Le “Canadian Tuxedo“—le fait de porter du denim en haut comme en bas—est né à Vancouver en 1951. Bing Crosby—de retour d’une partie de chasse, habillé en Levi’s de la tête aux pieds—s’est vu refuser l’entrée d’un hôtel pour son apparence jugée déplacée. Trop décontractée, trop ouvrier, pas assez chic. Crosby transforme l’humiliation en plaisanterie. Levi’s répond avec ironie : une veste de smoking sur mesure, entièrement en denim, rivets compris, avec une étiquette en cuir affirmant que Crosby—éclatant, presque comique—est le bienvenu dans n’importe quel hôtel, où qu’il soit. Le “Canadian Tuxedo”, c’est l’ironie déguisée en tenue de soirée. Une blague, certes—mais durable.
The Canadian Tuxedo––wearing denim both for the top and bottom––was born in Vancouver in 1951. Bing Crosby—after a hunting trip, dressed in Levi’s head-to-toe—was turned away from a hotel lobby for his outrageous look. Too casual, they said. Too working-class, even. Not the right attire for a fancy hotel. Crosby turned humiliation into a joke. Levi’s responded in kind: a custom tuxedo jacket made entirely of denim, finished with rivets, and a leather patch declaring Crosby––while flashy, almost comical––welcome in any hotel, anywhere. The Canadian Tux was irony dressed as formalwear. A joke, yes—but one with endurance.
The full denim look was already in the air. Cowboys wore it. Miners lived in it. But this pairing—top and bottom, indigo and indigo—was something not seen outside manual work environments. Anti-fashion and yet unforgettable. Elvis wore it with a sneer. Marvin Gaye wore it with his iconic orange beanie. Springsteen made it Americana. Diana wore it cropped, over bike shorts. The formula never changed: denim above, denim below. Same cloth, different intention.
