(2 of 2)
J. Peterman's world, on the other hand, has never been one particular place. Rather, Peterman retails an evoked time, a diffuse, multifaceted past located somewhere between the two World Wars, sometimes drifting back into the Edwardian. A thought along these lines appears in the text presenting an Indian Elephant Caftan (No. AAF7744. Silk crepe de Chine. $180. Bangalore, India): "Comeliness and the passions of the past happen to mean a lot to me, perhaps you."
Seinfeld parodied Peterman--the tribute, perhaps, of one insubstantial '90s style to another. Illusion is everything, self-deception is indispensable, and Peterman works behind a scrim of pastness, sometimes hilarious but curiously sweet nonetheless. Peterman sells interesting and fairly good-quality stuff (though he lately got caught in a crunch of high inventory, debt and cash-flow problems). The danger, of course, is that you may get the thing in the mail and try it on (a Sherlock Holmes hat or cape, say, or one of those flouncy, too-much-by-half fin-de-siecle velvet gowns: "We drank Veuve Cliquot...") and find you look absolutely ridiculous in it. I always thought it would be risky to go out in the classic horseman's duster that was one of Peterman's hottest items when he started the business 12 years ago. Even if you look like Clint Eastwood, the duster is not advisable. Though we all like to dress up--and the baby boomers especially, for they sprang from the costume party of the '60s--you must beware lest some kid in the crowd may be laughing and pointing, not at the emperor's nakedness, but at your Peterman outfit.
I am speaking of Peterman only at his extreme, though I confess I think the Peterman contribution has been more to the culture of fantasy than to clothing. I search for Peterman moments in real life. For example: A foreign correspondent, old Asia hand, Brit I've known for years, has us up to his tiny, steamy Manhattan apartment for dinner. He makes Peking duck, and when he notices an awkward pause in the conversation, pops his head out of the kitchen and begins an anecdote in that fluting voice of his: "You know, once when I was playing fan-tan in Macau..."