There is in Greensboro, North Carolina, a most improbable club. It has members but no membership roster, no officers, no meetings and no rules.
I learned about the club from a lucky member over lunch one hot summer. My companion was a man of impeccable character and impenetrable discretion. Here’s what he told me:
A wealthy gentleman with affinity for certain Southern traditions regretted that seersucker suits – invented in 1909 in New Orleans – had fallen out of fashion. He sought a way to encourage men to continue wearing them.
And thus was born the Seersucker Club.
Membership is by invitation only. Prospective members receive an unsigned note instructing them to visit a certain tailor. Those who do are measured for a seersucker suit and may return later to get it, paid for by the club’s founder.
Members don’t know their benefactor’s identity. Nor are they told the names of any other members.
It’s the perfect club. It satisfies an itch to belong while imposing no obligations. Except, of course, to occasionally wear the badge of membership, a bespoke seersucker suit.
Sartorial musings at 30-Second Read
Necktie fashionistas can sue me
Professor Socks schools the rube
