The Seersucker fabric Seersucker suits hails from India, where it was known as shir-o-shakar, which in Persian means "milk and sugar" and probably represented the contrasting textures of the fabric: milk for the smooth and sugar for the crinkle. The term evolved in the 18th century to become sea sucker, and later seersucker.
How and Why It Works:
The fabric is usually 100 percent cotton, and its smooth-and-crinkled striped texture
is achieved through a slack-weaving technique in which the alternating tightness and slack of the weaves creates both flat and puckered stripes. Because of the texture, the fabric is mostly held away from the skin, which helps improve air circulation and heat dissipation. It moves, breathes, and wears wrinkles well. Mostly because it starts off wrinkled free.
How to Buy It:
Though traditionally blue-and-white-striped, seersucker comes in many different varieties: brown on white, gray on white, even white on white. We would, however, recommend against red on white, unless you want people to walk up to you and demand a scoop of chocolate ice cream. Also, when buying a light fabric like seersucker, make sure the hem of the trousers is reinforced with heavier fabric to maintain the shape of the leg and protect the fragile material.
How to Wear It:
You'll presumably wear a collared shirt with Mens Seersucker Suits. Make sure it is crips and white.
Seersucker's origins are not lost on clothing designers whose ads convince guys this is apparel that will garner respect - or babes - while keeping you looking and feeling "cool." Seersucker certainly feels cool in the temperature sense, but in the end most guys look like tools of the fashion industry when they stuff themselves into a too tight pair of sucker shorts with a rolled-sleeve sucker blazer and a v-neck t-shirt.
The second major concern is that even without irony, seersucker is a very difficult fabric to wear well. Countless images of chiseled models wearing give the outward show of a crisp, clean drape. And while the fabric may be manipulated to hold that sharp shape, the natural lay of seersucker is more slackened and supple. This isn't a problem for skinny dudes with straight, square body types. But for curvy gents, athletes, or assorted, oddly shaped beaux, it's difficult to slip on the seer without looking like one has slipped on pajamas.
Fit is king. Fabric is second. If one's habit hangs well, it hardly matters who made it, or how much it cost. However, of what it is made has a huge inference for how it fits. This is where seersucker threads tread toward concerned waters. It is a weave not woven to hold a pristine pressing, but rather revel in scruffy relaxation; wrinkly raiment is the usually the reserve of dressed-down denim and t-shirts, not of more formal finery. Such a combination contained embroidered into the cotton itself can careen a chap quickly into accoutrement catastrophe. Combine that with the aforementioned connotations and cultural implications, and seersucker can dive a dude into douchebaggery faster than smoking a cheap pipe and wearing a Target-brand fedora, brand-new trench coat, and a clip-on bow tie.