Maintaining privacy has to some extent become another archaic idea. In general, the media don’t allow celebrities to keep their privacy. We’ve become so accustomed to this state of affairs that we hardly value our own privacy anymore. Nevertheless we admire those who seem to have an innate sense of what is appropriately kept from the intrusion of others.

But have we made the connection? Privacy is foundational to the elusive quality that we try to describe with words like dignity, propriety or modesty: unpretentiousness.

A vivid example of this kind of quiet dignity in recent public memory is Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Described repeatedly in the media as "an intensely private person," Mrs. Onassis almost never granted interviews. But the less she said, the more fascinated with her the press grew. In an obituary, journalist Robert McFadden eulogized the former American first lady with these words, "There was an avalanche of articles and television programs on her fashion choices, her hair styles, her tastes in art, music and literature." About her reaction to her first husband’s assassination in 1963, he wrote, "In public, what the world saw was a figure of admirable self-control, a black-veiled widow who walked beside the coffin to the tolling drums with her head up . . . and who looked with solemn dignity upon the proceedings." Is it coincidence that this very private person was described with words like understated, stunning, classic, self-controlled, dignified? And is it also coincidence that it was a rare article that didn’t also describe what she was wearing with similar adjectives?

McFadden’s obituary gave insight into Mrs. Onassis’ sense of propriety, of inner modesty, by citing a comment she made about her work as a book editor at Doubleday: "Mrs. Onassis gave a rare interview to Publishers Weekly, the industry trade magazine, and it was on the subject of publishing. She agreed to the interview, Mrs. Onassis told the reporter, only on the condition that he use no tape recorder, take no photographs and ask no questions about her personal life. In the interview, in typically self-deprecating style, she said she had joined the profession because of a simple love of books. ‘One of the things I like about publishing is that you don’t promote the editor—you promote the book and the author,’ she said."

Possibly, in light of examples like hers, the adage that "clothes make the man" may be missing the point a little. Maybe the man (or woman) makes the clothes. Maybe propriety, modesty, unpretentiousness—this rare kind of private dignity—if it exists on the inside, will manifest itself on the outside with a wardrobe that is as classic, timeless, and free of self-promotion as the person wearing it. If it doesn’t originate from a place deeper than our closet, then the new "propriety" is just another passing fashion fad. And based on a June 8, 2004, article in the New York Times, it appears that this is precisely the case: "Robyn Duda, 22, an events coordinator in New York, said her contemporaries are now more conservative. ‘But some of this is just fashion,’ she said. ‘Whatever is in the magazines, that’s what we’re going to wear. If the magazines are showing skin, we’re wearing skin. If it’s a jeans jacket with the collar up, that’s what we’re wearing.’" And one can hardly blame her. Vogue’s "Propriety Values" is not really pushing propriety any more than values. One spread in the article depicts a refreshingly fully clad model, the only visible skin being that on her face and hands. But the accompanying caption is illuminating: "The Art of Flirtation: Statement minks and check-me-out jewelry get your message across."

When it comes right down to it, it appears that nothing’s really changed. We’re still shouting, "Hey! Look at me!"

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