I spent a wonderful night at Scotland's best hotel but something really bothered me

Contributed

Recently, I stayed overnight at my spiritual home - the incomparable Gleneagles.

It was such a treat.

However, at dinner, my eye was drawn to a man wearing a New York Yankees cap all through his meal. Honestly, I was tempted to knock it off his head with an expertly aimed bread roll.

Unless you’re an A-list celebrity trying to lay low, there is no excuse to go to Scotland’s fanciest hotel, and wear tech-bro-style athleisure.

I’m sure there is a gentle dresscode here, but Gleneagles are too nice and hospitable to say anything, so I will. I am the fashion feds. Go to your room and get changed, sir, because you’re spoiling the theatre for everyone. This hotel is a magical place, so stop acting like you’re at your local greasy spoon - or, in this case, I think it’d be a diner - waiting for a bacon roll/grits.

*Chucks bread roll at bonce*

Anyway, for all I know, he’d lost his suitcase at the airport, or a hair transplant had backfired horribly. In that case, I apologise.

However, he wasn’t the only one who’d dressed down to eat in this glorious restaurant, where the tables are white-linen-clad and the staff wear Twenties-style uniforms with feathery plumes in their lapels. At least the table nearest us, who sounded Dutch, had made a grand effort. She had a beautiful puff-sleeved sky blue dress on, and he was neatly wrapped in a sharp suit.

Well, if you can’t dress up to go to Gleneagles, what can you dress up for?

I’m not saying I was decked out in designer gear, but I had done my very best.

I was wearing my silky Markies frock that’s had a good run of outings but is still going strong, and my silver square-toed COS disco shoes, which will fall off my feet if I try to run for a bus, so are reserved for special hotel occasions only.

Although my other half doesn’t own a tie and wouldn’t be seen dead in a dickie-bow, he always makes an effort too. As he has an excellent eye, you wouldn’t know that he buys everything he wears from John Lewis’ menswear department, whenever there’s a half-price sale on. He’s never knowingly undersold, whatever the heck that means.

Anyway, dressing down is something I see more of, everywhere.

Not just in posh restaurants, but at the theatre, or parties.

In Leith, it seems you can even wear your jim-jams to the supermarket. Comfort has won over style.

I think dressing up for occasions had already dwindled through the Noughties and Twenty-Tens, but lockdown really finished it off. It’s like we became welded to our sweatpants, and not just because we’d dribbled egg yolk on them.

I have heard that, in other places, they still make an effort. A friend tells me that locals still get gussied up in Prague, to go to, say, the opera or a show.

I always remember my mum and dad getting ready to go anywhere in the evening, even if it was just to a friend's house. Dad would be Old Spice-d to the max. Mum’s hair would be pouffed up with hairspray, and she’d smell like Oil of Olay, (before it ditched the O for a U) and pressed powder. If it was the Eighties, she’d always wear her Lurex or tartan tights.

She’ll still put on the fuchsia lippie, chunky jewellery and a jaunty silk scarf if we go out.

It was something I couldn’t wait to do, as an adult. It’s part of the ritual, to paint on a whole new face and choose your glad rags. But those times are gone. Nobody can be bothered.

We stayed in another four-star hotel in the summer, and ALL the other dinner guests were wearing walking gear in the smart dining room. Actual bumbags, and gorpcore sandals.

I had my M&S dress on - again! - and I felt very self-conscious. There were a few quizzical looks from other guests, and I gave as quizzical as I got. You’re the ones who’re doing it wrong!

I’ve also been to a couple of special restaurants this year, where the dress code also seemed to be jeans and trainers. That makes me feel sad, because dressing up to go out is one of life’s pleasures, and I love to see others glammed up. It’s like looking at a garden full of exotic parrots, not just spuggies and cross-eyed club-footed pigeons.

I remember the late Vivienne Westwood once said; “When in doubt, overdress”. That fashion designer’s advice really stuck in my brain. It’s very sage, though not always true.

It can be quite uncomfortable to look like a try-hard. Those of us whose parents made them wear a frilly party dress to a friend’s sleepover will remember that feeling of misjudging the occasion. However, it’s also hugely disappointing, if you get to an event to discover that everyone is peacocked up to the max, and you’re wearing your office clothes or gym gear.

Without your glitzy armour, it’s hard to get in the party zone headspace.

So, even though everyone else has given up on fancy duds, I’m going to continue making maximum effort.

I’m planning to flog that Marks & Spencer dress until it has cost me less than 1p per outing.

If you ever see me wearing a cap in a posh restaurant, feel free to chuck a roll at my head.

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