Underdressed

It's kind of funny that I should write a blog about being underdressed while I was in Dublin.  Since I've been there, I've been dressing up while at work - always wearing a suit or at minimum a sport coat and slacks (but no ties).  So how is that in one night, I felt SO underdressed twice?  Let me tell you the story . . .

It started with the intention to go on a Literary Pub Crawl and when that plan fell through (due to lack of interest), we decided to have a pint at a pub then head on the Dublin Ghost Bus Tour.  Neither of which would warrant anybody wearing anything more than jeans and a hoodie . . . so that's what I wore.  My colleagues wore similar.

Little did I know that the evening would take a turn to the more formal.  The Ghost Bus tour was full and we started our progressive dinner (more details).  As we departed Yamamuri and headed for Fallon & Byrne, we didn't realize how classy our next destination was going to be.  When we got to the restaurant, we could obviously tell that we were underdressed, but for some reason I still asked the maitre d' if he had room for 4.  He did.  In the back corner by the kitchen.  Sitting next to the kitchen in my hoodie, jeans and sneakers, I would have just as happily been sitting in the kitchen.  The men in the restaurant weren't dressed up so much (collared shirts & slacks)as the ladies (dresses).  Alternatively, would have been content if the maitre d' had turned us away for our dress (or lack thereof).  To his credit, he tried his best to make us feel comfortable.  It didn't work.  But, we stayed because the food was excellent!

By midnight, we were looking for one last place to have a drink and were guided to the Cafe En Seine (a.k.a. Cafe Insane) by one of our single colleagues.  I haven't been to a meat market like this in over a decade.  On our way in and before I said a word (and an accent could be distinguished) he said to me:  "An American are ye?"  I could only nod as continued.  "Ye couldn't dress up a little?  The ladies like that.  Jaysus! Ye're wearing runners for chrissake."  I guess we Americans have a habit of showing up to Irish clubs underdressed.   I replied, "I'm not looking to pick up any ladies."  After a little more slagging from the bouncer (". . . . well the men like it, too . . ."), we were finally let in.  Once inside, we all noticed how horribly under dressed we were.  We stayed all of five minutes before leaving.  I waited until the bouncer had his back turned and was talking to somebody else before I snuck out of the club.

To tell you the truth, after being here for 18 months it was good to be recognized as an American regardless of what stereotypes it perpertuates.