ON SECOND THOUGHT

By Carol Ferguson



Looking through a catalog recently, I came across an item I hadn’t thought about in some time.

The word that stood out was “seersucker.”

Curious about how widely understood the word is today, I did a little quickie, informal poll at the office and asked six women and two men in the graphics and ad departments if they knew what seersucker is. Granted, they were all considerably younger than I am, but isn’t everyone?

At any rate, one woman thought it was a style or cut of dress, and two others had flat-out never heard the word. Another woman wondered if it was related to a sapsucker (a variety of woodpecker), and still another told me it was part of an octopus. The last man I queried said it had something to do with clothing seams.

Stars — ta dah! — go to the two women who correctly identified seersucker as a light-weight, puckered-looking fabric used in summer clothing.

When I was growing up, suits and all manner of hot-weather clothing for men, women and children were often made of seersucker, usually in light blue and white stripes. I once had a seersucker blouse and skirt, and I remember seeing my father in a seersucker suit. In later years, my husband often wore a nifty seersucker blazer.

For the benefit of the six co-workers who were unfamiliar with the fabric, and also to find out more about it myself, I “Googled” a seersucker query on the Internet.

Lo and behold, the word itself comes from the Persian “shir o shakar,” literally meaning “milk and sugar,” in reference to what we would call candy stripes. The Indians borrowed the word from the Persians, and during the 18th century, when the East India Company and England were moving toward supremacy in India, both the word and fabric evolved into seersucker.

The fabric is woven in such a way that some threads bunch together, giving the puckered, wrinkled look. The texture assures that the fabric is mostly held away from the skin, making for better air circulation when the outdoor temperatures rise.

In this country, it was originally worn by what was then referred to as the working class, but the fabric was later adopted for clothing of wealthier people. It became a staple of gentlemen in the South, where humidity is a norm much of the year.

Today seersucker is made by what is called slack-tension weave using two warp beams. I have no idea what this means, but the end result is a slow-weaving speed, with only a few manufacturers producing it now.

For those who appreciate the distinctive look and feel of the fabric, however, it is still considered stylish. A recent article in the Sunday Telegraph of London reported that British wearers intend the seersucker suits to convey a “dashing transatlantic look” that carries a little bit of George Plimpton and a touch of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Jay Gatsby, or perhaps Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch in “To Kill a Mockingbird.”

If they say so. I just like the look and the comfort.

While I was strolling down memory lane in my seersucker clothing, I recalled another fabric that was often used in summer clothes — piqué.

OK, kids, without doing another quiz, let grandma tell you that piqué is a cotton fabric also with a raised woven design that often resembles a waffle. It has a lot of body to it, and is very durable, which is probably why it was often used in children’s clothing.

I remember a white piqué dress which, while it may have been durable, lasted only a half a summer. Before I could grow out of it, I managed to spill a variety of things down the front — lime Kool-Ade, chocolate ice cream, you name it. This often resulted in a faint yellow stain which, try as my mother did, she was unable to remove.

Care also needed to be taken to preserve the waffle design, so Mother always followed directions and ironed piqué on the wrong side.

Which brings me to the point of this bit of fashion history and explains why I purchased the seersucker suit I found in the catalog.

Seersucker is lightweight, cool and — sound the trumpets — it needn’t be ironed. It’s already slightly wrinkled looking, so just snatch it out of the dryer and you’re good to go.

My kind of clothes.



Ferguson is a feature writer for the Herald-Banner who will often be seen this summer in seersucker.