Atrocious Attire – A Modest Proposal
Summertime in Las Vegas is great for so many things: lounging by the pool, frying eggs on sidewalks, and watching local weathermen figure out different ways to say, “it’s hotter than hell outside.” But what summer is really good for in Vegas is seeing how badly people can dress – specifically how atrocious they look when they go out to eat. It’s no surprise that our tourists rank as some of the most poorly attired in the world (a distant second to Orlando, Florida, but still right up there), but what consistently shocks me is how shameless they are about walking into refined, elegant restaurants wearing nothing more than cargo shorts and an air of cluelessness.
I’m not talking about strolling into the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company or a buffet. No one gives a hoot how sloppy you look in those food factories. No, what appalls me are the t-shirts at Le Cirque, and lululemon at Michael Mina. This may come as a surprise to some of you but 1) no grown man looks good in shorts (no matter how good looking they are – see picture above), and 2) tank tops were invented for volleyball tournaments. And if I want to look at some dude’s mangled hairy, Hobbit hoof, displayed in open-toed shoes, I’ll go to the beach.
Some call it “comfort” and “informality,” I call it an excuse to look like hell and get away with it. Becoming a more casually dressed society has wreaked havoc on manners, good taste and regard for your fellow man. Not to get too philosophical about this, but it’s a short plunge from how informal we’ve become to how rude and crude our politics have gotten.
As much as people want to make this debate a class struggle, or, even worse, an argument over individualism, it’s really about respect, as in: respect for yourself, others around you, and the place you are dining. You are a guest in any restaurant you visit. It is neither your home nor your personal playground. As with any guest, you should consider your surroundings and think about something other than yourself. If you insist on eating out looking like an aging frat boy, there are Taco Bells and Denny’s aplenty just for your ilk.
Rather than arguing about who should wear what, my 92-year-old mother has the best solution: create a slob slum in every nice restaurant. No one but the staff has to know it exists, but simply reserve and segregate a few of the worst tables for the worst dressed customers. That way they can enjoy their meal while not offending anyone, as they revel in their shamelessness, their selfishness and their ugliness. Problem. Solved.