Costumes Robert E. Horseman, DDS

     It should be obvious to anyone who has not spent his waking hours during the last year cataloguing the indiscretions of our national leader, that notable changes are taking place within our own profession.

     Specifically, I speak of the costuming we embrace as health professionals. It is important that the public can readily identify us from other professional persons such as those engaged in public landfill projects or employed in the service of the Good Humor Company.

     In the early days of dentistry, when long frock coats and vests festooned with gold watch chains and elks’ teeth were considered de rigueur for dentists, black was the color that most nearly expressed the seriousness-of-purpose (SOP) we wished to project. It could also be worn daily for upwards of a month without visible blood splatters-- certainly a plus in those pre-high-volume evacuation days.  Additionally, the attire was appropriate at a formal wedding, a funeral or the ribbon-cutting ceremony at a new livery stable.  Its equal as an all-purpose uniform has never been matched.

     Suddenly, however, black was out, white was in. White represented purity, sterility and a new SOP as opposed, say, to candy apple red or hot pink.  Backed by a coalition of button manufacturers and laundry operators, the medical triumvirate of Marcus Welby, Ben Casey and Dr. Kildare dictated health care costuming for years despite the fact that not one of them knew a speculum from a matrix band. It was during the latter part of this era that skirts for auxiliary personnel disappeared almost overnight, much in the same way an impacting astral body is supposed to have wiped out the dinosaur population.

     Enter the Sixties.  This was a period when “doing your own thing” became paramount and, to people of my generation, indicated the Decline of Civilization initiated by the Beatles, had gone into warp speed. To dentists young enough to not recognize the names of Fred Allen, the Ritz Brothers, Horace Heidt and Glen Gray, the opportunity to state their new SOP was not to be missed.  White was definitely passe.  Pastels were hot, as were paisleys and tie-dyes. T-shirts with clever messages such as I’M WITH STUPID----à were common enough so that we could all express our individuality in unison.  The freedom from frequent barbering as well as an unlimited selection of footwear were the most precious things to have evolved since the advent of Bis-gma.  Dentists, in many instances, were difficult to distinguish from members of the Cirque du Soleil.  Not only did they suffer no embarrassment from this, they openly advertised it in the media, offering the opinion that cowards had little to fear from them providing they presented with a valid insurance plan. Little did we suspect that just around the corner a brand-new seriousness-of-purpose was about to be unleashed.

     OSHA took a good look at our uniforms and opined we were the laughing stock of the infectious germ world. Let us cover every bodily surface, it said, with something as impervious to bacteria as Kevlar is to bullets.  Spray it with Lysol and discard it at the end of each patient encounter was a recommendation.  God forbid you should launder it at home, it warned.

     At the same time OSHA was directing infection control, large corporate structures were sticking their nose in the tent with managed care ideas.  Individualism was in the decline, but uniform purveyors were not caught napping at their Singers.  The emphasis now shifts to the Dental Team.

     To impress patients with the concept of intensive team efficiency, modern dental office personnel can appear united in SOP by wearing identical uniforms.  It works for McDonalds and K-Mart is the reasoning.

     Personalized with an office logo, a typical dental outfit features a little smiling molar brandishing a toothbrush in one “hand” and a floss container in the other. Embroidered over an area beneath which a compassionate heart lies lurking, the effect is enough to allay the qualms of the most fearful.  Below the logo is the wearer’s name (first only—we’re friendly folks) and rank.  The dentist has his or her title of “DENTIST” boldly depicted so there’s no question about who’s the boss.

     It is not unusual to see a dentist and staff, all sporting the team outfit milling about in lockstep at one of the Scientific Sessions. It brings to mind ducklings that have passionately imprinted on their mother. Unfortunately, upon donning the OSHA stuff, all this is lost to the patient, but the staff is aware of who and what they are and that may be enough to sustain them between paydays.

     We may be in the last throes of individualism on this planet.  My observation of past and current sci-fi movies confirms that before long, all of us will be wearing a uniform of silver lame Spandex.  All of us--and that includes visiting aliens with the exception of those with multiple tentacles--will be encased in seamless, shiny, form-fitting suits.  Authority will be vested in the timbre of one’s voice, which should be similar to that projected by James Earl Jones. It couldn’t hurt to have a big, mothering laser gun at your disposal. 

      Dentists would be well-advised to keep this in mind when ordering supplies.

Originally published in the Journal of the California Dental Association, 09/98.

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