It started with a simple question.
"One of my friends is having a reception, would you like to go?"
Now, every fiber of my being was crying out "no!" however, I said, rather nonchalantly, "Sure."
What I wanted to do is hang out with this friend, and his wonderful wife, drink, and talk about everything. However, as a guest and a friend, I was interested in seeing what one of these NYC Receptions was like.
My friend and I (for these purposes, let us call him Michael) spent the day wandering around, shopping for suits, and trying different bars for different purposes. It was (in retrospect) one of the best days I have had in a long time that did not involve being with my son. We walked, we talked, and we snarked, falling into old roles that we had in college. I do have to repeat, this was one of the best days that I have ever had. After a long day of eating and drinking, we arrived back at his lovely penthouse apartment in Hell's Kitchen and decided to get ready. Seeing that this reception was being held at a New York bespoke retailer, I knew that I was going to be underdressed even if I had managed to pack the rather boxy black sportcoat that I use as my everything jacket. (as an aside, some of my friends hate this jacket, however, it is wonderfully multi-purpose and still holds shape after being used as a pillow or crammed into a backpack) which, of course, being July and in NY, I had failed to pack...I went with gray trousers, a black liquid fabric polo, and black shoes without socks. Michael wore blue blazer, artfully distressed jeans, an oxford, and a tie by the designer. He looked great without looking like he was trying.
We cab it down to NoLiTA and head to the reception, which was a Pimms Reception, held on the street in front of the shop. The drinks were nice, the people were beautiful, and the setting was interesting, However, all the men, save myself, Michael, and one or two others were wearing bespoke suits. Not MTM. Bespoke. Each a work of art; individually designed and executed. It should have been impressive, but it came across as completely foppish.*
Let me outline the cast of characters:
Wallace - Owner, designer, British, wearing a white linen three piece with a jacket two sizes too small.
Richard - Junior partner to Wallace. Prep school kid who went to a upstate NY college and then onto a third tier law school. Wearing a gray summer weight wool with a pink shirt and tie combination.
Jennifer – Richard's younger sister. Blond. Smart. Funny. Hammered. Wearing a pastel summer cocktail dress.
Pip – British. Shag Haircut. Reportedly dating a fairly famous actress who has a very famous rockstar father. Looking to "shag" anyone who can placate his ego. Gray summer weight two button suit.
There are assorted others, however, they will just be referred to as The Guys (always capitalized) for the purposes of clarity
Now, aside from suits, ties, shirts and Pimms, the evening revolved around American Psycho (partially due to the Miles Fisher video that Gawker had posted the day before and partially to Richard's obsession with the film [and not the book]), with references being made at every turn. While comical, it became a bit scary, and then...it influenced the way that I started seeing these people.
After a couple of hours of mingling, the reception ended and it was decided that the group of us would go out to dinner. Michael wasn't entirely sure (mostly for my comfort level) however, I told him that I was just "going with the flow"
For the most part, everyone at the table was an attorney who had worked or currently works in the financial services industry. They may be doing different things now, however, that informed their world view to great extent.
The part of the table I was sitting at was set up like this
North Side – Michael – Jennifer – Pip – The Guys
South Side – Richard – Himself – The Guys
Richard did the ordering. He and Michael had a fairly detailed discussion of this wine that they ordered by the bottle. (As we were having pizza, even boutique pizza, I stayed true to my roots and had a fine upstate NY wheat beer.)
I am obliged to mention, that of all the people that were at dinner, Michael and I were the only ones who were not hammered. Michael because he has the tolerance of the Gods and himself because I was in wickedly uncharted territory and I wanted to maintain something reasonably approximating a state of personal sanity.
Therefore, I am surrounded by these people who are speaking the language of financial services and then making fairly obscure pop culture references (which I knew, thankfully, and endeared me, even after I lowered expectations by introducing myself as a hillbilly and a drunkard) and then Pip got a text message.
It was fairly banal as graphic text messages go, but...it happened to move from The Guys asking to see the text message, to Pip showing pictures of the fairly well endowed and very flexible woman who was sending these texts. This prompted The Guys to start sharing their pictures of the various women in their lives who they have the right or privilege to see sans bespoke, MTM or OTR.
I was embarrassed. Not because I do not like the female form but because this seemed so crass. So tawdry. So...juvenile. In addition, it was embarrassing Jennifer. I am not a prude, as is well known, however, one line or comment is appropriate in a bawdy way. Continuing the discussion even after the lone woman at the table has expressed her discomfort and the woman is the sister of the host seems to me to be a breach of the unwritten code of honor that adult men should have.
Jennifer commented that she did not feel like one of the boys. I clinked her glass and told her, "Neither do I."
After this, with Pip getting text messages from a series of women (one of whom loves him and he asked me (!) for advice on how to end this because while he loves "fucking her" that is the only time he thinks of her. I told him that I didn't really know.), the conversation somehow shifted to me.
Richard asked "What are you doing?"
I replied with "A little of this, a little of that. Some web stuff, some writing"
"Like Cheever or Don Draper?"
(Which, is, let's be honest, a little nonsensical, as I am not bisexual nor am I a Korean War veteran and this is not Westchester in 1954.)
"More like Bukowski."
That did elicit a chuckle from Michael.
After dinner got weirder and weirder**, it was decided the we would adjourn to someplace "less full of hipsters".
This place was not the strip club that was mentioned (which I had told Michael that I was not going to) but an open secret bar based in a the basement of a taqueria, where you were admitted through the kitchen.
The space was dark and awkward, and the drinks were weak. However, it did have some cache as being hidden and fairly obscure. While we were there, Pip found some new talent to exploit and Michael, Jennifer and I talked (mostly about Jennifer and Richard's littlest sister who is in grad school in upstate New York and does fit my paradigm...yes, I do have her number. No. I will never use it.) and about the economy and various things related to the evening. It wasn't a bad nightcap.
As we (Michael and I) were leaving (discretion being the better part of valor), Jennifer asked me if I had a good time. I told her that it was interesting, which, I suppose, was the truth.
Michael and I got in the cab as Pip and Jennifer got into theirs.
The evening taught me quite a bit about myself, about my friends, and about what I want out of life. It also made me a lot more impressed with Michael because he has balanced a very normal personal life (with a wonderful woman) and an impressive set of careers with these interesting (beware that word) people.
*Or dandyish. Your call. It is a preference as the words mean essentially, especially the way I am using them, the same thing
**As Pip was getting all these texts, and sharing them with the assembled masses, he was also hitting on Jennifer in a persistent manner. The worst part of it was that she was falling for it which clearly says something about her self-esteem. That Pip was doing this while Jennifer's older brother was sitting across the table from was also a little disconcerting.
