Stylish yachties should look to Amy for advice

OK, it’s time to put some style back in sailing. Baseball caps on backward are lame enough, but we’re talking serious style here. I’m certainly no stickler for dress codes, especially when I’m working on the boat, but I have, as they say, seen the light.

Or rather, I’ve seen Amy.

I was killing one of those holiday afternoon gatherings that seem to drag into eternity, at least at the mother-in-law’s house, and I’d retreated to the silence of her den with a well-laced eggnog.

Looking over her bookshelves, I came across a copy of Amy Vanderbilt’s Complete Book of Etiquette and, although I’d attended Miss Wright’s Cotillion for Young Adults to learn the finer points of dancing and dealing with the opposite sex, I thought perhaps I might glean something useful. It was, after all, an otherwise lost afternoon and I had never been sure whether the seafood fork should be placed on the right with the knives or the left with the forks when setting the table for a formal luncheon.

Skimming through the table of contents, which stretches for 16 pages and covers all of what she calls “the ceremonies of life” from correct birth announcement wording to the proper attire for funerals, I came to Chapter 18. It was titled “What’s What in Sports,” and the subhead was “Dress and Rules of Behavior” for sports such as badminton, shooting, skating and, ta-dah, yachting.

Dear Amy gets right to the point, noting that anything longer than 100 feet is technically a ship but that “seasoned yachtsmen” casually refer to anything under sail as a “boat” and to themselves as “sailors.” Amy, however, says that referring to one’s own sailboat—whatever its size—as a yacht is pretentious. And we certainly don’t want to be seen as pretentious, do we?

Oh, by the way, I guess I should point out that the publication date of this particular version of Amy Vanderbilt’s etiquette tome was 1952, just in case that might have any bearing on her recommendations.

As a kid, many of the skippers for whom I crewed insisted on sailing into docks and off moorings, and Amy explains that to novices by saying, “A fanatical sailor spurns any auxiliary power in a sailboat, preferring to get in and out of harbors and yacht basins under sail and to take his chances on a homeward-bound wind.”

Though she was often didactic, Amy was also sensible and she tempered that absolute by saying that when yachtsmen become fathers, “this fanaticism is often tempered … and a ‘kicker’ is added to the gear—at least until the children can be taught to sail.” Presumably Muffy and Binky will understand, after learning to sail, that being stuck engineless 10 miles from your homeport in rain and a flat calm is perfectly acceptable.

Since many of her readers were likely to be invited aboard a yacht, she emphasizes that “stiff” suitcases are a no-no, and that guests must always be neat. She suggests that they stay out of the way, especially when “a jib is being broken out.”

Most of all, I like her suggestion that “Guests who have never been on the sea before can learn to do the small jobs such as pumping out the bilge or polishing the brightwork.” I might just have that particular advice needlepointed into a plaque to be hung on the cabin bulkhead.

But these guests, when aboard a large yacht with a paid crew, must remember one thing: “Guests do not fraternize.” Relations with the crew should be kept formal, and the crew is always called by their last name. “I say, Caswell, could you move my deck chair out of the sun?”

The captain, on the other hand, is always addressed by his title and “treated with the respect due his highly technical calling.” When it comes to stewards, once again they are summoned by their last names or simply “steward.”

Now that we’ve got the basic do’s and don’ts out of the way, let’s address the problem of clothing. Amy cuts through any sartorial fog with “What one wears aboard depends on the size of the yacht and where it is tied up.”

For example, a man invited to lunch aboard a large yacht tied up at a city club would wear just what he would wear in town, which I’d already discovered in previous chapters would be a suit of worsted, flannel, or a softer tweed, certainly with a vest (a Tattersall waistcoat is always proper) and suspenders. Accents would include a handkerchief in the coat pocket and gloves in winter.

In warm weather, Amy admits that “Shorts, preferably of the longer variety, are often comfortable” although, lest you create an embarrassing fashion gaffe by displaying any skin, she reminds that “they should be worn with knee-length, cuffed wool socks.”

But what if your friends aren’t wealthy enough for a yacht with crew? Amy handles this dreadful possibility with aplomb: “On smaller yachts under 50 feet, or even on those over 50 where there is no paid crew, male guests (and sometimes female ones) should be prepared to lend a hand. In that case, she recommends duck, sailcloth or denim trousers, combined with T-shirts, pullover sweaters, pea jackets and, for sloppy weather, an oilskin with hat. Picture the outfits from “Captains Courageous.” Canvas shoes with crepe rubber or rope-soles are expected, along with socks in white or light wool.

Don’t even think about changing your clothes on those “smaller yachts” less than 50 feet, though. “It is a good idea for a man to wear bathing trunks under his trousers, if he plans to swim.” Women? I guess they just didn’t go swimming, or perhaps they were too busy pumping the bilge and polishing the brass.

As the afternoon faded, I put Amy back on the shelf and looked down, realizing that I had on my usual sailing outfit. I was wearing a comfortable Hawaiian shirt, not a worsted suit, and a pair of shorts that Amy would likely find unacceptably short. I didn’t have cuffed wool knee socks: In fact, I wasn’t even wearing socks. And in place of natty rope-soled espadrilles, I was wearing a battered pair of salt-stained Topsiders. Amy and I would agree, however, that a backward baseball cap is the mark of an idiot and a fashion victim.

Oh, by the way: the seafood fork goes on the right with the knives. I hate it when I get that wrong.