To be called "shoe" on a college campus is a rare compliment indeed. Translated from the Ivy-ese, the expression means that the fellow on whom it is hung is damned well dressed. He is not over dressed, he is not gaudily dressed, he is not too conservatively dressed. He is simply -- "shoe."
(Sometimes, if the budding academician is impeccably dressed, all stoppers are pulled and the guy is labeled "very shoe." This is as good as being called "very wealthy," but is not nearly so easy to come by.)
True, there are stopover points along the path to shoedom. The man who shuffles around clad entirely in black (concluded on page 84) King's Cord (continued from page 35) (including undershorts, wallet, house keys, etc.) is not unreasonably tagged "black shoe." The man who seems to be heading in the proper direction, though sometimes falters (due to, say, a flapless pocket on his jacket), is given a pat and a place card: "brown shoe." He is not without hope. "Suede shoe" might just as well forget the whole thing, drop out of school and join the Air Force.
You can see by the foregoing that the balance is precarious: woe to the boneheaded freshman who stumbles through rush week in boob's raiment.
With that thought firmly fixed in mind, you'll certainly want to cast an eye on what's happening to corduroy -- wise "shoe" insurance if ever we've seen it.
Corduroy's been poking around the campus (and elsewhere) at least as long as courses in Freshman English, but this year it's in for extra big doings. The richly ribbed fabric is supposed to have taken its name from corde du roi, or king's cord, and it's true that European monarchs treasured the noble stuff for its velvet-like appearance and long, hard wearing abilities. Of late, the functional qualities of corduroy have been given an additional shot of sophistication -- thanks to sensible tailoring, easy washability and a whole stadium full of interesting colors. Some manufacturers are trying to promote yards of corduroy with the ribs running horizontally instead of vertically, but you'd be smart to stay with the traditional vertical variety.
Today, you can pick up at your campus haberdasher's everything from beanies to sneakers fashioned elegantly out of the noble cord. Check especially his line-up of suburban coats, suits, vests, slacks and caps (don't be surprised to see suspenders and wallets done up in the stuff, too) and make sure they've got a natty leather trim around the pockets. Another cord feature: beer stains wash out in a flash.
Deserving close study is the young blade in the campus shop being fitted in the cord suit -- a richly rugged wide wale (about six ribs to the inch) with a natural, slimline cut to it, three button jacket with leather welt edging around the pockets and rousingly lined in colorful rep silk. Around $45. Colors include tan, brown, gray and green.; A fine accompaniment to crew neck sweaters or tweed sport jackets are the corduroy slacks: comfortable, casual and very correct, with or without leather trim around the pockets and a leather back-buckle strap. No pleats in front. Slacks, around $15. Colors include tan, black, gray, beige, white or faded blue.; The small-shape cord cap with the leather-trimmed peak and back buckle strap comes in a passel of colors and even some interesting stripes, around $4. One of the best investments we know is the corduroy vest, which turns in a neat job of adding both verve and versatility to the campus wardrobe. Around $10.
