The Origin of the Tuxedo

This is the most common pose assumed while in a Tux.
This is the most common pose assumed while in a Tux

The origin of the tuxedo has never been chronicled. Or maybe it has, I just never bothered to read it. Who would bother to read such a droll piece? In fact, if such an article did exist, I’m sure it would be subject to much harsh criticism, even public book burning events, such is the hatred among mankind for the awful apparatus that is the tuxedo. While men struggle to invent suits of iron that render mortal men super human in strength and speed, women are busy forcing the said men to don the tuxedo, effectively immobilizing the wearer, making him a useful subject for wedding photos. This is only part of the reason men hate tuxedos. The hatred for the garment runs much deeper, is much darker and sinister than you may suspect. Let me take you on a journey through history, explaining in great detail, and with much historical fact, why men despise the formal straitjacket.

It all began in the early settlements of Australia, who most people refer to as “the land down under” thereby showing off their geographic prowess. Australia is home to 110% of the worlds most dangerous animals. Its also hot and hardly has any cell service. Oh yea, it’s also an island, meaning (in case you don’t have any geographic prowess) you can’t escape the hostile land without fashioning a raft or boat of some sort. This is assuming, of course, that you can actually make a boat that floats. Even if you manage to float your boat, its so far into the middle of nowhere that you would likely die of hunger, exposure, or shear mindless boredom before you landed somewhere else. Naturally, the civilized world assumed Australia would be a perfect place to dump its prisoners, since no one really cares if prisoners are comfortable or happy (this happened before the yuppy political correctness movement became popular with our wimpy, civilized society). The fact that the prisoners would most likely die in some horrible way was an added bonus.

Now, Australia is a big island. So big, in fact, its considered its own continent (again, for those who failed elementary school). Since the civilized society despised the prisoners, society wanted them to suffer. You can imagine the chagrin of society when the prisoners started building their own farms, marrying, and, in general, prospering. This was not what the civilized society wanted for their prisoners. This was an outrage! The one day Jep, who was some dude in Australia, struck upon an idea while herding sheep into a cage.

“Hey!” Jep yelled to Pip, who was another dude in Australia. They had short names because criminals, who made up most of the population, never learned to properly read or write.

“What?” Pip stopped herding sheep with his shotgun, a practice that has inadvertently claimed many innocent lives, mostly just sheep’s.

“Why don’t we just build big pens for criminals, that way we can control them and customize their misery to our liking.”

Pip shook his head in affirmation. “Sounds good Jep.”

Jep and Pip immediately told their idea to the ruling class (who, inconsequentially, had the biggest guns and best aim) who quickly put the idea into full effect. It dawned on Jep and Pip that they were crinimals without big guns or any marksman skills whatsoever.

“This cage idea sucks, Jep.” Pip looked around at the shoddy walls disappearing over the horizon.

“Shut up Pip!”

“I hate being in a pen.” Pip kicked the wall. It fell over, bringing miles of fence toppling like Domino’s. As it turns out, prisoners are shoddy workers, especially when they are building their own prison.

Australia was in desperate straits. They couldn’t keep their prisoners mildly uncomfortable let alone miserable and loathing life. Then, the inept saved the day.

Pip, single-handedly freeing the large majority of the under gunned, crooked shooting Australian population, enjoyed a well deserved celebrity status. Drawing upon his new found self confidence, Pip opened up a tailor and dry cleaning shop where he cleaned suits and did alterations when the bulging, prosperous society needed a few more inches added to their waist lines. Now, I can be frank because Pip has died a long time ago and won’t get offended, but Pip was a terrible tailor. His larges were too small and his smalls were too large. His sleeves were too long and his pants were too short. Threads went shooting out at skewed angles from every seam. People went in looking like stuffed turkeys and came out looking like waddling sheep who were covered in glue then rolled down a long hill covered in freshly cut grass.

One fateful day Alfred Stubbles, a handsome, albeit portly, gentlemen, came hobbling out of Pips tailoring establishment only to run across Guns McGeezer, the infamous gun slinger outlaw type that took money from rich portly types like Alfred Stubbles. Now Guns McGeezer was looking for someone to shake some money out of. And yes, that can be taken literally. His preferred method of theft was grabbing people by the ankles, turning them upside down, and shaking the living daylights, along with their spare change, out of them. This, of course, meant that the victim had to be chased down, since the amount of people who would volunteer for an ankle grabbing shake down was next to none. Guns McGeezer eyed up Alfred, squinting and cocking one eye, his thick, dust filled eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Heh heh hey..” Alfred started easing towards his horse. His horse started easing towards the road. “How ya’ doing today sir?”

“I’m fixing to do better in just a bit here. Just lookin to shake things up. HAR!” Guns McGeezer was considered a prophet around those parts since most of the physical violence he predicted came about exactly as he said it would, down to the last detail.

“Haha! Great pun McGreaser, old buddy!” Alfred reached back for his horse. Not finding his horse with his frantic, waving hand, he eased backwards, slowly shuffling his feet through the dust.

“McGreaser?! It’s McGeezer you little.. Where ya’ goin! Let’s works this out like men.” McGeezer started walking briskly towards Alfred, the ground rolling in sync with his footsteps, his gigantic hand resting on his gigantic six shooter.

Alfred, sensing it was a good time to vacate the premises, frantically reached behind him and grabbed what he thought was his horse. It smelled like his horse at any rate, and he wasn’t in a mood to be picky. As long as it had legs.

It did have legs. It also had a mane. Still looking back, Alfred grabbed the mane and dug his heels into the horses side. Alfred was astonished at the sudden acceleration  of his horse. Never before had it run like it was now. His horse was even screaming!

“HHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Alfred could feel the fear in his horses hoarse cry. The dan’ gone horse was fleeing in such a spectacular manner that all Alfred could do was dig his fingernails deeper into the mane and let his legs dangle in the turbulence of the horses aerodynamic wake.

Fifteen miles later the horse dropped to the ground. Alfred pulled his head out of his spinal cord and looked around.

No horse in sight, just Sadie, the local innkeeper, panting like a dog and kneeling on all fours. She glared at Alfred with anger exploding from her eyes.

Alfred did not think this was becoming pose for a woman. “Get up woman, don’t you have any manners? By the way, did you see my horse?”

It was then that the local townspeople realized that Pips suits rendered men immobile, even in the most dire situations. Women began ordering the suits for their husbands. Thus, it became customary for a man to don a tuxedo as a symbolic gesture for the wedding ceremony. Naturally, as the marriage progresses, the wedding tuxedo becomes even tighter in a process known as “shrinking.” This is the very factual and honest tale of how the tuxedo came about and how, coincidentally, men hate them so much.

The love of a woman, however, does strange things to men. It’s my belief that’s why the tuxedo will never go away. The men stricken with love are the only ones forced to wear them, and, at the same time, are incapable of caring what they have to wear, as long as they get married.

The crazy cycle continues.


By Josh Snader. Josh is always a day late and a dollar short. ..he’s also single, which has nothing to do with this article.

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