What The White Lotus Teaches Us About Dressing Up For Dinner

LIKE THE MAJORITY of the world this week, I have been glued to season three of The White Lotus. The show’s costumes have been pored over in the way we love to dissect anything related to the super rich, particularly because this brand of wealth likes to go big with clothes. Unlike Succession, another TV show to have influenced the way we dress, there isn’t a whiff of quiet luxury among Mike White’s characters. They love dramatic kaftans, inappropriate heels and bold colours; guests at The White Lotus bring their best, most heightened selves. There’s a sense of occasion to what they wear, and everyone, everyone, no matter how young or bohemian, dresses up for dinner.

The idea of wearing our best clothes to restaurants now feels like an old-fashioned concept; even in London’s more formal dining spots, you’re likely to see at least two diners wearing luxury leggings or jeans. I usually fall into the latter camp, but watching TWL has made me question whether we are perhaps leaving behind something important — and also something fun. Dining out is, for many of us, still a treat, but it has become a more egalitarian space. Restaurants no longer look like dukes’ dining rooms and it’s not required to out-dress your waiter. There are more places to visit for a budget-friendly, but high-quality plate of food, where it would be inappropriate to wear your sharpest tailoring or a caped gown. It has become uncool and dated even for establishments to ask guests to wear a jacket, or to avoid sportswear. Theatre is a similar story; while audiences used to come decked in their finery, most modern ticket-holders will now wear something more casual.

There’s a sense of OCCASION to what they wear, and everyone, EVERYONE, dresses up FOR DINNER

Luxury looks different now; you don’t need to strap yourself into a tux or an uncomfortable dress to show that you’re wealthy. Today, the right hoodie can be a status symbol, the right trainer a display of affluence and taste. Similarly, the rise of casual dining, which in itself is a huge evolution in the hospitality business, has also eliminated much of the pretension, exclusivity and snobbery that used to characterise restaurants. It’s a delight to be able to walk into a local wine bar or relaxed neighbourhood Italian in whatever you’ve worn to work. There’s an ease and a warmth to it.

There’s a PLEASURE in CELEBRATING the SMALLER MOMENTS with loved ones at a restaurant with a certain AMOUNT OF POMP

When I was growing up, my parents always dressed up for dinner, as did my grandparents. As one of four children, we didn’t eat out a lot, but when we did it was a big deal. My brothers would wear their best shirts, and I would wear whatever my favourite dress was at that time. It didn’t matter if that was the local Chinese or the rustic French restaurant further afield that served what has gone down in our family history as ‘dishwater soup’. We put our best foot forward, aesthetically speaking, to denote how special it was to be cooked for by someone else, in a setting that wasn’t our home. I suppose, and without sounding grandiose, there was a reverence for the environment we were stepping into; a respect for the chef, the staff and the environment. There would be no cooking, no washing up or clearing away for us; a whole group of people would step in and do that instead. It was also fun in the way getting dressed up for anything always is if you don’t do it a lot. The smell of my mum’s L’Oréal Elnett, as she coated herself in it before any occasion — big or small — is probably one of the defining scents of my childhood. It was a totem of imminent celebration, a signifier that we were about to do something special.

We spend an awful lot of time talking about what to wear to big events — weddings, for example. The number of fashion features that have been dedicated to wedding-guest outfits is countless. We spend less time talking about what to wear to restaurants, perhaps because, although few of us dine out every night, it happens more regularly. Anything we choose to spend our time and money on should be special when both those resources are in such short supply. Why wait for a big event to dress up and treat the rest of your life as an afterthought? There’s a pleasure in celebrating the smaller moments with loved ones at a restaurant with a certain amount of pomp. Dressing up to go to a restaurant is a little like laying the table beautifully before friends come for dinner. It’s about making an effort — whatever that looks like to you. And, in a world where many spend part of our working week at home, it’s useful psychologically to be able to enter a different mode — to swap that jumper for a silk shirt and those trainers for a sock and heel.

To be clear, I’m not campaigning for prescriptive dress codes; we all should be able to wear what feels good. But maybe there’s something in The White Lotus approach, where dinner always tastes better in your best looks.

A version of this article originally appeared in Harper’s BAZAAR UK.