The invitation arrives in the mail. You can immediately tell that it's not a bill or a flyer for a new pizza delivery place by its shape (a large square seems fashionable) and the generous heft and feel of its stock.
It's the first bit of mail you open, of course, and no matter how jaded you might aspire to be by the deluge of invitations you naturally receive on a regular basis, there is always the slightest frisson of excitement attached.
But, lately, something has been dampening my enthusiasm at being on the list. To all those who go to the considerable effort of sending a lovely printed invitation, rather than a lazy e-vite, may I ask, just what is intended in adding a dress code as impenetrable as a Rubik's cube?
Thanks to the brave new world of "anything goes," where fashion is about self-expression rather than propriety and we are all required to "think outside the box," the rules are still there, in the form of dress codes, but they have been so creatively altered that they might as well be written in Finnish.
Let's start with the obvious oxymorons: "business casual" and "creative formal."
The former, which has been interpreted by those who do not speak Finnish as "come straight from the office without even running a comb through your hair," is responsible for the sea of tired-looking women in safe black suits at evening cocktail parties. The latter must bear responsibility for men in tuxedos with T-shirts and dirty Converse All Stars, or, even worse, novelty ties.
I have vowed that I will never, ever attend an event where the invitation says "Dress to Impress." But what on earth to make of the heinous "eclectic," the recent "savvy attire" and the even more puzzling coda on an invite I received during the recent bout of film festival parties: "Style Code in Effect"?
Has the ability to decipher the bizarre fashion instructions on invitations become the new velvet rope?
Veteran event planner Barbara Hershenhorn, whose company Party Barbara plans many of the Toronto film festival bashes, is annoyed by this vogue in invites. "I hate to be the old fuddy-duddy, but these new, trendy little three-word dress codes are idiotic," Hershenhorn says. "What does 'style code in effect' mean? That designer jeans are good but no Levis 501s? Who's doing the judging? And how are they judging your outfit -- by the cost?"
Here in Canada, where we are fashion lemmings, most of us appear to bow to the style conundrum by copping out. Though it is not stated anywhere, the common "black-tie optional" is understood as "don't get too dressed up or you will feel like a complete idiot." Terrified as we are to stand out, dressing down seems to avoid the problem of being taken as someone who cares. As a result, the recent look of a frilly top with designer jeans and heels has become so ubiquitous I predict that I will soon come across that foolproof fashion solution at a funeral.
Of course, the insistence on appearing casual at all times, even in the most inappropriate of circumstances, has made the phenomenon of people walking around on the street in what are essentially clothes intended as athletic wear (sweatpants) and underclothes (tank tops) commonplace. No surprise then that casualization has entered the language of the invitation. Parties can be: "dressy casual," "festive casual," "smart casual" and "evening casual." If those aren't sufficiently confusing, try "cocktail casual," "upscale casual" and "casually swank."
If the composers of such invitations were just to cut the bullshit and tell it like it is, what they would write would be the style direction that is fashion's Holy Grail. Forget silly, frilly tripe like "swank" and "savvy" and "eclectic." And please, please, stop trying to think of novel additions to the word casual. The simple fact is that fashion has one directive, no matter the occasion and, somewhat ironically, it's not to look like you tried too hard to follow any rules. "Effortless chic" would be my suggestion. Hey, it might be just as challenging to follow, but at least it would be honest.