Editor’s Note: This piece originally appeared in the print version of the 8/29/01 issue of Pittsburgh City Paper. Hopefully CP does first run rights so that Erin’s permission is enough to reprint this, but don’t sue me if I’m wrong.

Then and Now: The Handkerchief

What’s Snot Got To Do With It? · What’s Snot To Love · This Ain’t Your Grandfather’s Hanky · Hankering For the Past

Erin Rhodes

There’s an old Irish proverb that says, “always carry two handkerchiefs... one to show and one to blow.” Well, today most people don’t even carry one handkerchief, let alone two. So where have all the hankies gone? Has the facial tissue finally defeated the hanky as the nose-wiper of choice? Or are there multitudes of closet hankie-users out there who are just too afraid to step forward? Strangely enough, it wasn’t until much later in its life that the handkerchief was used for the utilitarian purpose of wiping the nose. For centuries, the handkerchief has been a symbol of politics, love, and social status. Shakespeare’s Othello and Desdemona even squabbled about one handkerchief in particular. Today, antique handkerchiefs can sell for well over a thousand dollars. And, of course, who doesn’t know the wedding tradition of a bride carrying a handkerchief? Today, though, it seems that the handkerchief is little more than a romantic remembrance of the way fashion used to be.

The handkerchief began its multi-faceted career in ancient Greece. Called the sudarium or orarium, this oblong and perfumed material was used to wipe perspiration from the faces, hands, and mouths of the upper class. During the Renaissance, the handkerchief came into general use. It made its way to France and England from Italy where it was called a fazzoletto. It was usually made of silk, cambric, or woven grass and was sometimes embroidered with lace. If a man were in good favor with his lady, she would offer him her handkerchief as a symbol of their love, or vice-versa. The new found necessity for the hanky prompted Erasmus to declare “To wipe your nose on your sleeve is boorish,” and he urged its use for hygienic reasons. Later on, in France, Napoleon noticed that his troops were using their sleeves to wipe their noses. So he ordered that their uniform sleeves be equipped with buttons. Marie Antoinette was apparently fixated on more than cake when she complained to her hubby, Louis XVI that handkerchiefs were too large to be fashionable. So he ordered that the length of handkerchiefs in France be equal to their width. By the 18th Century, the handkerchief was sometimes referred to as a neckerchief. The large square of linen, muslin, or silk could be folded and draped around the neck. The word “kerchief” (couvre-chef) means a covering for the head, so it does seem odd that the handkerchief was rarely used as a head covering. Eventually, though, men and women discovered a much more interesting use for their hankies: flirtation. If a woman was interested in a certain man, she would draw the handkerchief across her cheek, which translated into I love you. If she hated the man, she would draw the handkerchief through her hands. If only it was that easy today.

“A plain white handkerchief is the sure sign of a confident and elegant dresser.” That’s what fashion guru Alan Flusser was quoted as saying in a 1978 issue of the International Herald Tribune. By the time the 20th Century rolled around, American men were wearing handkerchiefs in the breast pockets of their suit jackets. Flusser, author of Clothes and the Man: The Principles of Fine Men’s Dress, has set some strict guidelines as to how to wear pocket-handkerchiefs. He doesn’t mince words about it either. “Leaving a breast pocket unattended,” he says, “is like trying to spell ‘classic’ without the ‘class.’” He also advises that white linen is best, followed by silk in any color. Also, you may not know this, but according to Flusser, pocket-handkerchiefs should never exactly match your tie, but instead simply “coordinate” with it.

Besides the color and fabric, men also have to worry about folding the handkerchief. There are as many as nine ways to fold a hanky, the most popular ones being the puffed fold and the multi-pointed fold. Someone out there has even gone to the trouble of naming the points, a very scientific endeavor indeed. One point is called the Matterhorn, two points, the Jungfrau, three points, the Mont Blanc, and four or more points, the Annapurna... Just in case you want to impress your family at the dinner table with some new words.

Back in the ’50s, if a man wore a suit without a pocket-handkerchief, he was as good as naked by fashion’s standards. Even though women did not usually wear handkerchiefs as a part of their clothing, it was the norm for a woman to have an ironed and neatly folded one inside her handbag. In 1945, the contents of the average woman’s handbag included 1 fresh handkerchief and 2 or 3 crumpled ones. Yet in 1998, the average woman had some crumpled tissues in her purse, but no sign of a hanky. With its mass production of floral handkerchiefs, the handkerchief industry had reached its summit by the 1950s. Vogue magazine even carried an advertisement called “Handkerchief of the Month” sponsored by Burmel, a handkerchief manufacturer. Here in Pittsburgh, handkerchiefs were widely advertised by such stores as Hornes, Gimbels, Kaufmann’s, and Rosenbaum’s. Considered a perfect gift to give the man or woman in one’s life, handkerchiefs ranged in price from about fifty cents to a dollar.

So did hankies go the way of etiquette classes and hope chests? Thomas Michael, President of Larrimor’s, a men’s fine clothing store downtown, says that carrying a handkerchief will always be a part of being a gentleman. However, he agrees that handkerchief sales have decreased, though at Larrimor’s the numbers have remained stable. “We used to always have [handkerchiefs]", Michael says. “...But finally they were just really collecting dust, and then the minute we finally got rid of them, people started asking for them.” Still, he insists that the pocket-handkerchief is making a comeback. Upon returning from the fashion market in New York City, Michael noticed that more men were wearing pocket-handkerchiefs than he had ever noticed before. He asked eight friends whether they carry handkerchiefs with them. Of the eight, none of them said they carried one. According to Michael, some of the men associated handkerchiefs with their grandfathers. Another reason the men gave for not carrying a hanky was that they didn’t consider it hygienic. Hygiene is probably the most-likely reason for people gravitating towards the disposable facial tissue. Nevertheless, Michael believes that even if a man doesn’t plan on using one, he should carry a handkerchief with him at all times. “A guy’s gonna carry around a packet of tissues? I don’t think so... It’s just something you do,” he says. It’s like getting your “shoes shined, opening a door for a woman, or standing up when a woman enters the room."

Although the demand may not always be there, stores are still carrying handkerchiefs. At Kaufmann’s, a baker’s dozen of men’s permanent press or cotton handkerchiefs costs fifteen dollars, not much more per hanky than it was fifty years ago.

Will fashion survive without the handkerchief? Probably. But wouldn’t it be nice to hold on to some remnant of the past to hearken us back to the days when love and fashion at least appeared to be simple? Even Judith Martin, a.k.a. Miss Manners, is stunned at the lack of hankies in American society. “I’m puzzled,” she says, “as to why handkerchiefs have gone out of style, when sneezing hasn’t.” It’s called Kleenex, Judith.