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Do They Make the Man?
National Review, March 10, 2003 by David Klinghoffer
Uniforms: Why We Are What We Wear, by Paul Fussell (Houghton Mifflin, 192 pp., $22)
For a six-year-old Jewish boy growing up in Southern California in 1971, I had an unlikely obsession: to find and buy a miniature replica of a World War II German infantry uniform. It was to be an accessory for my G.I. Joe, the Hasbro "action figure," a.k.a. doll for boys. I'd seen it once somewhere -- complete with helmet, boots, canteen, Luger, and oddly shaped German "stick" grenade -- and spent one fruitless afternoon calling up every toy store in the Yellow Pages. Apparently, and no surprise given the dubiousness of selling Nazi paraphernalia to children, it had been discontinued.
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What a difference three decades makes. When I looked up the item on eBay a moment ago, I found that it is readily available from a collector in St. Augustine, Fla., the current auction price having reached $8.99. Such is the fascination of uniforms -- which happens to be the subject of Paul Fussell's new book -- that I'm considering making a bid.
In Fussell's survey of the subject, the Germans get a chapter to themselves, so triumphant -- let's be frank -- was the Nazi drive to perfect the coolest military uniforms of the 20th century. As Fussell writes, in terms of style as well as soul -- remembering that soul can be evil as well as good -- the black of the SS, ornamented by the signature skull-and-crossbones, competes only with the splendidly colorful dress uniform of the U.S. Marines. Himmler himself designed the uniform, inspired by the example of the Jesuits, whom he admired.
Into this short, stylish, pungently written book, Fussell has packed about as much information as you could want, covering the military and the civilian spheres alike. Did you know that the traditional Roman collar of the Catholic clergy goes back only to the 19th century? That the headcovering worn by bishops and more exalted officials of the Church, an intriguing yarmulke-like skullcap, is called the zucchetto, and that its three colors designate successively higher ranks -- violet, scarlet, and white, for bishops, cardinals, and the Pope?
Fussell is good at identifying the origins of some familiar uniforms. Today, "all over the world ground troops look alike, a considerable difficulty, one might think, in the conduct of ground warfare" -- a military convention attributable to the American encounter in World War II with Nazi troops at Normandy. The Germans were attired in camouflage "leopard suits." Apparently no one had ever thought of composing uniforms in this way, but U.S. troops were impressed, the idea spread, and now such combat fatigues are standard for all armies, which hope their "infantrymen [will] look like leaves or some natural flora and thus deceive the enemy."
An emeritus English professor at Penn, Fussell has his own personal uniform, which he shares with many other American men who wish to "stay out of sartorial trouble": the classic blue blazer and khaki pants. The design of the former arises from defunct British military considerations. The vent in the back of the jacket was originally intended not to accommodate an ample behind but to allow the wearer to sit elegantly on his horse. "It assumes that . . . being . . . an officer and gentleman, [he] will be mounted most of the time, and the vent keeps the jacket from bunching up when the officer is in the saddle."
But Fussell's originality comes in trying to explain what uniforms do for us. Yes, they keep armies visually distinct from one another -- or they did, until the introduction of camouflage. Yes, they save trouble. It's easier to throw on your khakis and blazer than to have to think up a new outfit for yourself every morning. But Fussell alerts us to deeper reasons for the pull exercised by uniforms. When placed on the bodies of soldiers, they allow the soul of a nation to speak in a visual language. Thus he emphasizes the casual attire of U.S. soldiers of World War II, compared to that of their European counterparts. Something about the shapeless bagginess, the lack of pretense, expressed the American attitude that war isn't something to be relished or gloried in amid angry threats and violent words, but rather something to get done as well and as quickly as possible. It reminds you of the attitude of a surgeon, not so dissimilarly uniformed, who bears no hatred toward the cancerous growth but simply wants it out so that the patient can recover.
To illustrate, Fussell recalls a memorable scene from World War II: "The pictures of the Japanese surrender on the deck of the USS Missouri are some of the most significant of the whole war: the triumphant Allied officers in their informal, unpretentious khakis, pressing forward for a sight of the humiliated, overdressed Japanese officers and diplomats wearing standard hot uniforms and striped trousers, black tailcoats, and silk top hats."
In civilian life, uniforms can serve a different function, no less profound. There seems to be a widespread human need to live inside a narrative: to feel you are part of a storyline that exceeds in importance and excitement that of someone who merely gets up in the morning to go to work or school, comes home at night, goes to sleep, and does it all over again the next day, and so on for decades until he finally collapses and dies. To create meaning in life, it's common for people to fantasize -- not to give themselves over entirely to daydreams but to import dream elements into their daily existence. Men and women accomplish this in various ways -- for example, by joining organizations or attending schools that conjure romantic images of a glorious past. They also do it by putting on certain clothing, which likewise conjures the wearer into a story, a narrative. Fussell alludes to this when he writes that "one of [a uniform's] functions is to let you assume a character not your own." This brings us to what may be the most valuable thing about civilian uniforms, at least in America, where it is not the more highly paid or honored members of society who end up so attired. It isn't Hollywood executives and corporate lawyers who wear formal uniforms, but rather our waitresses and doormen, Amtrak conductors and delivery personnel. Fussell writes:
