Sartor, Sartorial, Sartorius

"Sartorial" is a word whose meaning I never remember properly. I always think it has something to do with that mincing, yet haughty irony for which Chloe Sevigny and Marc Jacobs are famous. It's a concept I can never quite explain to myself adequately, and so I resort to a dictionary, only to find that "sartorial" simply means "of or pertaining to clothing or fashion; of or pertaining to tailors or the work of tailors." Apparently, "sartor" is Latin for "tailor."

Looking up this word is always a disappointment for me - as if "inheriting the earth" turned out to be nothing more than having a clump of dirt dumped on your head. And while you know that the abstract grandiosity of the Earth is in fact contained in that literal clod, you were still hoping for an inheritance that was a little more...abstract.

However, like socks for Christmas, this gypsy switch ultimately brings great happiness, despite the lack of glamour. As I searched for a definition, however colloquial, that had even the smallest relation to irony, I happened upon "sartorius muscle: a muscle in the thigh that helps to rotate the leg into the sitting position assumed by a tailor; the longest muscle in the human body." I had no idea what "the position assumed by a tailor" was. Project Runway had led me to believe that tailors sat and stood like everyone else, regardless of whatever ceremonial spitmarks or clucking noises they might make while doing so. It turns out that "tailor sitting" is sitting crosslegged (criss-cross applesauce, Indian style, or however your 1st grade teacher used to say it), and is a position very beneficial to laboring mothers during certain stages of childbirth. Why a tailor would necessarily choose to sit like this, I have no idea. I guess it is a comfortable sitting position for anybody, but tailors in particular? Search me.

Or search Google. "How do tailors sit?" brought up a sartorial (pick your definition) New York Times article from 1901 entitled "Tailors and Socialism," in which a "student of queer things" observes that all tailors are socialists (?) and doesn't understand why, so he asks a tailor friend of his. The tailor explains that "we tailors sit on a table in groups of three or four" and "one...must do something [while we work] and so we fellows talk." The gist of the story is that anyone who thinks about social conditions for even 5 seconds will want to become a socialist; these tailors all chat themselves into a red frenzy through idle daily gossip. So perhaps "sitting like a tailor" is sitting like someone too poor to afford a chair, someone who must share a tabletop with 3 or 4 people. A far cry from Marc Jacobs. Or maybe not. I've never seen his factories.

Anyway, I didn't mean to use this post to worry my pretty head about the industry behind the luxury. Other than Project Runway, where the tailors are really designers, my knowledge of "the figure of the tailor" comes from Fiddler on the Roof and fairytales like The Brave Little Tailor - neither of which I've encountered in a very long time - I think of a frivolous and whimsical person who nonetheless saves the day and surprises everyone by being the most competent person in the room, without sacrificing an ounce of his homosexuality, er, silliness. Seriously, look at that guy prance around in Kay Nielsen's 19th century illustration of "The Brave Little Tailor." He's fighting a unicorn. Which, I have to say, is an awesome metaphor for artistic labor.