When JFK made it a habit to step out without his hat, he basically wrote out its epitaph. The same is happening with our attire, it’s becoming a smart casualty.
In fact, I loathe the term semi-casual. It’s a juxtaposed oxymoron, an inherent contradiction. It’s also stupid. If it isn’t formal just call it casual, don’t be ashamed if your average invitee is the gold-chain flaunting, Croc-wearing kind; nobody honours invite timings, so don’t worry about convoluted dress codes.
And when the card says ‘smart casual’, it’s worse. Who in the world aims to dress up un-smart? It’s like the host wanted to write formal but was too scared people would disrespect his intentions. But just saying casual could leave the door open to board-shorts and wifebeaters so they took the middle path of euphemism. The trouble with all this polite deflection is that the only way, nowadays, to tell an elegant soirée from a potato-sack race is that the latter happens in the daytime.
I like tuxedos. I’m glad I own one. It’s my best fitness check, even more than my heart rate monitor or my step counter. It hangs solemn most of the year save for its biannual outing and when it does, it immediately serves to remind me just how much weight I’ve gained since the last time. With each subsequent frantic visit to the tailors, I make solemn promises to get back to fitness, No gym techno-jiggery is capable of such epiphanies.
But we don’t need to dress uber-formal always to dress right. The simple rule to follow is this: when in doubt, overdress. Short of turning up in a three-piece for a beach party, which would require unimaginable levels of daftness, you’ll never be out of place. A little extra is fine but turn up in anything lower than the lowest denominator and you’ve written yourself off. If you don’t take yourself seriously enough, why should others?
As for dressing casual, always dress for comfort. The key lies in shopping astutely; buy the right garments and stop worrying about trying out permutations. Sure it’s good to have weekend laze-in rags as also quirky Warhol-meets-Pollock-via-Lichtenstein pieces, but for most parts, keep things classic. Timeless over contemporary, style over fashion, is the statement one should go for.
But more than knowing what’s trendy, the biggest key to dressing right is knowing yourself. Take a long look in the mirror before you get dressed — if the shape staring back at you doesn’t look like it was meant to be stuffed into whatever you’re planning to wear, don’t. The world may tell you that you can do whatever you want, but I won’t. Ignore the world of unshapely people who are too lazy to work towards achievement; evaluate objectively what can or doesn’t work on your frame, in the moment or in general. Be fantastic, but don’t fantasise. I am too stocky and short for skinny jeans so I reserve my androgynous rock-star look solely for Halloween. Bold pinstripes is also a silhouette that I have reserved for another life. But it’s fine really, we don’t have to have it all go our way. Not everyone is Mick Jagger or David Bowie, and even they had bad wardrobe years.
The essence of style is grace; learn to wear that first, with humility.
This column is for anyone who gives an existential toss
