Men Don’t Give a Crap about Fashion & Other Things I Learned at Rue 57
As I mentioned in my previous post, I’m not a fashionsita. Fortunately when the time arises, with a little bit of thought and moderate effort, I can put together an outfit that’s sexy and classy at the same time. As the Italians say, faccio la mia porca figura. (hehehe).
Unfortunately there was a period in my life that I was pretty depressed. I mean, I wasn’t clinically depressed. I didn’t have to resort to taking any medication, but I came pretty darn close.
My life as I knew it came crashing down. I went from being the very well maintained girlfriend of 5 years to a successful entrepreneur and working in communications for a successful PR agency to single, under employed, and sleeping on my aunt’s couch.
Praise the Lord for good family and friends that helped me through. But it took a whole lot of time for me to get better. Even after I found employment, I still wasn’t happy. I felt like I wasn’t living up to my abilities, my friends, nor my master’s degree.
For better or for worse, I will still had my looks and a pretty nice wardrobe I had managed to put together while dating my entrepreneur boyfriend. And well that was enough to get asked out pretty frequently. I just wasn’t mentally fit to be dating anyone. The poor guys just didn’t know it as yet.
The especially hard dates were the ones with men like Mr. TV.
Mr. TV and I met on the plane. (Ladies the airport and airplanes are perfect for meeting people.) I started up a very casual conversation with him about why he should not be drinking Diet Coke. Before the end of the flight he gave me his number.
Ok, slight detour… So I hate it when a man gives me his number. I strongly believe that it should be the man pursuing the girl. By giving me his number and he not having mine, the guy forces me (the girl) to be the initiator… I developed a way to address this problem, by sending a very generic text (I never call) “oh my number is ######”. Sometimes I’ve been so blunt that I would literally just text my name and number not one word more. And then the ball is in his court.
He texted me back shortly there after asking if I wanted to go out for dinner that night. Now, another one of my rules is never go out with a guy the day I meet him, and never accept a date which is less than 2 days before the suggested date.
But I wasn’t particularly feeling myself, as I said. And I had barely had any time for dating because of extra hours at my less than fulfilling job. So I broke a whole bunch of “Rules” and went. Big mistake.
I’ve come to realize that all these “Rules” are especially important when dating very successful men, especially men that are successful, handsome, and in the public.
In my defense, at that point in time I didn’t know Mr. TV was all of the above. In fact I didn’t even know his last name, much less what he did for a living. All I knew was that he was very handsome, very tall with broad muscular shoulders, just barely visible under his nicely tailored suit.
Mr. TV originally suggested a very sophisticated 5 star type restaurant in midtown. However I was running a little late, and the kitchen there closed early so instead we went to Rue 57 in Midtown, New York. Rue 57 is a cute little restaurant, nothing to write home about, but definitely better than decent. The cuisine is mainly French with Asian influences … somehow it works.
It was over dinner that I found out more about Mr. TV. He comes from a well educated family. His father worked as university professor and his mother worked as a teacher. He obtained a law degree from an ivy league school before going on to start his own practice. At some point in time he started working in TV and now he has his own show with a major network. Oh and all the while he is very well traveled.
Suddenly finding myself having dinner with Mr. Out Of My League my little borderline depressed self, fell into a unique place of self-pity, where by I began to bring up all the fabulous things I did in the past. Obviously since I wasn’t very happy with the present.
Since my past involved working with in the public relations and communications departments of some of the most famous luxury brands in the world that’s what I talked about. To only make matters worse I also started mentioning how much I love expensive clothing.
You see not only was it bad that I made my own feelings of inadequacy so blatantly obvious. By talking so much about clothing, I also sounded terribly superficial. Add in expensive clothes, and I’m pretty sure Mr. TV (who had just met me) was thinking ‘This girl just wants to spend my money”.
The ironic thing is that men love to see a well dressed women (whatever his particular definition of well dressed may be). He is probably more than happy to see you strut in dressed in an all black skin tight Dolce and Gabbana dress. Once he deems you’re worthwhile, he may even be happy to blow some cash on you. (And yes that applies to men that have from $100 to $100million in their bank account.)
He (the average man) just couldn’t care less to hear you talk about it…