The American Spectator

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(Page 8 of 14)

Richard Hunter br> Co-Chairman, St. James Pro-Life Committee br> Falls Church, Virginia /p> p> SUITABLY CHARMED br> Re: Lawrence Henry's Dressing and Dressing Up : /p>

In the 1980s, I used to attend the Mensa Symposia at Queens College Cambridge (that's England of course) every summer, and one of the traditions is a formal dinner "Chariots of Fire Style." My first encounter with this tradition was the first time in my life that I was passionately grateful that I was forced to attend Charm School in the Sixties, as I watched panic-stricken hippy-dippies (intelligent people are a motley lot) openly watch their neighbors to see which fork to use and where to expect the waiters to appear. In the matter of dress, though, the men were the lucky ones; they were carried off en masse to a local tuxedo rental and, oddball haircuts notwithstanding, came back looking, as we girls informed them with giggles, "like a lot of penguins."

But the girls! It was shock and awe (and wackiness, as they say in the movies) to view the panoply of garments in which the women appeared. Clearly there were very few Sixties Chicks whose mothers had put their foot down and said "Let's hear no more about this Debutantes Are Bourgeois nonsense! One day you'll mingle with Important People and if you don't know how to behave [she meant how to dress and which fork to use] you'll be sorry for the rest of your life." As the girls tiptoed in and began to cast awed glances at the table before them, there were ruffled paisley mini-dresses in which, as Daddy said, you could not tell where her plunging neckline left off and her open toed shoes began; there were clearly prom dresses borrowed from older sisters or relatives; there were one or two unmistakable bridesmaid's dresses with dyed-to-match shoes, and there was one defiant one in a Dashiki with hat to match. There were not many women (men outnumbered women in Mensa by at least five to one) but the eye was drawn to the panoply of fashion faux pas and the expressions on faces that told me Mama was right; if you show up at a formal dinner dressed for a masquerade, you'll never forget it as long as you live. I have no dress sense and if you told me to close my eyes and describe what I'm wearing, I'd be hard pressed to tell you on any given day. Nevertheless, there I was in a floor-length confection with a lace overskirt and a lovely white shawl, Cuban heeled ankle straps and plain white stockings. Every stitch thereof picked out and provided by Mama, whose nightmare was that I would appear in a tennis dress and PF Flyers.

p>Odds are pretty good that you won't need a formal more than a couple of times a year, but if you do need one, please get help in assembling it. And yes, it does matter what season you're dressing for, although black is still smart for all seasons if it's the right black. Or so I'm told. Today I make do with The Anne Klein, a blue silk that fits like a dream for summer events and a black cashmere for winter. And I'm happy to say I remember the Silverware Mantra perfectly: "outside in/top down." Serve from the right, remove from the left. And never mind about the glasses. They only fill the one you're supposed to use. br> -- Kate Shaw

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