I spent last night in a hotel in Sydney. My favourite hotel, where the bath is big and the beds are soft and comfortable. It was lovely.
Early in the evening, I went downstairs to get some supplies from the convenient Woolies round the corner. I waited for the lift. It took its time.
Finally, it arrived, only to be full. Full of people around my age, dressed up to the nines in black tie.
"Who was the idiot who suggested black tie as the theme for this Christmas party?" somebody wailed.
I looked around the lift. Mark, Darren, Paul and Trev (these are the names I'm giving them - odds on, being Gen X men one of them will sure to have one of these names) were suited and booted. Only one of them was in a tux, the rest is their good suits with a properly tied tie. Men get off easy when it comes to Black Tie events. They can rent or they can get their funeral suit dry cleaned. It never fits quite right - just well enough to look presentable. Drown yourself in Joop, Au Sauvage or Old Spice, run a bit of gel in your hair and Bob's your uncle.
Women don't get off so easily. Women really don't.
Michelle, Tracey, Karen and Narelle (these are the names I'm giving them - I went to school with all of them) didn't fare so well. They all looked lovely.
But Black Tie is SOOOOOO unforgiving.
I'll remind you, this was a Christmas party for the sales team a large automotive retailer. But what 50-something year old woman wants to go out and spend money on a dress that highlights your bingo wings and the ravages of 50 years of child rearing, chardonnay, Queensland sun and a bitterly disappointing and uninspiring husband? Add to this finding an interstate hairdresser to do an up do, maybe a stop in a the soon to be defunct David Jones to visit a makeup counter to get the slap done (at the redeemable price of a lipstick or two). Of course, you have to shove your feet into shoes that won't take your orthotics and will leave you applying your clodhoppers with bandaids for a week after your podiatrist tears strips off you at your regular visit.
All of this to be piled into a function room at a swanky hotel to be plied with prosecco, because they won't go for the good bubbles, and wilting canapes. (Actually, from a distance, I saw a seating chart, so it looks like this crew had a place to sit and the choice of beef or chicken.
Regardless, men just have to attempt to look presentable for these 'occasions'.
Women are obliged to spend at least a couple of hundred dollars and face the silent judgement of their peers - or she in the lift wearing loose linen trousers, a collarless shirt and thongs, and feeling very good about these fashion choices.
Black tie must be associated with one of the levels of hell. If my mob get in, I'd look into banning, or at least making it non-compulsory for anybody over 35, when you can turn up in a pair of pants and a nice top. So much more egalitarian.
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