The Linen Suit

As someone who’s been studying clothes for most of his life, I can tell you without fear of much contradiction that cotton and linen are the cloths of summer. You can say what you want about tropical and high twist worsteds or even silks – and personally I’ve got nothing against them –  but for tailored garments from shirts to suits, it’s got to be cotton or linen for me. And linen is the most interesting for a thousand reasons. It takes to color beautifully, there’s an unmatchable texture, and the weave provides the passage of cooling air. I may get to some of the other reasons in a bit. 

Importantly, it’s got the heritage that’s stood the test of time. Linen’s our oldest body covering, if you don’t count fig leaves, and has always had the reputation for a certain splendidness. The Biblical physician Luke relates a story about “a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day.” [16:19], and this was predated by ancient Egyptian practices of wearing linen robes. Up through the centuries it was the redoubtable choice for handsome, durable, and hygienic covering. 

In the Middle Ages linen was the principal textile of Europe, used for everything from bed sheets and shrouds to towels and a variety of clothing. “Fresh linen and plenty of country washing,” was George “Beau” Brummell’s dictum in the early 19th Century Regency period, when it became the hallmark of a gentleman to wear linen shirts because they could easily be washed and were the standard of cleanliness.  

By the first decades of the Twentieth century both natives and tourists in warmer climes such as Spain, Cuba, Florida, and the French and Italian rivieras accoutered themselves in fresh white linen suits and dinner jackets heavily starched and pressed (the garments, not the natives and tourists).  Magazine and newspaper photos were full of “celebrities” (a new word then) such as Noel Coward in Monte Carlo, Gary Cooper poolside in Beverley Hills, or the polo-playing playboy Jock Whitney in Palm Beach, all decked out in pristine white linen. 

This was the Golden Age of ocean travel aboard gleaming ships of the line, which afforded another opportunity to bask in the sunshine and perhaps poise for the ship’s photographer at the rail wearing a pair of full-cut linen trousers and blue blazer. 

Linen jackets and trousers were cleaner to wear in warm weather when clothing needed to be changed more often. They wrinkled quite easily even when starched and pressed, but the corrugations simply became the easily recognizable signifiers of patrician style in a world which was beginning to see the development of slick synthetic fibres. 

Reverse snobbery grew apace, and by the second half of the Twentieth Century menswear designers were having labels sewn into their linen suit collections to say they were “Guaranteed to Wrinkle”, perhaps a needed assurance for those slightly timid. 

Linen has a lived-in urbanity that takes no apologies and doesn’t give a rat’s proverbial about the modern insanity for wrinkle-free and anonymous personalities. Linen is worn with, what’s the word I’m looking for? Ah, yes, panache.

All of which is to say that wearing a linen suit --  or sports jacket, trousers, or shirt – has not yet been brought down to the level of a science, it remains something of an art of personal expression. There’s a timeless romance in the wrinkles of natural linen, a je ne sais quoi that speaks to a sense of easy confidence, of having a sense of comfortable grace and being above the frantic fashion fray. And no need to stick to white, because fine linens are now available in every color under the tropical sun, from pale olive, ecru, and taupe to navy blue, peat brown, and black. 

The last point I’d like to make, and then I’m out of here, is that a linen suit – and always go for a simple cut, linen eschews gewgaws and gimmicks – can effortlessly be dressed up or down. Combined with a handsome lightweight dress shirt and perhaps a silk knitted tie, or with a bright polo or madras shirt and cotton scarf at the neck. The coat can be worn with jeans or khakis, the trousers with a featherweight blazer, the combinations are endless.  I’ve seen one or two handsomely attired gentlemen wearing black linen dinner jackets to great effect. As my Aunt Gladys used to say, it all depends what you’re up for. 

In summer there’s nothing like a suit of pure linen, 

Perfect for work or for play, or even to sin in.