Consider the phenomenon of the tennis dress.
It began quite innocently as practical, on-court wear: wholesome as sunshine, demure as Doris Day and, if anyone noticed, skimpy as a bathing suit.
Today it has become something else again. Namely, the super-hot status symbol Numero Uno. For thousands of valley racket bunnies, it goes everywhere, does everything and is the uncontested badge of athletic honor.
What is the secret of its charisma?
For one thing, it packs such instant class. Cheaper than a Cadillac, cooler than a Mink, niftier than diamonds, it says a lot about the gal who wears it. Specifically, that she is vital, healthy and affluent; she has the time and money for the tennis life.
For another, there’s identification. When she puts on her tennis dress, a lady moves into fine company with an aura of freshness, vigor, country clubs and the good life. It slicks with her wherever she goes … to the dentist’s, the grocery store, the shopping center, and the school conference, some of the darndest places.
Here is a phenomenon replete with cultism and paradox. The tennis dress is, after all, quite scanty. On the right figure, it’s downright sexy, but nice sexy with an uptown image.
Strip away the prestige label, and the tennis dress could be banned in Boston. On bowlers, it would be a disaster; on secretaries, a scandal. Yet well-heeled, well-bred matrons, who would veto shorts and reject the mini, buy and wear them by the ton.
Even designers have gotten the bug. Big names like Geoffrey Beene, Oleg Cassini and Anne Klein. For the first time, women are calling the shots while designers scramble to get in to the game.
There’s stiff competition. Tennis dresses are showing up at every department and dime store, as well as boutiques, pro and tennis shops. Prices vary, depending on where or what you buy. At country club and sporting counters, they may run as low as $25, as high as $42. At an exclusive designer spot, a Beene will sell at $36, a hand-loomed knit at $46. And for the piece de resistance, an apres-tennis coverup that doubles for almost any casual occasion is $88.
Women are willing to pay. As one says, “I have two kinds of clothes:
tennis dresses and cocktail wear.” At last count, the tennis gear was ahead;
she owned over 20.
Maybe it’s just a passing fad. Or simply a reflection of a new, freer life-style that has taken women out of the kitchen and onto the courts. Either way, the tennis dress had definitely made its mark.
For example, there’s the case of the conservative matron on Stanley Avenue. Each afternoon she sat in her street clothes as five or six neighbors returned from their matches and gathered on her front porch.
Finally, she appeared one day in a tennis dress, although she was not, nor had ever been, a tennis player.
Why did she do it?
“I just got tired of feeling left out,” she said.
That’s tennis.
Originally published in the March, 1976 issue of The Roanoker
