The Beauty of Basics

Basics speak to our need and yearning for authenticity and simplicity. Technology seems to have invaded free time, not expanded it. With the mind cluttered, the body wants relief and a streamlining of stimuli. It's like wanting a bit of silence, peace amid the cacophony. With the wardrobe of basics, it is as if a benevolent dictator has offered us a way out of the stress of choice: we don't have to reveal so much.

Fashion editors, those who live and breathe the whims of change, are known for wearing the same uniform every day — basic black — a tabula rasa that is a kind of armor against the overwhelming influx of stimuli. So too, the average man. There is an argument that the simpler the garb, the more the personality of the wearer is freed. Ask the Quakers, the Amish, the monk: Closer my God to thee, via all things "plain."

Essential clothes, as we now know them, were designed for a purpose, in direct response to need. Like a Frank Lloyd Wright building, or a Zippo lighter, their form follows function in complete harmony. Over time, that purposeful engineering has become decorative — a fashion acquisition, a style statement, like a well-built Shaker barn. The polo shirt was designed for playing competitive tennis in the early part of the century by French tennis champion Renee Lacoste. Blue jeans accidentally combusted when the rugged canvas used for miners' tents in the California gold rush was made into pants that wouldn't get destroyed in the rough tumble of prospecting. Chinos came, in name and origin from China, where the lightweight cotton used for tropical military uniforms was imported. The authentic acts as a balm on the superficial; it provides continuity. Picasso wore chinos. Montgomery Clift wore chinos. My grandfather wore chinos.

Basics are not so simple if you listen to their language. They tear down walls. They build up promise. They imply possibility. They are social and political levelers. They are a collective whisper of "I have a dream..."