Goodbye to Wing Tips

Would you buy a used car--or a political platform--from someone wearing a pin-striped suit, Brooks Brothers' rep tie and wing-tipped shoes? Until recently, a large majority of Americans would have answered yes. The peacock in psychedelic tie, screaming plaid suit and patent-leather pumps was hard-pressed to give away a road map. Suddenly, however, public opinion on men's wear seems to be swinging sharply toward the splashy.

That, at least, is the theory of John T. Molloy, clothes counselor to those who worry about the image their rags convey. Molloy, a former schoolteacher, gets paid for telling people how to dress like honest men (TIME, Sept. 4, 1972). His clients include companies with large sales forces and politicians--three Governors, five U.S. Senators and 13 House members. In an attempt to inject science into this woolly field, he conducts an annual opinion poll on the types of clothing that spell credibility and other positive qualities to the public. The 1973 results, based on a sampling of 1,800 people completed last month, are as astonishing as the emperor's new clothes.

In 1972 the corporation-lawyer look--three-piece Yale-gray suits, white shirts and club ties--got a credibility rating of 81%; this year the figure plummeted to 57%. Meanwhile, the mod suit with wide lapels and nipped waist worn over a pastel-patterned shirt zoomed upward in credibility from 28% to 63%. Interestingly, those polled were traditionally conservative blue-collar workers earning less than $15,000 a year.

Right Schools. Molloy, who fancies himself the Sigmund Freud of wardrobe psychology, attributes the change directly to Watergate. "I can't think of another factor," he says. "America is losing faith in its leaders." And in its leaders' haberdashery. The more conservative the costume, by his reasoning, the shadier the image. Perhaps the guiltiest of the White House straight men--before the sartorial bar anyway--is Spiro Agnew. "Every hair is in place on that man," complains Molloy. "He always buttons his buttons." Hence the impression is one of strained perfectionism. H.R. ("Bob") Haldeman, with his neatly mowed hair (recently grown and raked for a weedier effect) and Ivy League garb, has that "I went to the right schools" look. John Dean, with his precise pinned collar, came across the same way on TV.

Molloy now generally plans to steer clients away from Wall Street drab and toward Madison Avenue pizazz. But there are exceptions. If Edward Kennedy wanted advice, looking toward the 1976 election, Molloy would recommend an "innocent look": "You know--short hair parted on the side, blue blazers and gray flannel slacks, loafers and preppy ties. That's the only way someone with his problems can be credible." Should George McGovern rally to yet another national election, Molloy would offset his ultraliberal reputation with strictly conservative garb. "People thought George was unstable in 1972. One day he was Broadway George in his wide tie and snazzy suit; the next, his somber suit and narrower tie said Middle America." In fact, Molloy would urge McGovern to "out-Nixon Nixon" in conservatism--with a single exception. "He's got to have that slightly disheveled look to show he's got more important things on his mind than clothes."

As to the Nixonian toilette, Molloy considers it basically sound: "His problems aren't visual." The President, says Molloy, dresses like a successful businessman with small-town roots. This appeals to his constituency. "Nixon is smart enough to wear dark 'authority figure' suits and avoid 'Daddy-went-to-Yale symbols.' " Such political taboos include Saks Fifth Avenue pinstripes and "those itty-bitty, fishy-look ties"--Ivy League silks patterned with tiny birds, animals or fish. They spell snobbishness. Before candidates rush to their tailors with Molloy's notions, however, they should realize that some of his clients have turned up losers on Election Day. The moral, it seems, is that it takes more than clothes to make the statesman.

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