Chapter 5: Mike's "Puffy Shirt"

According to Boy: The episode was first broadcast on September 23rd, 1993. It was known as Seinfeld’s "Puffy Shirt Episode." In it Kramer, Elaine and Jerry discuss a puffy shirt that Jerry unwittingly agrees to wear during a TV interview. Leslie, the resident "low-talker," got him to agree to it by talking so low that Jerry did not hear what she was saying. And Jerry, always trying to be nice, nodded his head in agreement to her inaudible request.

Well, I had my own "Puffy Shirt." The year was 1968—puffy shirts were popular back then, at least in Greenwich Village. Actually, it really wasn’t a puffy shirt. It was more like a "ruffle shirt." It was light green with long sleeves. I am not sure from what material it was made, but I suspect it was not totally cotton—it did not breathe, and it had to be dry cleaned.

Shirts such as this were pretty common back in the early 70s. You could expect to find someone such as Bob Dylan or Jim Morrison wearing one on the cover of a record album (perhaps even a 1970 Mick Jagger wannabe named "Mike"). No one could actually perform under the lights wearing such a shirt, however—no ventilation.

The cuffs were longer than most shirts, with a ruffle that extended almost another inch past the end of the sleeves, reaching well onto the thumb. There were two rows of vertical ruffles on each side of the front, with no breast pockets. These ruffles started at the shoulders, and ended just above the belt. The shirt could be tucked in, or could be worn out. The collar was standard, so it could be worn with a tie. But I doubt that anyone ever did such a thing. I wore the shirt for a dress-up look, usually with denim bells.

My wardrobe was very basic in 1968. I had a couple Brooks Brothers pinstripe suites, and a lot of hole-riddled jeans. I had little to wear outside those two extremes. So, when we were preparing to go to a mutual friend’s wedding (Tom Thompson’s), I had a bit of a difficult time deciding what to wear. I knew I did not want to wear a business suit, so that left the ruffle shirt and bells. Evie thought it would be fine.

Initially that seemed the natural thing to do. Tom already knew that Evie and I were hippies. He wouldn’t be shocked. What we didn’t take into account was the location of the wedding—Lancaster, Pennsylvania.

When we first got on the Amtrak, all seemed well. There were a lot of people on the train that looked like us. However, the more stops we made, the more we seemed to stand out—especially I stood out.

People would get off the train, and others would get on. Soon nearly half of the passengers were wearing basic black and white. Parents would walk by us, and their children would point at me. It was too late to turn back, and there was nowhere to hide.

Just as we were leaving the train station, one little boy walked past us with his parents and baby sister. He pointed at my ruffle shirt and said, "Dad, look at that."

"Yes, Son, that’s a "sissy dresser," the father said matter-of-factly.

So, that was me—the sissy dresser. I thought I was Mick Jagger, but that Lancaster family probably had never heard of the Rolling Stones. I knew at that moment that this could easily be one of the worst days of my life.

Evie sensed my discomfort. She said something like this: "No one knows us here except Tom Thompson, and he is just going to be happy that we came. Besides, we will give him something to talk about." That helped, the rest of the trip went pretty well.

I have often wondered if that little boy might have been Jerry Seinfeld. Why not? Perhaps I am the source for his aversion to Leslie’s puffy shirt. Could be, I think. He didn’t want to be a sissy dresser. But, being the brave soul and gentleman that he is, he sucked it up and wore the stupid shirt.

That episode of Seinfeld became a classic, to the degree that in November, 2004, Jerry’s famous puffy shirt was accepted by the Smithsonian. How wonderful for him. My earlier version found no more than an ignominious demise in a trash can the day we moved from the Village.

My only regret (regarding that ruffle shirt) was that I did not save it for my children to see. They even had a difficult time believing that their parents actually ever wore bells.