Getting Dressed
It’s party time! But what on earth should I wear?
Some years ago, I asked a friend what she would be wearing to a party we were both going to, and her husband responded with an observation the sartorial significance of which I have been pondering ever since.
‘Do you ever,' he asked her, ‘really “wear” anything?'
This was not a philosophical reflection but a genuine question: a practical dresser, my friend puts comfort before corsetry, choosing very fine linen and well-made boots.
When I put it to her once that we form a company called Quaker Clothing in order to promote the health benefits of big pants over thongs, she queried what I meant by big. Was I starting at the ankles, knees or thighs and stopping at the waist, breast or neck?
So the question is whether the woman who ‘wears' her party gown is better dressed than the woman who simply puts her party gown on.
We'd be foolish to mistake ‘wearing' a dress with having style. Remember Beau Brummell's observation about the dandy: ‘If John Bull turns around to look at you, you are not well dressed; but either too stiff, too tight, or too fashionable.'
Brummell's definition of taste is a more or less exact description of my friend's wardrobe: ‘very fine linen (and plenty of it)'; well-cut jackets and black hessian boots.
Anti-style, according to Brummell, is the essence of style. He was referring to the difference between the Prince of Wales, trussed up like a turkey in frills and bows, and a man like himself who knotted his neckcloth with perfection and polished his boots with champagne.
The embodiment of anti-style is Cary Grant: someone once said that despite being in Grant's company a dozen times and noting on each occasion that he was beautifully attired, they could never recall a single thing that he was wearing – not his hat, his shirt, his shoes, his suit or the colour of his tie.
Personally, I want John Bull to turn round and look at me. That's why I spend a fortune on frocks that I will wear, or rather ‘wear', only once.
But I also honour the Beau and know in my heart that he is right, which is where the Little Black Dress comes in. The whole point about the LBD is that it's understated, condescending and utterly forgettable. We see straight through the perfection of the line to the woman herself.
Think Audrey Hepburn, goddess of the LBD: we notice not the dress but her own effortless chic plus, of course, the cigarette in the seven-inch holder. Today's smoking ban is a style catastrophe, of course; no longer can women at parties lean against walls, a cigarette dangling between the lips.
Luckily, many invitations come with dress codes. But what do terms like ‘formal', ‘cocktail', ‘semi-formal', ‘smart casual', ‘casual' and ‘festive' actually mean? How formal is ‘formal' meant to be?
It's easy for men, who all put on the same formal uniform, but what are the rest of us meant to do? Can we show arms or ankles? Should hair be up or down? Contacts or specs?
My understanding of ‘formal' is dutiful, dowdy and joyless – the usual English look, in other words. ‘Cocktail' suggests flirty and thighlength, but what about the postmenopausals who are assumed no longer to have thighs or the capacity to flirt?
I take it that for hags like me, the category of ‘cocktail' no longer exists and we should aim on such occasions for ‘semi-formal' or ‘smart casual'. But I've never been much good at half measures – so my version of ‘semi-formal' is probably someone else's version of very formal indeed. And ‘smart casual' means pressed jeans – so you can forget that. I asked an expert to decode ‘casual' for me and she explained, gnomically, that it ‘allows you to be open towards being yourself'.
So, to help oldies through the party season, these are the new rules. ‘Formal' means effortless superiority – so go the full Lady Bracknell: lorgnette, veil, velvet, lace and extended train. For ‘semi-formal', shorten the train. ‘Cocktail' means cleavage, glitter, sequins and family jewels.
For ‘smart casual', read jumpsuits. For ‘casual', try, as Oscar Wilde put it, to ‘be yourself because everyone else is taken'.
This season's look, my expert informs me, is The Vampire's Wife, which happily combines my recommendations for ‘formal' and ‘cocktail': veils lace, extended train, black velvet, big hair and red lipstick. Think Helena Bonham Carter.
What about the accessories? For several years, I thought it was amusing to have a festive Christmas party handbag – red with a white furry trim. No one commented on it, such was the understated elegance.
Shoes are the real problem, especially if you prefer black hessian boots. I firmly believe in suffering for beauty and so squeeze into various heights of heel, the most vertiginous reserved for the more ‘casual' parties because only at these are you allowed to sit down.
As you go forth this winter, remember Oscar's rule: ‘Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear.'
Then put scare quotes round the word ‘wear'.
Brigid Keenan is away