State dinners used to be safe. You could expect to go to one and not have the sentence I wonder if she’s wearing underpants pop into your head. At weddings, you wouldn’t have to worry about inadvertently glancing at the bride’s bum or clocking a nipple.
But now there you stand amid the merriment, champagne flute in hand, wearing an opaque dress with your body parts covered, and it’s as if you’d just finished churning butter at Old Sturbridge Village. So démodée.
