TUX REDUX

Let’s be French shall we and gloss over the obvious nipple cameo peaking through this edit.

Great, now that's over, we can get to the real star of the story - the tux.   More often than not, I find my self flummoxed by the mention of "black tie" or "cocktail" dress codes - two forms of attire that do not find a role within my wardrobe.

For starters, I possibly own one long dress, or gown (unless one counts lazy caftans as evening appropriate) as I have never felt comfortable in a full fledged evening dress.  Always felt like it wore me, rather than the other way around.  Add to that cumbersome heels and a "hairstyle" and automatically I begin to feel like the 40 year that I'm not.  (Yes, I am 40.  No, I don't feel it - still clocked in at the mental age of 34).  But I digress.

For me feeling sexy is more about sensuality, served straight up with a bit of comfort.  The less constrained, the more at ease I feel.  The less obvious the expectation, the more inclined I am to support it.  That's not to suggest a total disdain for formal wear and donning a pair of heels with skintight jeans and calling it a night.  I'm not a petulant groupie meandering the hallways of Chateaux Marmont, so said scenario does not compute. But opting for the alternative to the evening gown with a tux, preferably in slinky satin, with a sliver of lingerie and gently tousled hair, suggests an air of nonchalance under misconstrued severity.  Evening appropriate, yes. Empowering, certainly.

But all this pales in comparison to the real allure of the tux. And that is the unequivocal louche stance it allows it wearer. Hands casually shoved into pockets when the need for drinks and excessive gestures are no longer necessary, a bemused smile at the flapping of others. Elegant. Non committal.

It would do Yves proud.