There was a time when a monogram kept a low profile. It appeared on a cuff, or the corner of a handkerchief, or a pillowcase that had seen better days, and that was that. If you noticed it, fine. If you didn’t, no one felt the need to circle back and point it out.
The custom started, sensibly enough, in 18th- and 19th-century France, when linens were sent out in alarming, indistinguishable heaps and expected to return to their rightful homes. Initials, stitched small and neat in red or blue, kept the peace. They were clear without being decorative, effective without being showy.
