Jonny McCambridge: Dressing up for a big night out – it’s easier for some than for others

On the night before I was due to travel, she tried again with the same inquiry. To her utter bewilderment, my reply was the same: ‘But you’re flying out first thing in the morning, how can you not know what you’re wearing?’

My explanation that I would throw something in a bag before I left seemed reasonable to only one of us.

When my wife received her award nomination shortly after, (which was for a much grander ceremony), I happily passed on my congratulations. But she seemed less than enthused: ‘But you know I can’t go. I’ve got nothing to wear. I don’t have a dress, or shoes.’

I thought a lot about this remark over the following days. On the face it, it seemed to me that there is no shortage of clothes in our house. Wardrobes and cupboards are packed to bursting with the stuff, bags are stuffed full of garments and stored in the spare room or attic. If I was to do a crude calculation of the breakdown of usage of available rail space for hanging items in the bedroom wardrobe, it would be around 97% for my wife and 3% for me. Surely there was something among it all which fitted the purpose?

And, without wishing to be contradictory, I was reasonably confident that I had noticed my wife wearing a dress in the recent past and close to certain that I’d observed her in shoes. As I say, I thought a fair bit about this. I decided it was best to keep my conclusions to myself.

So, she commenced an operation to prepare for the ceremony. This first stage of this involved trying on of various items from the wardrobes which I was then asked to pass comment on. Long experience has taught me that when such counsel is sought, the best response is to nod along approvingly and say ‘Yes, that’s lovely.’

Once this initial stage is passed there are several potential directions for follow-up questions. There is the ‘You don’t think it’s too much?’ (‘No no, no, not at all’.) ‘But does the colour go with the shoes?’ (‘Perfectly’.) And most damningly, ‘How can you tell what it looks like when you’ve not looked up from the TV?’ (Uh…).

Having failed to find a suitable garment among her own possessions, the operation was then extended to include dresses owned by relatives, friends and colleagues. Over a series of evenings, a number of these were tried on. My commentary that they were all ‘lovely’ began to sound more and more banal.

Eventually (and perhaps inevitably) a shopping trip was organised. My wife returned home with a new dress (you guessed it, ‘lovely’) and shoes. She seemed content with the purchases.

‘There you go,’ I said supportively. ‘Now you can go to London.’

She still looked doubtful.

‘But I don’t have a bag to go with it.’

I am working from home as I type this column. It is early afternoon but I am still wearing pyjamas. There is a fair chance that I won’t change out of them all day. I don’t like to define myself as a slob, but it has to be acknowledged that my efforts when it comes to making myself presentable for the outside world are often minimal.

I suppose one reason for this is it is all too easy for me not to be bothered. My postman doesn’t miss a beat when I answer the door still in my dressing gown. Nobody much cares how I dress or that my beard looks like a bird’s nest and I happily go along with that.

But, until I started typing up this column, I’ve never really given enough consideration to the blatantly obvious fact that my experiences are not universal. The world is a different place for my wife and every other woman who is judged on their appearance in a way that I will never be.

While it is all too easy for me to write jokes about the ordeal of her having to pick an outfit for a social occasion, it is much more difficult to put myself into the mindset of actually dealing with that situation.

My wife appears on the television. Every single working day, the weight of having to decide what to wear is upon her and colleagues. Wearing the same outfit twice in a short period of time will be noticed. If a viewer chooses to believe an outfit is unflattering, they are often not shy about sharing their views on social media.

I have absolutely no concept of what it is like to exist under that constant professional and societal pressure. What is clear to me is that I have been displaying a lack of empathy.

There is a small area in our bedroom devoted to my wife’s make-up and grooming articles. There exists an abundance of little bottles, tubes and containers. We have lived together for two decades, but that part of the room is as unknown to me as the bottom of the ocean. I decide that I must do better.

The following morning, my wife is in front of the mirror. I take up a position behind her as she works at her hair. I stand there smiling for just a few seconds before she cracks.

‘What are you doing?’ she snaps.

‘I want to see, to understand. I want to know what it is you are doing. I want to be a more supportive, empathetic husband.’

She rolls her eyes.

‘That’s very nice, but you’re putting me off. Can you be more supportive from downstairs?’