What Not to Wear

Despite the Indian Summer we are currently experiencing, which technically isn’t anything of the sort as there needs to be a frost first before the warm weather, my mind has turned to the end of October and All Hallows Eve. There is a good reason for this; I have been invited to a Halloween party. 

It’s been organised by my employers and sounds like it will be a jolly jape, but the dress code troubles me a little, and I’ll explain why.

I have to say to my fellow colleagues, some of whom are regular visitors to this blog and read my incessant ramblings, although heaven knows why when they have to put up with me all day at work, that the dress code in itself is not a problem and covers all bases, but that’s where I’m most likely to slip up.

Let me share the dress code with you. It says something along the lines of, ‘fancy dress optional’. Yes, optional. Not essential but optional. Now I have read this clearly, fancy dress is allowed, but if you don’t fancy the fancy dress then you don’ t have to dress in a fancy way. 

Now, despite this party being a few weeks away, I’ve already started to think about what I can wear. I’ve been to previous Halloween parties organised by wife-in-waiting up in Lincoln but she has always been clear on the dress code and, quite frankly, unless you’re in fancy dress you can take a hike. 

When it comes to Halloween outfits I take a lateral thinking approach and have, in the past, chosen not to dress up in an obvious costume like a vampire or a werewolf. I haven’t put a sheet over my head and gone as a ghost or even donned a pointy hat and sat on a broomstick like some sort of transvestite witch. I have usually attended the Halloween party dressed as a dead celebrity, specifically ones that have met their maker unexpectedly or in unusual circumstances.

One year saw me in matching khaki shirt and shorts, a fetching blond wig on my head, and a giant rubber snake around my neck as I tried to resurrect within me the spirit of crocodile and stingray-agitating antipodean, Steve Irwin. Some may think that is thoroughly tasteless. Sorry about that but it did attract a little bit of attention and a lot of young (and some old) ladies were keen to stroke my snake, so to speak.

 The next year I stuck a tux on, whacked a fez on my head, and went as Tommy Cooper. Just like that.

I’m not sure why we weren’t able to go last year but I had plans to dress as Michael Jackson. Whilst I may have the moves (if you can imagine a middle aged man trying to do Thriller) I don’t really have the same body shape as the late Jacko so I’m not quite sure how that would have panned out, but I feel the moment has passed for that look now.

So I’m left to ponder who I should dress up as next, but let me get back to the main issue of the day, that vague dress code instruction.

You see my main worry stems from a party I was invited to by a couple of work colleagues at my previous employer, some years ago. They sent out invitations and stated the dress code was ‘black and white’. 

Now, our brains are all wired in different ways. Some people have brains that are very good at detail; some are more creative and focus on the bigger picture. Without immediately disclosing which neurological camp my flag has been planted in I think it is fair to say that I saw the word ‘party’ and my mind went into possibility overdrive.

For no explicable reason I had misunderstood the dress code as being fancy dress and so I started to exercise the old grey matter thinking of what I could go as given the black and white theme. My colleagues did nothing to correct my error of thinking although for some reason most of my immediate colleagues weren’t going to the party despite one of the organisers sharing an office with us, and maybe I should have followed their lead.

So, caught up in the fancy dress whirlwind, I didn’t notice the look of bemusement in the face of said organiser when I speculated that I might go to this party dressed as either a penguin or a panda. I think she thought it was just silly old Terry being silly old Terry. He comes out with funny things you know, just smile politely and back away.

In the end I followed my internal fancy dress rules. I went for something that I could pull off, given my shape and the general look of me, and in which I would still be able to hold and drink a pint of beer.

So, after a bit of ruminating, I came up with what I thought was a good idea. I would go to the party dressed as a football referee. OK, so it’s mostly a black outfit but with a few flourishes and the addition of a black and white football I had the perfect fancy dress costume. 

The present Mrs Hayward opted not to go in fancy dress, rather to wear a black and white frock, but even that didn’t ring any alarm bells with me.

We turned up at the venue that evening just as other party guests were arriving. As I parked in the car park I noticed immediately the distinct lack of anybody dressed as a zebra, a policeman, or a mint humbug, as I had expected. Instead men were wearing black suits and white shirts and the ladies were in black and white dresses, much like Mrs Hayward.

I was not unduly concerned. I figured that these were just the people who had chickened out, the real fancy dress people will be inside having a great time. Again, I didn’t notice the curious glances of my fellow partygoers as I got out of the car looking as if I was about to head out onto the football pitch to referee a Sunday pub league game. 

I guess I don’t need to tell you the rest. There was no-one else in fancy dress at the party, just me. Everyone else had not mis-read the invitation like I had and so I spent the whole evening self-consciously clamped to a seat with my bare knees hidden under a table. I gave my football to some kids so they could go and play in the car park and at no point did I need, or dare, to blow my whistle or show someone either a yellow or red card.

I felt like a bit of a fool although my fellow work colleagues didn’t appear to be at all phased by my bizarre interpretation of the dress code. I worry about my reputation sometimes.

Mind you it wasn’t the most bizarre thing that happened that evening. Later on the two organisers, both women in their fifties, got on to the dance floor and did a high energy rock and roll routine together, as a bit of entertainment for the crowd. That has burnt itself on to my synapses and still troubles me when I’m trying to get to sleep at night, but I think they were happy with it and everyone clapped politely. 

So, you can understand my problem. Do I go in fancy dress to a Halloween party where there’s a good chance that no-one else will dress up in a costume, whilst I arrive dressed as Rod Hull and Emu, or do I just risk being labelled as boring and go in my usual ‘going out clothes’? You see, the problem with me is that I prefer things a little more black and white.

Come on Emu, let’s get our coats. We’ve just got to sort out the picture on that TV first.