One Saturday night not that long
ago I was looking for something a little different for us to do, so I picked a
snazzy nightclub with a show featuring a drag version of Judy and Liza (you
don’t really need last names, do you?) performing together again in all their
glory. It sounded just goofy enough to lift our spirits after a long week, and
just glamorous enough to remind us why we pay these ridiculous Manhattan rents.
For those who are not aware, there
is a street right off Broadway known as Restaurant
Row that is filled with really lovely places to keep your party going long
into the night. The glory years of Manhattan nightlife -- El Morocco, The Stork
Club, and Ricky Ricardo’s Tropicana -- are long past, but you can still savor a martini, have
a wonderful meal, spot celebrities, and see some great entertainment. With that
in mind I slapped on some lipstick, swirled out the door, and ran to meet Mr.
Smarty Pants; all ready for a swanky night in Manhattan.
The
show was great, but the only ones wearing anything sparkly were Judy, Liza, and
me. All of the other women were wearing exactly what their husbands were
wearing: the tee shirts and pants they had worn when they left their hotels
earlier that day.
It
made me sad – isn’t a lot of the fun of going out picking the right outfit? The
ritual of getting all dressed up? Making an entrance? Is that just me?
(Evidently not!)
A few nights later we went with
some friends to a Broadway show. At intermission I looked down the aisle and
spotted this gentleman:
Yes, this was at a Broadway show – a
full-on, $200-a-seat, legitimate, smack-on-Broadway show – the real deal. Now,
I know there are those of you reading this who are thinking, “He paid for the
seat. He can wear what he wants.” To that I reply a witty, “Shut up.” Not only
is his outfit disrespectful to the artists involved in the production, but it makes
the evening less special for everyone around him and, even if he’s not aware of
it, to himself. No less an authority than Project Runway’s Tim
Gunn said as much, when he referred to “the slobification of America.”
When you spiff yourself up it makes
everything around you feel that much more special. You have declared this to be
an event with something extra attached to it, and you start making yourself
more invested in having a good time.
This delicious dress is here
purely because I absolutely love it and it’s great to have a reason to post it.
(Thanks to the Facebook group Mid Century Fashion for drawing it to my
attention.) One of my cousins tells me her mom actually owned this dress, which
kind of makes me feel that I’m related to this turquoise confection.
(You're
welcome.)
Sadly,
most women don’t have pretty little frocks like this hanging in their closets
any more. Most cocktail parties seem to be work related now; business attire
and bored expressions are more prevalent than chiffon, kitten heels, and
sharkskin suits. Mad Men started the conversation about women and men
missing a better way of dressing.
The "Mad Men" Fashion Effect
Is it too much to ask to change into
something…special? I’m not being gender specific here. I’m certainly not saying
dresses and suits are The Be All End All for everyone. I’m not even saying what
makes me feel special will make you feel special. I’m saying that if you wore
it to plow the Lower 40 or clean your garage it’s not appropriate to wear to a
venue where if the drinks come dressed with paper umbrellas, they would have
better outfits than you.
If you already wore it to shop for
groceries, go home and shuffle the hangers in your closet to hunt for something
a little more upscale for your night on the town. If you’re going out to dinner
at a place that doesn’t serve meals through a window in a paper bag, do
yourself a favor and put on something that wouldn’t be considered athletic
wear. And while you’re at it, think about making every one of your days a
special occasion. Because if you do they actually do feel more special.
And
by extension, so do you.
