All Mink, No Knickers

My friend Steven and I had an exchange this morning that involved British witticisms. It started with “Bob’s your uncle” and went immediately to “And Fannie’s your aunt.” “Bob’s your uncle” is a classic British expression meaning “and there you have it” or “it’s as simple as that!” It’s used to indicate that something is easily accomplished or completed. For example: “Just add the flour, mix it in, and Bob’s your uncle – you’ve got perfect batter!” “Fanny’s your aunt” is sometimes added as an extension or variation, though it’s less commonly used. Together they emphasize the same idea – that something is straightforward and done. The origin is often attributed to British Prime Minister Robert Cecil appointing his nephew Arthur Balfour to a prominent position in Ireland in the 1880s, leading to the saying that if Bob (Robert Cecil) is your uncle, you’re all set! Though like many etymology stories, that might be more folklore than fact. Nevertheless, it’s one of those quintessentially British phrases that sounds completely baffling to outsiders but makes perfect sense once you know it.

Since we were both familiar with “Bob’s your uncle”, it did not seem strange to me to find out that there is a rejoinder like “Fannie’s your aunt.” It seems less etymologically significant, but logical nonetheless. I had a similar interaction with another friend from New York not so long ago. He said to me, based on something that happened that I cannot recall, the “Curiosity killed the cat.” My rejoinder to that was what I thought was a well known comment of “But satisfaction brought it back.” This caused no end of disagreement. “Curiosity killed the cat” is a well-known warning that being too inquisitive or nosy can lead to trouble or danger. It’s used to caution someone against prying into things that might be better left alone. What some people apparently don’t know is that there’s actually a second part to the original saying: “Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.” This fuller version suggests that while curiosity can be risky, the knowledge gained can also be rewarding or restorative. The phrase has been around since at least the early 1900s, though it evolved from an earlier 16th-century saying “care killed the cat” (where “care” meant worry or sorrow). It’s interesting how the shortened version emphasizes caution, while the complete saying is more balanced about the value of curiosity despite its risks.

This was a strange conversation to have this morning because I learned that a dear old friend of mine from forty years ago died in his sleep two nights ago. It so happens that his name was Bob, and the even weirder coincidence was that he was a well known risk manager in the New York banking world. So, between “Bob’s your uncle” and “Curiosity killed the cat”, it all seemed very apropos. Bob lived in the same town I did in my early career (Rockville Centre on Long Island). Our careers found us sitting close to one another over several assignments and in the days when I drove in and out of the city in a bank-owned car, I would often give Bob a ride home. Bob was a dozen years my senior and had been seriously wounded in Vietnam. He wore somewhat dark and heavy glasses, less because of eyesight issues, but more because the glasses disguised a deformation in his face from the explosion that wounded him and took one of his eyes. It was quite startling to see him without his glasses and then to see how much the glasses disguised the disfigurement. Bob was prone to strong judgements and had a habit of counseling me during our rides home about what I was doing wrong in my life. He was always on me about my weight and my not exercising enough by his standards. He also once told me that my problem was that I was still the four-year-old little boy who wanted his Daddy’s approval. Bob knew my father had left home when I was four years old and he also felt that I was managerially sycophantic towards our collective superiors at the bank. I do recall that his insight into my soul seemed somewhat penetrating.

Years later when I moved to Staten Island for a few years, I ran into Bob at a local Staten Island restaurant. Bob was a Staten Island boy who had gone to Wagner College and was one of its notable and most generous alumni. Bob had done quite well professionally and had more money than he knew what to do with. One of our mutual friends once said that Bob’s problem was that he didn’t know how to spend his money. That made some sense when I think about one of Bob’s great moments. He was mentioned in the book Barbarians at the Gate, the 1989 story about one of the big LBO deals of the day, the RJR Nabisco deal. In it, Peter Cohen, then head of Shearson Lehman, said that Bob was perhaps the worst poker player he had ever met. That’s the sort of epithet that tends to follow someone on Wall Street around like gum on their shoe. I recall one night of poker at a Bankers Trust partner’s meeting where Bob threw money into the pot so often that we were all amazed at his cavalier treatment of the very thing we all worked so hard to accumulate. That was a particularly enigmatic aspect to the image of a person involved in credit decision-making at the highest levels. I was sorry to hear of Bob’s passing, but glad to hear that he went peacefully in his sleep. Once again, that seemed contradictory to have such a quiet passing for someone who was so regularly outspoken.

That conversation with friend Steven this morning then took another turn. He called me back and said that he just remembered another British expression and it was “All mink, no knickers”. When he asked if I had heard that expression I told him I hadn’t , but that it sounded a lot like “Big hat, no cattle”. He seemed unfamiliar with that one. I looked it all up on my favorite AI engine after our call. It had not heard Steven’s expression but told me that “All mink, no knickers” sounded like a British variation of the American saying “Big hat, no cattle” – meaning someone who looks impressive or talks a big game but doesn’t have the substance to back it up (turns out, AI and I are in synch for a change). “Big hat, no cattle” refers to someone who appears wealthy or important (like a rancher with a fancy hat) but doesn’t actually own any cattle – so it’s all show and no substance. So “All mink, no knickers” would be the British equivalent – someone flaunting expensive fur coats but not even having basic undergarments, suggesting they’re putting on airs while lacking the fundamentals. It’s quite a clever adaptation of the concept. Leave it to the Brits to improve on an old cowboy expression.

Bob was a man who had lots of cattle and never bothered to wear a big hat. He used a belt and suspenders to hold up multiple undergarments without ever owning anything made of mink. He was the real deal and the poker table of life will be a lesser place without him.