I think dinner deserves better clothes. Not every dinner. I am not wearing silk to eat soup alone over the sink. We remain practical. But when dinner is an event, I want it to look like one. There is something deeply satisfying about dressing for evening. Daytime belongs to function. Shoes you can walk in. Clothes you can work in. Bags containing chargers, receipts, emergency objects, and possibly a snack. Evening is different. Evening allows impracticality. A dress that exists primarily because it makes you feel beautiful. Shoes that contribute absolutely nothing to orthopedic health. Jewelry. Perfume. A little extra effort. This changes the mood before dinner even begins. I love watching a room fill up when people have dressed beautifully. Men in jackets. Women in dresses. Everyone moving slightly more carefully. Conversation somehow becomes more intentional. A martini looks better next to a cufflink. This is science. Probably.
I know casual culture has won. And much of that is good. Nobody wants to feel excluded because they chose the wrong fork or wore the wrong jacket. But I think we’ve confused comfort with pleasure. Sometimes pleasure comes from effort. Preparing. Anticipating. Making yourself beautiful for an evening. The ritual matters. There is romance in deciding what to wear. Especially when someone specific will see you. I enjoy that little private calculation. Too much? Not enough? Does this say elegant? Does this say dangerous? Can it say both? Ideally. And men: jackets help. I am sorry. They simply do. A well-cut jacket improves almost everybody. It creates shape. It signals intention. It says, “I knew we were going somewhere nice and I participated. ” Very attractive. I am not demanding a tuxedo at a neighborhood restaurant. But effort is flattering. To the person you’re with. To the place. To yourself.
I think this is why old hotel dining rooms still enchant me. They preserve ceremony. You enter through a lobby. Someone takes your coat. There is proper lighting. Glasses catch the light. People lower their voices slightly. You feel as though the evening has crossed a threshold. Modern life contains very few thresholds. We move from work to dinner to messages to streaming without changing state. Dressing creates the transition. You stop being daytime you. Now you are evening you. Evening you orders dessert. Evening you may have worse judgment. This is part of the appeal. Clothing also creates memory. I can remember certain evenings because I remember the dress. That black one. The red one. The silk blouse I wore in Paris. The shoes I regretted approximately two blocks into the walk. Memory attaches itself to objects. Later you see the dress hanging in the closet and the entire night returns. The restaurant. The weather. The man. The kiss.
This is why I do not understand saving beautiful clothes indefinitely. Wear them. They need memories. Otherwise they are just expensive fabric waiting in darkness. The same is true of watches. Cars. Jewelry. China. Wine. Use the beautiful things. Life is what makes them beautiful. I also think dressing well can be a form of optimism. It says the evening might matter. You are willing to prepare for something good. That is inherently hopeful. And sexy. There is nothing desperate about wanting to look attractive. I dislike the modern instinct to pathologize every form of presentation. Sometimes a woman wants to look beautiful because looking beautiful is fun. Sometimes she wants a man to notice. Sometimes both. Perfectly healthy. Men do this too. A good haircut. A beautiful watch. A shirt that fits perfectly. Perfume or cologne.
People have been signaling attraction through appearance since long before anyone invented dating apps. We are not above biology because we own smartphones. The best part is that dressing up can make an ordinary evening feel exceptional. You don’t need the most expensive restaurant. A small place becomes glamorous if the company is good and you arrived looking like you meant to be there. This is why romance is partly theater. Not fake. Heightened. You take ordinary life and add lighting. Music. Perfume. Wine. Clothes. Suddenly dinner becomes memory. I like that. I like making an occasion. I like being seen. I like seeing a man make an effort too. And if we are overdressed? Wonderful. Better than underdressed. Let them stare. We probably look fabulous.