Missing on the Emmys Red Carpet: Men Who Dress for a Show

Where is the male Cher? Designed to make a man recede into the background, to render him a neutral foil to a woman’s resplendent plumage, evening wear is a formula for guys: reliable and dependably dull.

When it comes to fashion, masculine containment is generally a wise idea. And awards shows have provided abundant examples of the wisdom of this policy, since for a lot of male entertainers, expressing originality often means rummaging through the costume trunk: frock coats, ruffles, suits in the unfortunate Easter egg pastels of a prom suit you’d sooner forget.

That pretty much changed when straight guys got the fashion memo, when thinking seriously about clothes was no longer considered a tell for sexuality. As LGBTQ life assimilated into the mainstream, the conformity that is at the root of all fashion grew gradually even more studied, less adventurous. (A notable exception being the MTV Video Music Awards, where the slobtastic styling currently dominating civilian Hollywood menswear — see please: Pete Davidson and Jonah Hill — first officially reared its fugly head.)

One result of a doubling-down on conservatism was an Emmys show that read like a sartorial version of a safety word. With the peculiar exception of the cast of “Queer Eye,” who appeared to be auditioning for an Atlantic City dinner theater production, men at the Emmy’s dressed soberly and impeccably in sharply cut evening clothes (as tuxedos are properly called) that religiously followed the rule book.

There was Justin Timberlake in a shawl-collared penguin suit, flat-front shirt, jeweled stud set and a necktie he had obviously knotted himself. There was Darren Criss, who walked away with an Emmy, in a super-fitted tone-on-tone black suit woven with a chevron pattern and a black shirt that while, technically speaking, is a sartorial solecism emphasized his buff muscularity. There was Milo Ventimiglia, nominated in the lead actor category for “This is Us,” wearing a tropical white Brunello Cucinelli jacket and shirt with a black onyx stud set, as crisp as the front page of a tabloid. There was Sterling K. Brown, nominated in the lead actor category for “This Is Us,” in a Spanx-tight tuxedo with padded shoulders, a flat-front shirt, discreet studs (and indiscreet sunglasses) deflecting attention from his good looks in E! interviews: “Why am I even looking at me?” As if.

Exultant on the red carpet, actor Brian Tyree Henry remarked a historic first: “Thirty-six black people nominated this year!” Henry was one of the few male performers to stray from a black-and-white uniform by wearing a colored and figured jacket that looked punishingly to be made of velvet, no picnic on a day when the temperatures in Hollywood topped 80 degrees.

Sacrificing comfort to vanity is something women know only too well. And, if it was clear that the men on the red carpet had sacrificed for the show by avoiding the cheese platter and hitting the gym in order to attain a standard sample size 38 regular, it was also sadly obvious that guys remained corseted by the constraints of good taste.

This is where Cher comes in. Everyone knows awards show ratings have been tilting steadily downward for years. One reason might be the tyranny of stylists hanging onto their paychecks by safeguarding clients from their own exuberant and possibly worst impulses. There is nothing wrong with being a paragon of male elegance, of course, a Cary Grant figure framed by boxy graphic shapes. Yet the sense a viewer got watching the Emmys preshow was that there must be an actor out there with a freak flag he’s ready to fly, someone hankering to dress in Jim Morrison leather and feathers, a vintage Hedi Slimane Saint Laurent tuxedo so tight it cuts off circulation, a Pharrell Williams Canadian Mounties hat.

True, talk show host Trevor Noah did make a point of tipping up his Louboutin pumps so everyone could clock their signature red soles. But that hardly qualified as a statement of personality, let alone of style. The doctrine of Cher will always have applications in a profession that somehow fell a little too hard for fashion along the way. Deep down what attracts us to these spectacles is not a chance to ogle more expensively polished versions of ourselves. No one tunes in for the tedious expressions of gratitude, the losers’ brave game faces or the designer label name checks. They call it show business for a reason. You come for a show.