The man in the white suit

Can you separate a body of work from a personal brand?

Among the many obituaries I read this week for Tom Wolfe, the trail-blazing journalist and bestselling author who died Monday, all of them mentioned how he dressed.

They noted it early — usually in the first few paragraphs and regularly in the headline — and often. Many publications wrote entire stories about his white suits and homburg hats.

Wolfe helped turn journalism on its ear in the 1960s, and he wrote engaging, game-changing, trend-setting stories of fiction and non-fiction people had never encountered, but clearly readers — and writers — thought how he dressed was almost as important.

I agreed with some of Wolfe’s less kindly critics, but I was a huge admirer too. He had a keen eye for the small details of life, and clever way with words.

But while I somehow knew he was dapper, and could picture him in white suits, I wonder why it mattered all these years later?

Was it journalism, once again, stooping to something unimportant, or is how we dress as important as what we do? Or were all of us, journalists and readers, seduced by Wolfe’s shrewd marketing of himself ?

I like to think journalists are above that, but in a world where brand matters and never more than today, such things are hard to avoid. Not only do readers demand this stuff, it can become conspicuous by its absence. (What, for example, would coverage of the royal wedding be without endless talk about hats?)

Here’s a test: Like Wolfe, Ernest Hemingway was a skilled journalist and writer of hugely influential novels, but what do you think of when you think of Hemingway? His impressive body of work? Or his brand: a hard-drinking, trophy-hunting, deep-sea fishing, adventureloving, womanizing man’s man who died by suicide?

Likewise, what do you remember most: Hunter S. Thompson’s gonzo journalism and bestselling books, or his outrageous behaviour, chaotic lifestyle, and dramatic suicide?

The answer in all cases, I suppose, is both, but they complement each other. Was Wolfe a better writer than Joan Didion or Norman Mailer? Was Hemingway better than Fitzgerald or Faulkner? Or were some simply more famous than others? Did some make for better stories in the media, because of their clothing or their extracurricular activities?

Did some actively court the media through various means, whether it was by dressing flamboyantly or acting outrageously or simply understanding how the media works — and manipulating it to their own advantage?

Mark Twain, another famous journalist and author, who like Wolfe, favoured white suits, at least later in life, is still remembered for it. “It will be a great satisfaction to me to show off in this way,” he said.

Maybe he wanted to define himself so others didn’t do it for him. Maybe he wanted people to talk about him so they didn’t talk about others. And yes, he probably wanted to sell a few more books and imprint himself just a little more firmly into the annals of history.