When my ex co-worker invited me out for his birthday celebration at The Edison, I was a little hesitant. Not that I wasn't stoked to throw back a few with my old co-workers, but in the bulk email he sent out... in bold letters it read "There is a DRESS CODE"
Shit.
Dress code? I have absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever. I never even started caring about what I wore out until after my break up. I would usually come out in some outfit that Lynn would deem ridiculous and she'd sigh in disbelief, grab my shoulders, spin me on my heels, march me back into the room and pick out something that wouldn't completely embarrass her (or myself). Pathetic? Probably. But when you don't care, what does it matter?
Thank God for my cousin Mimi. She has a great fashion sense (so I'm told) and she loves to shop. So when my fashion consultant and I parted ways, I came up with a brilliant plan. Probably the only smart thing that's ever crossed my mind. I loathe shopping for clothes, so whenever I need clothes and I have extra dough, I fork it over to Mimi. Usually around $200 or so. And when she's shopping for herself, she'll search through the men's section at Nordstrom Rack or something. She never shows them to me or asks for my approval, because I always know that she's more knowledgeable than I am in that department. It'd be like asking some tongueless being to taste your pasta sauce. I have no fucking clue.
Rooting through my closet, I found a recent shipment from da cuz. A striped, long sleeved Ben Sherman shirt. Looks good to me, thanks Mimi! I never, ever wear long sleeved button ups. I never know if you're supposed to roll the sleeves or if you do, how MUCH do you roll them up. Or do I leave the top 3 buttons unbuttoned (or is it 2)? Do I wear a shirt underneath? Too many rules.
I must have looked alright, because I got into The Edison wearing that shirt, some jeans and my loyal pair of Chucks. The Edison is definitely my top 3 bars I've been to in LA. I don't think I've seen more "beautiful" people congregated in one area... all dressed to the nines. Drinks were extremely expensive and my bar tab made me go soprano for about .3 seconds. But it was the perfect balance of not being shoulder to shoulder with everyone, but also not having it be awkwardly empty. It really captures the whole flapper, 1940s era theme.
No word yet from my mystery, Facebook comrade... but I offered to be an escort to this Playboy event this weekend. That's how selfless a guy I am.
-crosses fingers-
