The Sartorial Goldmine of 1954's White Christmas

The most stylish holiday classic you've never seen

I know it’s February, but I’ve been meaning to write this one for a long time, so bear with me!

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about White Christmas since I watched it for the first time back in December. Honestly, it’s the biggest reason I started this whole thing in the first place. I love movies. I love clothes. So I thought, why not combine the two and have a reason to write about both? And this film was pure eye candy for me.

If you haven’t seen it, White Christmas follows Bob Wallace (Bing Crosby) and Phil Davis (Danny Kaye), two World War II buddies turned successful song-and-dance men who have the kind of chemistry that only comes from dodging bombs together. After the war, their careers take off, but their lives take a festive detour when they meet a pair of singing sisters, Betty and Judy (Rosemary Clooney [George’s aunt!] and Vera-Ellen), and end up at a struggling Vermont inn run by their former commanding officer, General Waverly. The inn is on the brink of closure due to a lack of guests (and snow), so the group hatches a plan to save it with a massive Christmas Eve show. Cue elaborate musical numbers, some romantic tension, and a finale so heartwarming it might as well come with a mug of hot cocoa.

The film dazzles with show-stopping dance numbers, charming set design, mid-century film grain goodness, and rapid-fire, slick-talking dialogue. Together, these elements create an ineffable blend of sight, sound, and feeling that adds up to some cinematic magic. But I’m here to talk about the fits.

There’s something undeniably captivating about those perfectly tailored suits of yore. High-waisted and flowy, with a shape and drape that moves effortlessly with the wearer. And Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye can move. In every dance scene, the suits seem to flow right along with them, with no awkward pulling or tugging. The fabric enhances their movements, adding a sense of grace and motion that’s as much a part of the performance as the choreography. Add in some good ol’ olive-green military wear, and you’ve got a wardrobe that’s as captivating as the film itself.

So let’s break it down, focusing on Bob Wallace, Phil Davis, and General Waverly.

The Olive Green Opening Scene

The movie kicks off in a WWII flashback, and the wardrobe wastes no time letting you know where we are. Bob and Phil are rocking some serious military-issue gear: green M-43 field jackets, utility belts, combat boots. If you know your military surplus, you’re already feeling the vibes.

General Waverly pulls up in what appears to be a M-42 parka with fur-lined hood; an officer shirt with perfectly pointed collars, tucked into pristine pressed trousers. He’s relaxed as he commands the respect of his troops. It’s exactly what a guy like him needs when he’s leading troops into battle. And later, when he’s trying to keep a ski lodge afloat.

Suits n’ Showbiz

Fast-forward to the post-war glow-up, and Bob and Phil have swapped fatigues for some next-level tailoring. These guys are entertainers now, and their wardrobes scream successful showbiz duo. Every outfit looks like it was cut by a tailor who knows how to make a man look like a star.

Bob keeps it classic, favoring suits, sportcoats, and trousers in navy blues and grays. It’s the uniform of a guy who knows what he’s doing and doesn’t have to try too hard to impress you.

Phil is another story. On the surface their wardrobe appears similar, but throughout the film he exhibits sartorial proclivities that are a bit flashier than his more grounded counterpart. Pops of color here, a razzle of a pattern there. If Bob’s look is all about stability, Phil’s is about throwing a little spice into the mix.

This contrast between their styles helps define their dynamic. They’re opposites who balance each other out, and their wardrobes do just as much storytelling as their dialogue.

Inn Knit to Win It (and other bad puns)

By the time we meet General Waverly in Vermont, he’s traded his military uniform for the cozy attire of lodge life. We find him wearing a cardigan layered over a chambray shirt that nods to his officer days but feels more relaxed, tucked neatly into roomy, pleated trousers. Throughout the film, we see the general in a couple of different cardigans, and they act as a visual cue that Waverly’s shifted into a new phase of life, one centered on family and community rather than ordering soldiers around.

But it’s no surprise that as the inn begins to fill with guests, Waverly trades his cardigan for a leather jacket that wouldn’t look out of place donned in the sidecar of a motorcycle while surveying a battlefield. The buzz of activity seems to reawaken his old instincts, and you can feel them kicking in as he gears up for a new mission.

The more time they spend at the lodge sees Bob and Phil also embrace a more relaxed vibe compared to their stage outfits. One of my personal favorites for Phil is his chocolatey suede bomber jacket, which he pairs with a bright yellow shirt. In another scene, he channels the general’s energy, sporting a brown cardigan over a polo shirt.

Bob starts incorporating more color, with a red sweater under one of his signature sport coats and, in another scene, a light blue and red ascot that feels actually quite daring for him.

In the final act, the group hatches a clever plan to “accidentally” send all of General Waverly’s clothes to the dry cleaners. This leaves him no choice but to don his old military uniform. Dressed in his crisp service attire, he cuts an impeccably sharp figure. Standing tall and radiating pride, he captures the attention of his daughter, who has never seen him in uniform before. In that moment, she sees her father through the same lens of admiration and respect as everyone else does.

Edith Head, the legendary costume designer behind these fits, knew exactly what she was doing. It was about creating a visual language that told the story before anyone opened their mouths. This is why, decades later, the film feels as fresh and stylish as ever.