping garments or will they be purchased by great brawny athletic types?’ The jury is still out but, nevertheless, in the thirties the likes of Noel Coward, Rock Hudson, Ronald Coleman and George Sanders claimed the item as their own, until the image of the louche bedchamber buccaneer, replete in monogrammed silk pyjama, dressing gown and slippers, with a cigarette holder, was ingrained in our consciousness.

Consequently, the classic piped pyjama became standard mufti for every boy and man in the UK and US, right until the advent of sportswear. Of course, the pyjama answered all the problems. Back then it was not done for a chap to swan about in his singlet and boxers as, apart from being indecorous, it was also too blooming cold, while today’s fashion for T-shirt and sweat pants is just not good enough.

All they articulate is, ‘I am a slob’ whereas a pyjama says, ‘I care how I dress all the time.’

But there’s more to lounge wear than the pyjama. As winter looms, another layer is often needed, and that quite naturally comes in the form of the dressing gown or the smoking jacket.

The dressing gown made its first appearance in the UK in the 17th Century and was so popular that Samuel Pepys, when having his portrait painted, had to rent one to appear seemly.

‘Thence home and eat one mouthful, and so to Hale’s and there sat until almost quite dark upon working in my gowne, which I hired to be drawn in it – an Indian gown, and I do see all the reason to expect a most excellent picture of it. – Samuel Pepys Diary, 30th March 1666

Originally, they were strictly only worn inside and were called Indian or Persian gowns, due to their Eastern origin and Oriental cut. Constructed from cotton, then jacquard silk or brocade, velvet or damask, they were entirely devoid of buttons, employing a rather jaunty sash to fasten. Due to the absence of central heating, most robes were primarily functional and often made of wool or thick cotton in check or plain, with the trademark piping on the collar. Conan Doyle opted for said garment as essential mufti for his creation Sherlock Holmes; though functional, it still suggested the avant-garde that fitted his morphine and cocaine injecting sleuth. ‘He took off his coat and waistcoat, put on a large blue dressing-gown, and then wandered about the room collecting pillows from his bed, and cushions from the sofa and armchairs. With these he constructed a sort of Eastern divan, upon which he perched himself cross-legged, with an ounce of shag tobacco and a box of matches laid out in front of him.’

After World War I, men became more conscious of their appearance and the dressing gown became a mainstay for the more moneyed classes. It was during the twenties that the enduring image of a playboy at home was born, sipping a Martini while slouching about in dressing gown and pyjamas, often with a cravat. To further add to this louche silhouette, many opted for the heavy silk brocade or jacquard article, with designs depicting everything exotic from Spanish bullfights to Persian dancers, Asian dragons and Oriental scenes.

But what’s the difference between a dressing gown and a smoking jacket, I hear you ask? Usually the smoker has frogged button closures and, although still soft, is cut more like a formal jacket using thicker fabric, often velvet or heavyweight silk. The jacket first appeared in the 1850s in the UK and evolved out of the dinner jacket, and was worn simply to soak up cigar and pipe smoke. In 1960 The Gentleman’s Magazine of London described it as a ‘kind of short robe de chambre of velvet, cashmere, merino or printed flannel, lined with bright colours and ornamented with brandebourgs, olives or large buttons’.

In 1902 The Washington Post was of the opinion that the smoking jacket was “synonymous with comfort” and so it was. Consequently, it was de riguer for the playboy. Celebrity wearers included the likes of Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, Dean Martin, Frederick March, Charlie Chaplin, Keith Richards and Brian Jones and, last but not least, Fred Astaire, who was buried in a smoking jacket.

The gentleman’s boudoir ensemble has, for the 21st Century gadabout, never been as relevant as it is today. We’ve been forced to stay in so much of late, and now that restrictions have lifted, it’s time to drop the bad habits – such as not shaving – and hang on to the finer customs, such as dressing for indoors. I promise you, your world will seem a whole lot better, both inside and out. n