Ah, fashion. The curse of the writing class. What is it? How to describe it? How do you and your characters feel about it? It's worth a bit of thought.

Does it matter what your character is wearing? Maybe. Does the item of clothing in question tell you something about the character – her mood, say, or how she feels about where she is? If so, put it in. But beware of TMI.

On this special afternoon in September, in spite of the long journey by coach, in spite of rain and mud, his coat set irreproachably across his fine shoulders, his hands looked almost femininely white, as they emerged through billowy frills of finest Mechline lace: the extravagantly short-waisted satin coat, wide-lapelled waistcoat, and tight-fitting striped breeches, set off his massive figure to perfection, and in repose one might have admired so fine a specimen of English manhood, until the foppish ways, the affected movements, the perpetual inane laugh, brought one's admiration of Sir Percy Blakeney to an abrupt close.   – Baroness Orczy (who else?), The Scarlet Pimpernel.

TMI? Not really. The story is set in clothes-conscious Regency England. The elaborate get-up is Blakeney's way of throwing the French off his trail. He's a superhero, after all. What the blazes is Mechline lace? Who cares? It sounds expensive, though. And uncomfortable. Give me an old hoodie, any day.

IF, however, your character is not a Regency fop, you should probably go easy on his tailoring.

Just then we had another customer. A car squeaked to a stop outside and the swinging door came open. A fellow came in who looked a little in a hurry. He held the door and ranged the place quickly with flat, shiny, dark eyes. He was well set up, dark, good-looking in a narrow-faced, tight-lipped way. His clothes were dark and a white handkerchief peeped coyly from his pocket and he looked cool as well as under a tension of some sort.   – Raymond Chandler, 'Red Wind', 1938.

We notice two things here:

1. There's a lot less detail.
2. What you see sticks out.

Now, if you didn't know what kinds of clothes American men wore in 1938, you might have a bit of trouble visualizing from this description. But you get the general drift: suit, probably tie. Maybe even a hat. You assume he's wearing shoes, probably brogues, maybe wing-tips. But you notice that pocket handkerchief. It's like a splash of bright colour in a dark painting, meant to draw the eye.

There's something going on with that handkerchief. We'd do well to pay attention. That handkerchief is what we call 'a telling detail.'

Catching the Eye

Painters can't show everything. Neither can writers. In the first place, if we did, we'd bore the readers to death. They'd collapse under the weight of useless information. So we go for the telling detail: the one piece that indicates a larger whole. Pars par toot, as the Romans said.

This is a particularly good trick to do with clothes. Unless your audience is obsessed with fashion, stay sketchy. Do we care whether Jessica's ensemble is perfectly coordinated in this season's predominant colours of peach and ochre? Nope. Not unless that reveals something significant about her character. Maybe she has OCD. Or she's colour-blind. Otherwise, tell us what's unusual about the way she's dressed.

Clothes Make the Character?

I've already rambled on about finding the appropriate garments for your characters. For fictional characters, clothes often serve the same purpose as masks did in ancient Greek drama. They show us something about the character's orientation to the story. Take Nick Fallen of The Guardian.

This is not my world and I am not about to apologize for wearing my uniform. You play your role. You're a social worker who chose to make no money. Instead, you cry poor to the world: you wear cheap clothes so people know where you're coming from. My world is expensive. I'm not saying its better, it just has different rules. ... I didn't say, 'You look like crap,' so I would appreciate it if you would refrain from beating me up for looking different.   –   The Guardian.

If you've seen that show, which works like a three-season serialised novel, you know what happens in the last episode. When you see what Nick is wearing, you know: something has seriously changed about this character.

Dress them up, or dress them down. They're your characters. But make the details count. Charity shop duds or Armani fashion, the clothes have a story to tell. Just don't take all day doing it.

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Dmitri Gheorgheni

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