MCGILL PROFS NOT THE LEAST BIT TWEEDY
The McGill Faculty Club is housed in a magnificent mansion built in the late 1880s. Many of the original 19th-century details have been preserved and the scholarly hangout has plenty of wainscotting, arched doorways, a wood-panelled lounge with massive fireplace and a billiards room with a stained-glass ceiling.
“It is stately in the style of land barons, fur merchants and railroad barons who lived in Montreal through the 19th and 20th centuries,” explains Prof. Allan Hepburn.
With that romantic notion in mind, is it so wrong to wish for an academia straight out of central casting — wool blazers adorned with corduroy elbow patches, herringbone trousers and an air of professorial dishevelment?
It is autumn, after all, and at this time of year we like our air crisp, our leaves red and our English professors tweedy. But according to McGill’s English profs, the look in the hallowed halls of the university’s arts building is not the least bit tweedy.
“ That’s a myth, like Santa Claus,” says Hepburn, who teaches 20th-century British and American literature and who, on the day of this photo shoot, is wearing an Italian suit and tie from Moda Italia Pour Homme on Ste- Catherine Street, in Montreal. The professor’s shoes are by Allen Edmonds, and he bought them three years ago at Harry Rosen in Toronto.
Hepburn explains that the McGill English department’s choice of attire strikes a balance between casual and formal. But, he adds, they do have a rather dapper chair who always wears suits and ties. And Hepburn is looking pretty dapper himself.
“When I first started teaching 15 years ago, I was only 28 years old and I looked like one of the students’ peers,” he says. In an effort to differentiate himself from his charges and be conspicuous as the person leading the class, he began to dress more formally.
“I also happen to like clothes a lot,” he says.
Conversely, Prof. Ken Borris, in jeans and sneakers by the hip Energie label, jokes that he is probably more stylish than a lot of his students. Mind you, his grandma knit his socks. Borris has been teaching Renaissance literature since 1985.
“ I dress the way I do as a sort of pedagogical aid to make teaching more accessible to students,” says Borris ( who encourages students to address him as Ken). “I don’t want to set up barriers between myself and them, and the clothes help dilute some of the perceived authority. I hope they make me a bit more accessible than I otherwise would be.”
He admits he’s received a few odd looks from colleagues outside of the English department regarding his hip, casual work attire. “I shouldn’t name the department, but it tends to be more conservative and business-oriented,” he says. “But aside from that, no one else cares.”
Prof. Maggie Kilgour, who teaches Renaissance literature, classics and translation, agrees the English department is more eclectic in dress than other faculties. She considers that one of the perks of the job.
“Of course in the old days, professors generally wore gowns, but we can wear whatever we want,” she says.
Today, Kilgour has paired an outfit by Montreal designer Hélène Barbeau with Birkenstocks. “ Sensible, academic shoes,” she jokes.
“We do very different kinds of business within the English department and you get a range of clothes to express that,” she says.
And while Kilgour recognizes that some professors prefer to dress in a manner students can identify with, she won’t go that far. “I don’t dress the way the students do,” she says. “I don’t expose my midriff.”