Guests Can’t Upstage You-Know-Who, So No Fishing for Complements
“J oin us as we commit our love for eternity . . .” says the wedding invitation. We’re ecstatic at the prospect of watching our pals tie the knot. Then we hit the I’m-heading-for-a-wedding blues. What to wear this time, we wonder? Something trendy or classic? Chic or romantic? High style or low-key? We take a look at the challenge of it all . . .
SHE: I got a big surprise when I attended a wedding recently and saw that a pal was wearing a deep-rose ensemble that perfectly harmonized with the bridesmaids’ burgundy gowns. Beautiful color, I commented. Such luck!
It wasn’t luck, she said. She called the mother of the bride and asked about the color scheme of the nuptials. Such nerve!
On the one hand, I think the bride deserves “wedding-theme privacy.” It’s her party.
On the other, my friend looked absolutely fabulous at the reception. The decor looked like it was created just for her.
HE: It’s pretty much graven in stone, I’d think, that you’re not supposed to upstage the bride. Quite right; it’s her show. Which means, by extension, that the Male Spear Carrier Rule kicks in in spades. For you guys who have forgotten what that means, or who actually read GQ for fashion tips, or who are Fabio, the rule reads like this: “At formal or dressy events, men are background.”
Let’s face it, weddings are not guy events. The groom is a distant second fiddle, the guys propping him up might as well be invisible, and the men in the pews are there to fetch champagne for the women, smile and nod, and do the driving. They are, in a word, scenery. They should dress accordingly: proper, clean, understated. No silly accessories. No peacock stuff. Those are the basics.
SHE: I’ve always gone by the rule of dressing simply so as not to compete with the bride (as if anybody could). The tricky part, I think, is wearing an ensemble that is suitable for the church and the reception.
Evening weddings are a special challenge. I attended one last year in Beverly Hills where the vows took place in a cute little white church. I felt overdressed in my ribbon-trimmed black suit with gold flower buttons. (I was feeling a little weird in black, period. But--such luck!--the wedding theme turned out to be black and white.) I felt great at the reception, though. The suit, which has a flared skirt, was ideal for dancing. And the simple jacket looked classic, even with dressy buttons.
HE: In response to an approaching summer wedding a few years ago, I bought an item that all guys ought to have in their closets: an undyed raw silk sport coat. That and a pair of darker tan slacks and maybe even a light-colored vest make up your warm-weather wedding uniform. It also doubles as a spiffy cruise suit and, if you’re going to the Kentucky Derby, it’ll help you blend right in with all the Kentucky colonels in their white linen.
Apart from that, raw silk wears like iron, and you can get the wrinkles out by hanging it in the bathroom while you shower.
SHE: Men have it made. Toss on the shoes, socks, trousers, belt, shirt, tie, jacket, and they’re out the door. For women it’s step into hose, undergarments that match the outer garments, a dress or suit, gloves, shoes, hand bag, jewelry, fragrance, makeup and a hairdo. And God forbid if we forget the Kleenex, camera or Tylenol.
I love it when couples take the time to dress in harmony for a wedding. If I’m in a shocking-pink dress, for example, leave the brown suit on the hanger. Forget the sun-yellow tie. Wear the charcoal suit with the claret tie and we’ll take the cake!
HE: Well, gosh, wanna trade roles? You blend into the wallpaper and bring me more rumaki, and I’ll wear the scarlet brocade double-breasted vest with the gold watch chain and the gardenia in the lapel and the two-tone Italian shoes and hey . . . maybe a really brightly colored hat!
Gimme a break. If women couldn’t trot out their gaudiest stuff at weddings there’d be riots in the streets.
Also, about this dressing as a couple business: how much time do couples spend together at weddings, anyway? Damn little, methinks. She’s commiserating with the bride and the bride’s mom and the bridesmaids, high-fiving, sharing the big triumph, and the guys are together somewhere else, nostalgically recalling their own weddings, ferreting out the Heineken and talking about cars.
SHE: We sit together in the church, don’t forget. And if we have any manners at all, we’ll stand together in the reception line and sit by each other at dinner. And what about when we dance? Or when I scrape you off the floor after you’ve downed all those brewskies?
And forget the rumaki. I loathe liver.
HE: Only one brewski. I’m driving, remember?
I don’t mind dressing in a slightly complementary way, but I draw the line if we start to look like Barbie and Ken. I don’t want a bunch of maiden aunts coming up to us and pinching our cheeks and gushing, “Aren’t the two of you just the cutest things!”
Remember, I’m background, you’re foreground. You wear the bright stuff, I wear the raw silk jacket. You go dark and dramatic, I wear the navy pin stripes. You wear a space suit, I stay home. Simple.
