The Dress Code

From my experience on cruises with Silversea, I know that ships generally have three different dress codes for evening: formal, informal and casual. Regent was the same. Stacy advised that on formal nights, I was to wear a tuxedo, always black, with black accessories. No unusual cummerbunds, like watch plaid. No colored handkerchiefs in the breast pocket. No pins or jewelry. And never, never, a ruffled tuxedo shirt. On informal nights, I could wear a business suit or sport coat with a dress shirt and tie, as was the recommended attire for gentlemen guests. On casual nights, when gentlemen guests would dress without a coat or tie, I would still have to wear them. Appearance was important, she said. Standards for the "few" men selected for my gig were very high. After all, I was representing both the cruise line and her company. I should always be conservatively dressed. During the day, either on deck or while going ashore, T shirts and jeans were strictly forbidden; I should wear a polo shirt and khakis. The only exception was going to the gym or pool but then a T shirt and shorts would have to be appropriately covered, whatever that meant. A sarong? A bathrobe? On days of embarkation and debarkation, I would be expected to wear a blue blazer, tan trousers, a white shirt and a tie that was mainly red. I suppose that was to identify me as a member of the crew. My footwear must always be "appropriate" and I should wear leather soled shoes for dancing. The memorandum ended by admonishing me to be sure my clothes were always fresh and pressed, that I was always dressed in style.
Most of this didn't bother me. Although my usual uniform is now a T shirt and jeans - I have many of both - I still have clothes left over from my business career and occasionally get myself done up in a coat and tie for special occasions: weddings, funerals, benefits, a night at The Prime Rib. I could handle that. I consulted my closet. Unfortunately, I found that most of these more formal things, including my tuxedo, had shrunk. You know how that is. Just lying around in the closet with nothing to do, clothes feel lonely and shrink. Okay, I thought. I have several months before I leave - this was in June - and I'll just lose some weight so I can get back into those coats and trousers. Not to worry.
But I was worried about the shoe thing. I gave up cutesy Gucci loafers with their signature clanking hardware long ago. I haven't worn anything but Crocs - except for one pair of grey sneakers/walking shoes I wear infrequently - in many years. How was I going to finesse that? After thinking about it for a few days, I decided honesty was best and called Stacy to explain. I began with my (true) hard luck story of having Morton's neuroma, a painful swelling of nerves in the feet. I figured sympathy might be helpful. I told her the only shoes that were comfortable were my Crocs. Did she know what they were? Yes, she said. Weren't they were those funny, colored shoes with holes in the top that little kids were wearing? The ones where you could insert cutesy plugs, like flowers and animals and hearts in the holes? With a distinct sinking in my stomach, I had to admit that they were. But wait, Stacy. Crocs makes more conservative versions for professionals, like chefs, like doctors and nurses. I volunteered to buy a black pair without the holes, the kind that surgeons wear. She hesitated but her sympathy won. She agreed that I could wear Crocs, so long as I could dance in them. Having worn them to my dance audition, I knew that was no problem. I went on line and ordered a pair of black Crocs without holes. When they came, they had no personality at all and looked like a blend of dull Mary Janes and my father's old rubber galoshes. So much for dressing stylishly.