Sartorially oblivious five days our of the week, the Harvard man is a real fashion plate on the other two. Normally content with his faded chinos and scuffed loafers, over the weekend the nonchalant youth becomes a fastidious young man about town.
Rising on Saturday, Beau Brummel dumps the pile of dirty laundry off the foot of his bed, slips into his white bucks and clomps into the bathroom for his first bath since the Saturday before.
Then, properly cleansed, he stumbles into his room, doing a skillful slalom through piles of dirty shirts and crumpled khakis which lay as they fell days before.
He strides purposely to his dresser, opens the bottom drawer and carefully extracts his one clean white butten-down oxford shirt. From the mass of wrinkled spotted clothes hanging in massive disarray in the closet, he picks a hanger on which is draped the prized gray flannel. Pawing through a heap of jumbled dusty left shoes, he picks out a pair of glistening cordovans. Finally, on his hands and knees, he crawls under the bed and disentangles a red and gray striped rep from around the bedstead.
Then, before one can say Sartor Resartus, our hero emerges in all his flanneled splendor. As he steps forth into the bright Saturday morning sunshine, the sun reflecting off his pomaded head and his glistening shoes, it would be hard to believe that he could ever look any other way.
But this is only a temporary illusion, a disguise put on for two days, for the sake of his weekend date. For Sunday night the oxford shirt goes into the laundry, the gray flannels back into the closet, the cordovans are scattered on the floor and the rep tie under the bed. And on Monday the fastidious youth stumbles out of bed into the same old pair of chines and the same dirty blue shirt which he sheds not until the weekend, arrives again.