Last-Minute Touches Make a Lasting First Impression
I t’s the evening of their first date--drinks and dinner at Fashion Island’s Tutto Mare--and Cathy and Heathcliff are all but paralyzed by indecision. Dedicated body and soul to making that all-important first impression, they stand before their closets, freshly showered, feeling their decision-making faculties turn to gruel. They agonize. What combination of threads and accessories will be right for the location and, more importantly, the company?
HE: OK, OK, I can do this. Good restaurant. Been there before. Not too formal, not too casual. Big latitude. Get away with a lot. God, I’m talking like George Bush. Relax. All right, how about going high-end? It’s Friday, and a lot of The Suits will still be there for after-work cocktails.
OK, then, a suit. A dark one. Maybe with a vest. And black shoes. And a pin-dot tie. Yeah, that’ll impress her. “Here’s a hard-charging, no-nonsense, take-charge, flint-and-steel, ‘90s kind of guy,” she’ll say.
Or she could say, “This guy’s wound up tighter than a $20 Rolex.” Geez, I hate this.
SHE: It’s too tight! A month ago I buy the perfect go-everywhere little black dress and already it’s riding up around the hips. Should have skipped the cold pizza for breakfast.
Now what? Hmmm. Could go ahead, wear the little black dress and disguise the problem with my Nina K. jacket, the gold-braid encrusted one my last date said made me look like Napoleon. ( Thanks , guy. ) Or wear my new gray flannel suit? Naw. The men’s look might turn him off. Relax. It’s just a date.
HE: Ah, of course. The bad boy look. Babes love a rebel. Lessee . . . that $50 white long-sleeved designer T-shirt I bought the other day when I temporarily lost my mind, a pair of real baggy slacks that make me look like a Mafioso. And that studded leather jacket I wore on Halloween. And a surly expression. But what if she shows up dressed like one of The Suits? God, she’ll look like my parole officer.
SHE: Maybe I should skip the above-the-knee look altogether and sport pants. A black cat suit! Too sexy? Not if I wear it with a serious jacket. That outfit would send the perfect mixed message: “I’m playful; but I can commit.”
HE: It’s Newport Beach, right? I’ll go nautical: dress Topsiders, green go-to-hell pants with little blue whales on them, a polo shirt, maybe a blazer. The Thurston Howell III rich eccentric yachting-guy look. But what if she expects me to take her to the Bay Club so we can hang out with a bunch of other guys dressed like me? They’ll open fire on me before I can get past the parking kiosk.
SHE: Dare I go decollete? That bustier with the sprinkle of rhinestones would knock him out. I could wear it with blue jeans and suede boots. Yeah. That’s it. The old these-boots-and-bustier-were-made-for-walking look. I read in a fashion magazine once that if a woman reveals her body occasionally she’s “reminding herself and others that she’s more than a function in the business world.” I need Heath to know that. He sees me at work everyday in the same old I-mean-business outfit.
HE: Come on. Do it like Tim Robbins did it in “Bull Durham”: Don’t think, Meat, just give ‘em the gas. Use your instinct. Dress cowboy boots. Good Levi’s. White dress shirt. Sport coat. Bingo. If you’re comfortable, she’ll be comfortable. It’s clean, it’s classy and it feels good. It’s you. Might as well let her see the real thing from the get-go.
SHE: Ahhhhh, yes! I love the way this looks! Baby-pink leather miniskirt and fringed jacket to match. Pink boots. Move over, Madonna. Even my cotton-candy nail polish works. After pasta, I’ll ask him to hit Cowboy Boogie. Sure hope he doesn’t show up in some macho-looking outfit and call me “babe.” I’ll die.
HE: Good Lord! She looks like a go-go dancer at the Grand Ole Opry! I’d better fake a quick heart attack.
SHE: Wow! He looks perfect! Well, maybe after he loses the $20 Rolex.
