Back in grad school, we had a "dress up dance" one night. I did my best, put on a sport coat, tie, vest, nice pants, whatever I had that I thought fit the elegance of the occasion. And then I went over to pick up my date for the evening. She opened the door and, I swear the first words out of her mouth were, "Bob, nothing matches."
There was the time a few years later when a couple of friends were getting married, and I flew out to New Jersey for the occasion. The night of the wedding, I dressed up my very best. To this day, the female half of the couple is still pissed off at me because whenever I appear in a shot, she says the photo was ruined, and it mucked up the wedding album. For many years, she kept asking why I didn't let my mother pick out my clothes. (I'd always tell her that it was because I was 23 years old. And I did the best I could, take it or leave it. Fortunately, she's a wonderful person and we've remained dear friends for decades. Wedding pictures aside.
Eventually, I realized that because I had no concept of what works with clothes, I should stick with the basics. Solids and solids, or shapes with solids, but not ever try to mix shapes because you'll screw. And keep colors as close to earth tones as possible. I also recognized that khaki Dockers were my best friends.
So, I went to our corporate home interior design and fashion consultant, Elisabeth Berkowitz, to get the full Inaugural Ball play-by-play. Alas, she was probably in deep nirvana mode and I guess didn't want to be disturbed, so I'm not able to pass along her analysis. But I did get this one brief report from her -- "I'm loving the red dress!"
So, that will have to suffice...