Cary Grant, believe it or not, had figure problems. Studio costumier Edith Head used to keep special mannequins of the stars she worked with on a regular basis, and when George Hamilton — a sort of deeply tanned Cary Grant update — was first sent to her, he was shown the many secrets and countless sins that a good suit could conceal.

In an interview I once did with Hamilton, he told me how he marveled at Grant’s strategic tailoring, suits padded here and there to disguise a mild case of chicken chest and a tendency toward round shoulder.

Not that you’d ever notice. In those Edith Head suits … well, Cary had the sort of special-occasion sex appeal that nudity would have lessened. You sort of wanted to have sex with him while you were both in tuxedos.

Every great picture of a man in a suit has echoes of Cary Grant — that’s how strong his impact was. Grant was the platonic ideal of Man in Suit. Never stuffy, quietly elegant, all effortless man chic (caught with great economy by celebrity cartoonist Al Hirschfeld, above.) “Everyone wants to be Cary Grant,” the actor once famously said. “Even I want to be Cary Grant.”

Now it appears Saddam Hussein wants to be Cary Grant too. At trial, a thinned down, disturbingly dapper Saddam looks, in his suit, as if he were actually a serious person. As if he were a rather aristocratic defendant looking down at the civil servants around him with class disdain, and not the soul-dead murderer and torturer that the evidence — and history — bears witness to.

It is his suit, and the cool, careless way he wears it, that is throwing up this smoke screen. It is his suit, and his suit alone, that is doing the lion’s share of his defense.

This sartorial slight-of-hand has not been lost on Robin Givhan (below), who first reported on it in her Washington Post style column, setting off the predictable squawks from the flag lapel-wearing set. Anything more nuanced than bad guys wearing black hats always sets off their treason meters. With her penetrating eye, Givhan “reads” clothing for its political meanings. Where other writers report on trends that have little relevance a month or two later, Givhan gets beyond the aesthetics, delves into the psychological and universal.

We love her most when she tells us about the hidden agenda of ordinary clothing. (See how she took apart Chief Justice John Roberts and his picture-perfect family last summer.) Here then is an excerpt from her controversial column on Saddam and on the endless man-allure of a guy in a suit:

One of the more memorable images from the trial of Saddam Hussein is the ex-dictator in his power suit. On Monday, the former Iraqi leader sat in a pen in Baghdad with his co-defendants. He was dressed in a black pinstriped suit, white shirt and white pocket square. No tie.

Hussein’s decidedly Western attire stood out because the other men facing judgment were wearing traditional Arab robes and head coverings.

In the United States, it is common to see defendants enter the courtroom wearing their two-button best, but Hussein was wearing the clothing of Americans even as he was proclaiming his U.S.-masterminded trial invalid. Hussein, full of bluster and indignation over the Western “occupiers” and “invaders,” was dressed in clothes that have come to symbolize capitalism and international diplomacy — concepts he has never embraced. The suit celebrates civility, a concept at odds with what is known about Hussein’s personality.

The pocket square was a particularly distracting flourish. Paired with a tie, a pocket square tends to make a man look more formally attired. But without that accompaniment, it can look almost jaunty and rakish — like Sinatra or Dino in Vegas. Here was a man accused of ordering the execution of 148 people, accessorizing in the manner of a lounge act. (In October, he skipped the pocket square but unbuttoned his shirt in a manner eerily reminiscent of the Tom Ford stud style.)

Hussein’s style choice throws the viewer off balance. Is his modest paean to the Flamingo a simple reflection of his hair-dyeing, gold-leaf-loving, frightful vanity? Or has he decided to beat the “occupiers” from within their own system? Take it over, or mock it?…

Men from Africa and Asia wear business suits all the time … In business, a suit is part of an international language of profit margins and exchange rates. It is a silent way of announcing: All of us at this table are here to make money. Religion, culture, emotions have been left at the door.

But in the complicated relationship between the Middle East and the West, politics, culture and religion are woven into the fabric of traditional dishdashas and Ivy League specials. There’s no getting around it…

The robe, in the eyes of outsiders, functions as religious reassurance and cultural defiance. Its presence identifies a situation as personal and, perhaps, emotional. The suit signifies dispassion and emotional neutrality.

In the courtroom, Hussein’s appearance has muddied expectations and assumptions. (With his improved tailoring and George Clooney’s distressing Syriana beard and weight gain, the two are looking scarily similar.) … By wearing the uniform of international politics, he proclaims himself still in the game. He may not have military authority, that suit seems to say, but he has political might. He’s not a killer, but a statesman.

Perhaps, but not all the Cary Grant magic in the world, nor all the perfumes of Arabia, can wash those bloody hands.