Fashion Disaster

There are certain things gay men are supposed to know. It's common knowledge that we have the ability to walk into any room, move one piece of furniture and immediately create cocktail party space. We know how to make our best straight girl friend feel better about herself when her boyfriend doesn't return her calls. We know what it means when a house has flow. And we know, at least we're supposed to know, how to dress better than anyone else. Unfortunately, fashion is something I just don't get.

I am a fashion disaster.Really. Carrie Bradshaw would never issue an invite for me to join her for a few Cosmos and some girl talk. Anna Wintour has never called out "We're holding next month's cover until we get Tom to agree to loan us his Gap corduroys and that stretched out green sweatshirt he's so fond of." And after one look at my usual get-up, I'm sure Heidi Klum wouldn't even take the time to utter her entire goodbye. Most likely, I'd be dismissed with nothing more than "Auf."

If I was a straight man this wouldn't be a problem. But a gay man is expected to understand the intricacies and importance of fashion. Gay men are supposed to have the genetic makeup that allows us to know what belt goes with which shoes, what color your socks should be and when it's OK to mix and match patterns and when you're just asking for trouble. But I don't know these things. I once called my friend N and asked him if was OK to wear a striped shirt with a certain floral-patterned tie. I was feeling very chic when I asked, for I swore I was onto something that would be considered not only fashion-acceptable, but downright cutting edge.Then N answered with "Why would you want to do that?" which quickly ended my dreams of being a fashionista.

Not knowing what to wear, and what not to wear, is a problem. Especially when it comes to going to work. I do a fair number of corporate presentations and have learned that people will jump to conclusions about you before you even say hello. Walk into a room wearing a Prada suit, for instance, and people will sit up and take notice, believing you have something important to say. Walk into that same room dressed in a wooly jacket and mismatched socks and the scenario is suddenly much different.

Allow me to tell this story as an example:

I am about to start a presentation in the boardroom of a multi-billion dollar company. I am alone in the room until one man walks in. He's impeccably dressed in a suit that most likely costs more than my annual salary. He's also glowing, as if someone took a can of varnish and shined him up from head to toe. Everything about his appearance is perfection from the knot in his necktie to the shiny points of his three hundred dollar shoes. And while goldenboy gave off his designer glow, you know what I was wearing? An ill-fitting blazer that I've worn to almost everything in the past five years, a pair of blue pants with a piece of masking tape adhered to the inside of the right leg to hold up the unravelling hem and my scuffed black shoes with the heels that are so worn down they make me limp. And, trust me, I do not glow.

Another problem, is my boss issue. I have a boss who believes nothing is more important than appearance. She has been known to feel faint whenever brown and black are worn together. She's gone into day-long snits over nothing more than how a scarf is tied and once gave the younger staff a long lecture on the danger of flip-flops (yup, a whole lecture). One day I wore gray pants with brown shoes to the office. When she saw that particular combo, you would have thought I had just been unmasked as a serial killer. Actually scratch that, a well-dressed serial killer would have received a warmer welcome.

Next week, I have a business dinner fundraising event to attend. It's one of those nights that I dread, where appearance means more than it should. So, I will have someone help me put my clothes together. For one night, my tie and shirt will compliment my suit. I will make sure my shoes are shined and my hair is in place. I will do my best to get my 47 year old skin to glow.

Maybe someday I'll have more of a handle on this whole fashion thing, but it's unlikely. What's probably going to happen is the day after the event, I'll be back to the office wearing my usual gear. I don't know what I'll have on, but I can't promise that brown shoes and masking tape won't be involved.