Another party and you are riddled with the “What shall I wear?” syndrome. You rummage through you cupboard and realise that no matter what, you still have nothing great to wear.

Guess that’s why some imaginative sod came up with the idea of having theme parties. Somehow it helps us pull out our gladrags and focus on some attention-grabbing garb. Nobody’s waiting for Clapton to croon, “You look wonderful tonight”. It’s just paardytime!

Age 13 years: Theme: Cowboys and Gypsies. I wore a bright blue and pink peasant skirt with loads of beads around my neck, wrists and feet. Beads and braids in my hair and a scarf around the waist. My cowboy came in wearing blue jeans and a striped shawl draped around his shoulders (his version of a Mexican poncho), black boots, a cowboy hat and a lasso. There were no problems, err… until we had to dance. I couldn’t get my arms around his tent-like situation and he was, well, “look mama, no hands!” Needless to say, we’re ain’t going around no more.

Age: 25 years: I realised that I wasn’t doing justice to the fact that I was a woman. All my life, I’ve been a backslapping tomboy in jeans and sweatshirts that I’d almost forgotten about my femininity. My bunch of buddies does nothing to make me feel like one, anyway. But one night, I decided to change all that. I would work a little harder and surprise them. After all, New Year doesn’t happen every day. Besides, a peach flannel dress, don’t come cheap, m’dear!

I waxed my arms and legs. Not that I don’t otherwise… this time, I took more care. I wore the softest lingerie and then donned my dress that had a simple cut that clung softly, ending in a slight flare somewhere around my shin. Very feminine. It was a sleeveless creation with a scooped neckline so I wore a thin peach-tinted bead chain with tiny hanging earrings. Since I had long hair with a natural perm, I let it hang… soon after washing it. No blowdrying. I ran my fingers through leaving wet tendrils to curl wildly down my back. Then, I dabbed on the some Poison (perfume, silly) behind my ears, base of neck, wrists (hey these are basics, y’know), painted my nails silver and pulled on black suede shoes. Why black? Contrast is good, otherwise you look monochromatic. I tugged on a black short coat to keep out the chill and set off.

Kinda nervously, I rang on the doorbell. I’d never done something like this before. The door opened and I stepped in, bracing myself for the vultures! I was met with complete silence. They looked – long and hard and some more. I said, “Hi guys!” and couldn’t stop smiling. Their varying expressions of horror and appreciation said it all. Right through the party, almost every guy took turns to come up and say,
“Hey. What happened?”
”What’s with the new look?”
“O my Gawwdd?!”
“Ok…er… well… Let me put it this way, you’re um… looking…er. Gorgeous...phew!”
“You’re looking great. But please don’t do this again, we’ll have to treat you like a lady.”
“You should do this more often, y’know”
“Why do you hide your legs? You’ve got great legs”
(I swung onto the dance floor, just to swish around and flash my legs some more! A voice inside me said, “if you’ve got it, flaunt it! That night, I did.)

The girls? Well, they said that I looked “different”. As if I didn’t know!!

There was just one guy who couldn’t bring himself to say that I looked good. I caught him staring at me ever so often, shaking his head, mumbling an inarticulate “Why?” or “What, how”! I had the hots for him and what the hell, I loved his discomfort. In one sweep, I had wiped the smugness off his face. The New Year was going to be good and it was. When I was leaving, he asked, “Do you want to wear my coat? Shall I drop you home?” I nearly choked! That’s never happened before. On another day, I would’ve been shuddering in the cold and these guys wouldn’t have noticed my lips turning blue… Ah, what a new look and a touch of feminine wile can do…