Summer is gradually ceding mornings and evenings to fall, thus beginning the three-week period when it is too cold for a t-shirt and too warm for a sweater. This is great news for those of us who own way too many western shirts. For a brief, shining season, we get to go forth looking like rugged workmen or 1950s drifters or members of Wilco or something.
Exactly which is hard to say, which brings us to today’s untenable argument: the western shirt is the most semantically complex piece of clothing in contemporary men’s fashion. Even though it has essentially become the uniform for hip dudes who are too old to join the other major trend—dressing like Molly Ringwald’s gay friend in a John Hughes movie—a good western shirt remains frustratingly hard to find.
Part of the problem is that they’re supposed to look old. The ideal western shirt should look like your grandpa left it to you in his will, which pretty much limits us to thrift stores and the occasional retro designer. Even within that circumscribed field, some look right and some just don’t.
Forbidden!
The western shirt is a system of symbols, and like any system there are rules. Because I think about such things, and because my English degree qualifies me to do little else, I have broken down the language of the Western shirt into four signal elements:
Cut
A western shirt is defined primarily by its cut, which is shorter in the arms and longer at the waist than that of the standard men’s shirt. Because of their narrow fit—and because you’re often getting them used—it’s easy to buy them too large. Remember that the cuffs are supposed to hit an inch or so above your wrist. If you buy a western shirt with sleeves that go halfway down your hands, the waist will wind up hanging like a dress.
Plaid says,“I am rugged but hip.” Stripes say, “I am in town to show my llama.”
Pattern
This is by far the most important element, and the criterion by which the vast majority of candidates are disqualified. For some reason, most of the companies that still make western shirts make them primarily in stripes. This is a terrible mistake, since a good western shirt is either plaid or has flowers on it. “Plaid” here is taken to mean any pattern that is symmetrical along both vertical and horizontal axes and uniform throughout; checks, small windowpane patterns and gingham all qualify as plaid.
Color
The same people who are responsible for the stripes decision also seem to believe that men love turquoise, black and purple. These are precisely the sort of vague effeminacies that a western shirt is supposed to avoid. Stick to washed-out reds, greens and blues—never more than two together—and earthtones. If you can’t get barbecue sauce on it without someone noticing, it’s the wrong color.
Piping is what makes the difference between a western shirt and a cowboy shirt. The former is for Saturday night, and the latter is for Halloween.
Finish
This category refers to the accessories: button style, pockets, piping, et cetera. Mother-of-pearl snaps are perhaps the classic element of the western shirt, but they should be limited to subdued colors and conservative patterns. The flashier the shirt, the more it should tend toward regular buttons. Pocket flaps should have a single point or be straight across; avoid the inverted-W pattern found primarily on contemporary knockoffs. Unless your job involves singing happy birthday to children, never wear anything with fringe.
Intangible cultural significance
Certain western shirts evoke certain eras: windowpane patterns in one or two colors look like the sixties, complex dark plaids suggest seventies beard rock, and embroidered roses evoke amphetamine-period Johnny Cash. Here there are no hard and fast rules, but the more it looks like something an old man would wear, the safer it is. If you find a soft pack of Viceroys in the breast pocket, you’re good.
Dan Brooks writes about politics, consumer culture and lying at Combat!
