Men's Clothing in the Early 1700s

by Marie-Louise Jensen

Has there ever been a time when dress for men was more colourful, extravagant and downright splendid than the first half of the eighteenth century? I'm speaking of the wealthy, of course, who were always the privileged few who could enjoy the extravagances of fashion.
I've always found the ruffs and hose of the Tudor and Elizabethan era faintly ridiculous. And I'm not alone in that, it seems, as the series The Tudors opted for historically incorrect trousers, fearing the modern viewer might just not find the clinging hose sexy enough.
And however worthy it might have been, the severity and plainness of the Puritan era wasn't precisely eye-catching. But as we moved into the Restoration and the early Georgian era, men tricked themselves out, for a while, as gorgeous as butterflies.

Breeches generally buttoned just below the knee and were buttoned by various designs at the waist, sometimes with a large flap that pulled between the legs. For formal wear they could be made of satin. The effect was very elegant. Beneath the breeches, silk stockings would be tied with a garter above the knee. These cost quite a few shillings - extravagant indeed - and were often clocked (embroidered with a pattern). Shoes often sported a heel and a buckle. Shirts were of linen, open at the neck and with a stand up collar. Varying amounts of lace could be added on in the form of a necktie and in ruffs at the wrists. Waistcoats were often elaborately hand embroidered at stupendous cost and generally much longer than today's waistcoats. A coat would be worn too, also fabulously embellished with trim and buttons, quite possibly made of brocade silk of a quality that is (I am assured) simply no longer available today because it would cost too much. And then the wig - ah that exquisitely expensive creation! There were a number of different types at different times and for different pursuits. My favourite is the formal long-bottomed wig, popular early in the 1700s. Long loose curls were thickly powdered with hair powder and tumbled down over the shoulders. I wonder if they got powder on the coat? Powder later went out of fashion when the government was unwise enough to tax it.
A gentlemen could not be considered completely dressed without his small-sword at his side, of course, and vents were especially included in the pleats of the coat's skirts to accommodate one. Scarcely a wise addition to the costume in those days of heavy drinking and gaming. Lives were frequently lost.

(This picture a little later than the era I'm describing. I had trouble finding an image without copyright.) When describing my characters dressed thus, I often sigh for a glimpse into a ball or gathering in the past. A few aspects of the dress may strike us as less attractive however. Under the wig (were they horribly sweaty to wear, I wonder?) the head was close shaven. Men's shoes often had heels as high as the ladies, which might seem odd to us. And I wonder how they got on washing all that brocade silk and satin? Not all that often, I shouldn't think. But don't worry. They were pretty lavish with the scent.

Wiggery by K. M. Grant

Not a bloody blog this month; a wiggy one instead. Perhaps it’s because I have such awful hair - a miserably skinny plait in childhood – that when meandering round the web, gearing up to write, I suddenly ordered wigs. Not wigs to wear every day – things are not that dire yet. I wanted wigs to get me in the mood. Hard choices had to be made. I toyed with Saloon Madam, Medeia and Geisha and eventually plumped for Marie-Antoinette, Pompadour, pink milkmaid and a blue Marge Simpson affair. Wigs without heads look rather silly. Dotted about this post are photographs of me bewigged. I also look rather silly.

Indeed, wigs are always funny. When my mother had cancer and lost all her hair, we found much to amuse in the proffered wig selection. She opted against, in the end, and went for the bohemian scarf look. It was a light moment at a dark time.

It’s not just our era that hoots at wigs, though. I think wigs have always raised a smile. The splendidly named Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, writing from Paris in 1718, was most amused by friends with their Hair cut short and curled round their faces, loaded with powder that makes it look like white wool, and then on their cheeks to their chins, unmercifully laid on, a shining red japan that glisters in a most flameing manner that they seem to have no resemblance to human faces, and I am apt to believe took the first hint of their dress from a fair sheep new raddled.
(From Anne Buck’s comprehensive Dress in Eighteenth Century England, B. T. Batsford Ltd., London 1999.)

The word ‘wig’, short for ‘periwig’, seems to have appeared in 1675, but the idea of the wig has been around since the ancient Egyptians suffered sunstroke. As with so many other things, wigs were born of practicality but, because humans are really peacocks, soon found themselves suborned into the great world of vanity. Decorated with preposterous appendages and all stuck together with bacon fat, they were not only 'must wears', they also made useful homes for assorted creepycrawlies. It wasn't unknown for a lady to go to a party bearing one family of mice on her head, only to return with another. Wigs were useful to balding men and even if you weren't bald, saved you the bother of washing your hair. Royalty turned them into a character statement: Elizabeth 1st famously wore a smart red wig to show she was a smart, fiery kind of gal; Charles II preferred a loose silky one, to show he was a loose, silky kind of chap.

Powdering the wig, as Alice’s grandmother does in my How the Hangman Lost His Heart, was not without its dangers, as Gay’s poem ‘Trivia’ illustrates:

You sometimes meet a Fop of nicest Tread
Whose mantling Peruke veils his empty Head
Him, like the Miller, pass with Caution by
Lest from his Shoulders Clouds of powder fly.
(again, courtesy of Anne Buck)

A Powder Tax instituted in 1786 indicates that there were enough 'clouds' for the Exchequer to take an interest. I can find no record of this tax being abolished.

My wigs (unpowdered, let me assure HMRC) are supposedly strictly for procrastination purposes. They live in a bag by my desk and when I can’t think of anything better to do, I put one on. But our house is chilly and the wigs are beautifully warm. Here lurks a danger. Sometimes I forget to take the wig off, and once got all the way onto the main road before realising the top of my head was still Duchess of Devonshire Aiming to Shock. Unsurprisingly, my children were never keen for me to meet them at the school gate. I considered that a wiggy bonus.