Is clothing important upon one’s first impression? Let us get them both in the ring and we’ll see which one wins.
Round 1: Defining Who You Are
Imagine you have a date with someone. The person in question tells you where to be and when. Excited, you rush to your closet to find a feasible outfit. You pull out damn near every top you own and place them on your bed. You mix and match them with your pants, skirts, and whatever. “No, that one’s too fancy. They’re not ready for that,” you say. You whip up another combination and try to imagine yourself walking to the location, where he/she will first lay their eyes upon you. Your date turns to face you and their brief smile turns into a confused look. The horror is more than enough to take you aback to reality. You take that outfit and throw it on the floor, “Definitely not that one!” you think, “I actually would like to have a second date. Thank you very much.” Hours fly by and you’re running about of time. You’ve gone through just about every possibility in your closet. You need something real. You need something spectacular and jaw-dropping. You want to walk into the room and have all eyes on you and with good reason. You have a burning need to make a good, no, great first impression.
However, in doing so you have managed to scatter all your clothes all over your bedroom and when you finally have the idea for such a ground-shattering ensemble, you have to play “Where’s Waldo” to find it. This makes you twenty minutes late for your date. You enter the room. All eyes are on you. All eyes are on you because you sprinted into the restaurant in hopes of your date still being there. You see them in back, checking their watch for what was probably the fourth time. In an effort to not look desperate or thirty you make a hard stop meters before you’re in range. “I don’t want them to see me all sweaty and nasty,” you think to yourself. Suddenly, you are on your back looking up at the ceiling. Why? Because in your effort to stop running you ran into a waiter who was holding soap bowls of all types of sauces of all the colors of the rainbow. Now, like you, he is on the ground on top of you. Not to mention that the soups, along with the laws of physics and gravity itself, have taken the liberty to paint themselves all over your outfit of magic. You pull yourself out from under the waiter and jump up. Your heart is racing from the sudden turmoil. Trying to calm yourself down, you take deep breaths and try to dust of the shame. “They didn’t see that,” you try to convince yourself, “They had to have been too far away to notice.” You feel calm and ready to make the most of your first impression. You turn to face your destiny and have met the eyes of your date. That was your first impression.
I speak for all soup-lovers in attendance today when I say that first impressions have nothing to do with the clothes you were but the person behind the clothes. After all, the clothes themselves wouldn’t be there to begin with if it wasn’t for the person who bought them and are wearing them. That’s like blaming a bad five-course meal on the ingredients instead of the chef. The ingredients were just that. Ingredients just hanging out until the chef mixed them all together.
Results: Clothing-0, Impressions-1