A Spot on Spats

Let me be upfront about my spats bias: I adore them. I especially adore them in a quiet grey worn with a grey morning coat worn by a man of suitable figure. That I have never seen them so worn does not dim my ardor for them any more than the fact that I have not seen the Beast Glaisant dims my passion for it. (Once one of my friends told me and assorted other friends that she dreamed she had attended my wedding. As she described who else was in her dream and the specifics of my dress, demeanor, etc. one of the other listeners demanded "But who was the groom?" The narrator looked baffled. "He was the one wearing spats," I helpfully supplied. She continued to look baffled.)

But of those spats to which the good Doctor linked in his screed, 80% of them were abominations unto the needle that sewed them. They made me think of Bertie Wooster's old Etonian spats:

For the last day or so there had been a certain amount of coolness in the home over a pair of jazz spats which I had dug up while exploring in the Burlington Arcade. Some dashed brainy cove, probably the chap who invented those coloured cigarette-cases, had recently had the rather topping idea of putting out a line of spats on the same system. I mean to say instead of the ordinary grey and white, you can now get them in your regimental or school colours. And believe me, it would have taken a man of stronger fibre than I am to resist the pair of Old Etonian spats which had smiled up at me from the window. I was inside the shop, opening negotiations, before it had even occurred to me that Jeeves might not approve. And I must say he had taken the thing a bit hardly. The fact of the matter is, Jeeves, though in many ways the best valet in London, is too conservative. Hidebound, if you know what I mean, and an enemy to Progress.

Count me with Jeeves on this one. Can we see that debonair expression of wit and style, by which I mean the dashing Mr. Peanut, wearing cat spats? No we cannot. It would be like seeing Mr. Peanut wearing a ball cap backwards, indoors. Civilization would end on the spot. Besides, we hidebound enemies to Progress eventually find a way to crush it:

"Jeeves, " I said, "those spats."
"Yes, sir?"
"You really dislike them?"
"Intensely, sir."
"You don't think time might induce you to change your views?"
"No, sir."
"All right, then. Very well. Say no more. You may burn them."
"Thank you very much, sir. I have already done so. Before breakfast this morning. A quiet grey is far more suitable, sir. Thank you, sir."