Habit is more valuable than clothes, or the secret of black tie.

In my Soviet youth, I came across a textbook of good manners from a second-hand bookseller called “The Art of Conducting in Society.” What to wear, when to come, how to give it and who to tell. The advice seemed hilariously funny and old-fashioned, a textbook on secular circulation was no more suitable to Soviet life than Elena Molokhovets’s cookbook was to the empty shelves of “Gastronomy”. And yet, although I did not keep the book, over the years I remembered it more and more often. And above all, her refrain “behave appropriately,” which I would now print in gold letters on her red calico.

It would seem that the art of dealing in the world is a complete show and deception, bourgeois appearance, man is a wolf to man. But in the book of ancient spelling it was about completely the opposite, about a very modern one. There they taught that there is no need to pretend, no need to puff out your cheeks. There is no need to be shy or boastful, especially if you are rich, or famous, or both.

It was clearly stated there: there is no person in the world who is loved and respected simply for his wealth. If they love, then, rather, for the pleasure that this wealth gives to others. And we are not talking about gifts and tips here. A rich person is surrounded by an aura of opportunity. He is an exception to the rule, an exhibit of a panopticon, a bearded woman, an elephant man. He is a magician, at least that’s how billionaires were once perceived, for whom it was enough to lift a finger for the world to turn upside down. He is an example of how the first million changes a person. The era was in this sense comedic, merchant, millions, as in our time, turned people into Ostrovsky’s characters, but “conversion in the world”, in spite of everything, appealed to reason.

The manual sought to liken us to a famous literary hero who, going down to the basement to look at his gold, spoke, as you remember, in the sense that everything is obedient to him, but he obeys nothing; he is above all desires, he is calm, he knows his power: this consciousness is enough for him.

The phenomenon of Plyushkin is disgusting to the Russian ego, which is prone to excess rather than to Lenten self-restraint. But the point here is not in relation to money, but in relation to oneself. It was clear, of course, that we were not talking about pseudo-virtue, but about the fact that a person of etiquette is modest, because he respects himself extremely, is polite from selfishness, compliant and light from devilish pride. The idea that this is a heroic curbing of demons and pacification of nature is simply ridiculous; after all, nothing fuels pride more than understanding one’s limitless, but carefully hidden possibilities.

It’s funny to say, but back at the beginning of the last century, the main secret of black tie was explained to me. A tuxedo (at that time they also talked about a tailcoat, but you can forget about that now) is not a demonstration of luxury, it is a uniform and quite simple. That is why it remains a favorite secular outfit, expressing the idea of “necessary and sufficient.” Black tie emphasizes that, supposedly, we are all equal here and whether we stand between our own... But under this equality of clothing, inequality of manners and posture is possible. Remember how in Chesterton's story a criminal committed a theft in an aristocratic club, taking advantage of the simple fact that a gentleman cannot be distinguished from a waiter by his clothes. Gentlemen took him for a footman, footmen for a gentleman. To do this, it was enough just to change the gait, and not the appearance. This means, in particular, that clothes cost less than habits.

Since then, I began to notice that any etiquette is based precisely on sufficiency, obviously excluding extremes and exaggerations. There is no need to tell the owner of the house that the mercy shown to you is limitless, that his head rests on the clouds, and his gaze disperses the darkness. You are not at the court of an eastern monarch, where you could be ceremoniously cut off for speaking directly, and not at a morning reception with the Chinese emperor, who was supposed to be viewed through a layer of silk. For their times and their countries, this was the art of addressing themselves in the world; for our time and for our country, all the rules of good manners are conditional, except for one unconditional one, correct since the beginning of the last century: to behave appropriately.

The art of turning in the light