So I made it.
I attended.
And I got out unscathed.
I actually had a really great time.
And the best bit of all, nobody recognised me.
That I was unrecognisable was apparent from the get go.
In case you need reminding, I'm talking about my reunion.
My school reunion.
My 25 year school reunion.
Class of 1988.
Yup, that's right.
I am not the footloose, fancy free young man some of you may have been imagining me to be.
I am a 42 year old who really needs to stop behaving a like a skank.
Or less like a skank.
And who really did not want to be perceived for what he is at a gathering of approximately 80 of the 200 men with whom I went to school.
I knew that the first thing that had to be right was the outfit.
And it was, lemme tell you.
I was a touch more formal than the other guys.
To be expected.
But I was definitely the best dressed.
Well, duh.
Emporio Armani grey on grey jacket over Vivienne Westwood finely checked black and white button down shirt, with signature three buttoned high collar.
Navy blue Herringbone pocket square.
Scotch & Soda dirty blue chinos.
Zegna belt.
And my favourites, my Dolce & Gabbana loafers.
Now I had selected this outfit the minute I'd received the invitation.
Knowing full well that at that time I could not do up either the shirt or the trousers.
But I made it.
I fitted.
Into both of them.
The chinos are a size 30.
Fucking size 30.
And there was even room for a finger to slide under the waistband.
All.
The.
Way.
Around.
The whole look was a little more restrained than my usual thing, but you know, I think it's given me a new fashion direction.
I even held back on the pocket square, opting for the traditional fold, rather than my usual flamboyant flourish.
Which seemed in the context of this ensemble to resemble an origami Sydney Opera House.
the ensemble, however, did seem to garner the exact right response.
"You look very smart".
Which is as much as you can expect from a middle aged straight man.
This of course came after the puzzled look they all gave me, the subsequent glance at the name tag, and then the wave of recognition as they reconciled the current me with the version they remembered.
Which was followed by; "How the hell are you? I didn't recognise you. You look great!"
I could stop there, because basically that's all that I wanted.
But I do feel the need to reiterate what a great time I had.
I was genuinely impressed by what nice men those arseholes had turned into.
The widespread homophobia that I had experienced as a teenager in the 1980s, which was still fairly evident the last time I'd seen them en masse, seemed not only to have dissipated, but indeed had disappeared completely.
Not that there were gays-a-plenty, for I think all poofters who came of age last century would still be exorcising at least some demons.
But there were more of us than last time, and we definitely felt more welcome.
In fact there was one who was quite unexpected, who made me feel very welcome indeed....
But I can't tell you about that now, as I'm about to dash down to the foreshore to try and catch a glimpse of Prince Harry...
