never with your teeth

“it is hideous to leave them on the arm, merely turning back the hands.” emily post had no patience for half-measures. in etiquette¹, first published in 1922, she insisted that ladies wear gloves to formal dinners and take them off at table, “entirely off”. then, a paragraph later, she admits what every woman at those dinners already knew: that gloves, fan and napkin laid across a satin skirt will not stay put, and that the “avalanche” usually ends with the gentleman next to you groping under the table. her solution, to tuck the napkin’s corners under like a lap robe with the gloves held in place, “ought not to be put in a book of etiquette”. she put it in anyway.

that mixture of rule and realism is still the best way to think about glove etiquette. the rules are few. take gloves off indoors, before eating and, if they are short, before shaking hands. remove them finger by finger, never by biting the fingertips or peeling from the cuff. long evening gloves are the main exception, with gestures of their own. everything else is a matter of doing these small things slowly enough to look composed.

why glove etiquette still matters

nobody will scold you for a dropped convention. but gloves are worn on the most expressive part of the body, and the moment you take them off, at a restaurant door, a reception, a dinner table, is seen. a graceful removal is one of the private pleasures of a good pair. a hurried one, glove clamped in the teeth, makes the most beautiful leather look like a mitten.

handshakes

post’s rule for the street was strict: “a gentleman on the street never shakes hands with a lady without first removing his right glove.” in a more equal century the courtesy runs both ways, and it is the polite instinct for anyone in short gloves indoors. outdoors, in genuine cold, a gloved handshake is perfectly acceptable. nobody expects you to strip a hand bare on a windy pavement, and if the other person has removed theirs and you have not, “excuse my glove” covers it.

her exception is just as useful: “at the opera, or at a ball, or if he is usher at a wedding, he keeps his glove on.” formal evening gloves are part of the dress, and they stay on for greeting.

when gloves come off

the constant is food. post was clear that one must not “eat with gloves on”, and nothing about modern manners has softened that. leather and butter are not friends.

taking off short gloves gracefully

begin by loosening each finger. hold the tip of the glove’s little finger lightly between the thumb and forefinger of the other hand and give it a small, gentle tug, then the next finger, and the next, working towards the thumb. you are not removing the glove yet, only easing it from the skin.

then ease the cuff down a little over the palm and slide the hand free in one smooth movement. done well, it takes three or four seconds and looks unhurried.

two things never to do. do not bite the fingertips, which marks the leather and looks frantic. and do not peel from the cuff, which turns the glove inside out, stretches the fingers and looks like a surgeon leaving theatre.

fringed gloves reward slowness more than any other kind. with wutong’s black fringed leather gloves, the strands swing as the hand comes free and settle as you fold the pair together, which turns an ordinary moment at a restaurant door into a small piece of choreography.

taking off long evening gloves

opera and elbow-length gloves are rolled, not pulled. starting at the top edge, fold the glove down over itself towards the wrist, as you would roll down a stocking. when the glove is gathered at the wrist, loosen each finger as you would a short glove, then slide it off and unroll it flat.

post records one historical shortcut worth knowing, from the wedding chapter rather than the dining room. brides who kept their gloves on at the altar sometimes had “the under seam of the wedding finger” opened for about two inches, so that only the tip needed pulling back for the ring. for an ordinary dinner, simply take them off. post’s verdict on turning back the hands still stands.

where gloves go

folded together, palm to palm, in a coat pocket. in your bag; a good evening bag should hold a pair of short gloves. in your lap under the napkin at dinner, ideally tucked as post suggested. never on the dinner table, among plates and glasses. never stuffed up a sleeve for long, which creases the leather.

when you are holding them, carry the pair together in one hand, fingers pointing down, rather than waving them as you talk. it is a tiny thing, and it looks entirely composed.

putting them back on

smooth the gloves out first. slide all four fingers in together, then settle each one by pressing gently at the base of the finger rather than tugging at the tip, which stretches the leather. fit the thumb last, then the cuff, either under or over your coat sleeve, and give the wrist a small turn to let the leather sit.

good glove etiquette is really about ease, and a good pair makes ease more pleasurable. wutong’s fringe gloves, in plain black or with a knotted three-colour fringe, make a considered present for someone who will enjoy taking them off as much as putting them on.