Wardrobe malfunction

ZZ TOP has been advising guys for decades on how to be a babe magnet. “Every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp-dressed man,” the band sang in its 1983 hit. What is a person thinking, then, when he shows up for a date wearing baggy shorts and flip-flops?

He might say he’s just being himself. I say he’s being a hypocrite. Few men would like it if the tables were turned -- if, say, she made her debut in oversize sweatpants and a “Powered by Beer” T-shirt.

Of course, Mr. Sweats and Beer was not my only ill-kempt encounter. A coffee date wore pants that dragged the ground and a jacket stained with food. My escort for a gallery opening sported too-short shorts and a too-tight shirt with a too-generous midriff peeking out between. Since he retired, he said, he no longer wears long pants.

Superficial or not, first impressions count. We want to meet people whose appearance says they made an effort, that a date is just as important as a day at the office. If a woman shaves her legs and puts on eyeliner, she hopes a man at least will be clean. She doesn’t expect an Italian suit for a casual lunch, but nor should the guy look as if he just rolled out of bed and couldn’t find any other clothes.

There’s a difference between expressing yourself and being nasty. Crash Davis explains it to rookie “Nuke” LaLoosh in the classic baseball film “Bull Durham”: You’ll never make it to the major leagues with fungus on your shower shoes. Once you’re a star, you can let the fungus grow, and the press will think you’re colorful. Until then, it means you’re a slob. Look classy, Crash advises, and you’ll be classy.

The slob situation isn’t a West Coast exclusive. My friend Virginia said a college classmate complained of not being able meet nice women in Philadelphia. Ditch the jeans and sport shirt, she told him, and put on a suit. Then stand on any downtown street corner at lunchtime, and women will strike up conversations. They might feign needing directions or the time of day, but they will definitely check you out.

We all cling to certain threadbare duds: the acid-washed jeans worn nearly transparent, the now-shapeless cashmere sweater bought in France 20 years ago, the sandals we had at Woodstock. Those are our comfort clothes for watching “Ren and Stimpy” on DVD and eating Doritos out of the bag. Preserve those clothes, cherish those memories, but keep them private for now. I don’t want to see your toenails until I know you well enough to share your cartoons and corn chips.

Men recently divorced or widowed get some slack if their wives used to buy, launder and lay out their clothes. If a man hasn’t chosen his wardrobe since college, that might explain a beer T-shirt; but it wouldn’t be a good excuse. You’re a grown-up now. If you’re not sure how to dress, ask friends and family -- people love doing makeovers.

If you know but don’t care, maybe you’re not ready for dating. There’s a lot to be said for reveling in your scruffiness, living on your couch and not owning an ironing board. If that’s who you are, embrace it. Get in touch with your inner slug. Be aware, though, that a lot of people don’t find that persona attractive.

I met my boyfriend on a blind date at Dodger Stadium. If ever there was an excuse to dress down, a baseball game would be it. But he wore pressed slacks and a spotless white shirt.

Some people say when they first found love, they heard angels singing. Not me -- I heard ZZ Top.

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Deanne Brandon can be reached at weekend@latimes.com.