costume design from the Yale School of Drama. She has taught fashion history, costume design, gender studies, and anthropology. As a costume designer for over twenty years, her credits include Broadway musicals, opera, and Shakespeare.
Chapin applied the “Page 99 Test” to her new book, Suitable: The Sartorial Revolution and the Fashioning of Modern Men, and shared the following:
If you open Suitable to page 99, you will find yourself smack in the middle of a discussion about the historical evolution of the engineering of crotches of men’s trousers. The page details the nineteenth-century transition from tight, light-colored breeches and pantaloons (which proudly displayed men’s calves and genitals) to the roomier, darker trousers we recognize today. I note that as the construction of pants shifted, "a man was now forced to pick one leg-tube or the other for his genitals to occupy." This anatomical reality required bespoke tailors to ask clients which side they "dressed on" (left or right) so the pattern could be skillfully cut to accommodate them.Visit Chloe Chapin's website.
I laughed out loud when I turned to page 99. Readers opening to this page would get a fantastic—if perhaps unexpectedly intimate—idea of the whole book. While a reader might be momentarily caught off guard by the focus on male genitalia, this page does perfectly encapsulate the book's central thesis: the modern male suit is not a natural or neutral garment, but a highly engineered piece of technology designed to reshape and conceal the male body. The test works brilliantly here as a browser's shortcut to the book's core themes.
Suitable traces the "Sartorial Revolution" from the late eighteenth through the mid- nineteenth centuries, exploring how and why white men abandoned the colorful, decorative fashions of the aristocracy in favor of the plain, dark uniform of the modern suit (a shift I call “peacocks to penguins.”) Page 99 shows how this physical transformation happened on the body. By shrouding the legs and obscuring the groin with dark wool, the suit hid both physical vulnerability and overt sexuality. In its place, the suit projected an image of rational, democratic, and disembodied authority. The book argues that this shift wasn't just a matter of changing aesthetic tastes; it was a powerful political maneuver. The dark suit became a visual shorthand for civic virtue, helping to naturalize white male power by making it look inherently stable, unremarkable, and "plain."
Page 99 is also a good demonstration of my overall methodological approach. By combining my two decades of experience as a theatrical costume designer with traditional historical archives, I wanted to uncover the material reality of how these clothes actually fit, felt, and functioned. The page proves that the ubiquitous black suit was actually a radical, highly constructed political tool, built stitch by stitch and seam by seam.
--Marshal Zeringue
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