Being that I’m a woman from the South, I’ve grown up seeing men and women get dressed up for several occasions. New Orleans, especially, is a place that loves to throw a damn ball/gala for any and every reason. But when you’re a kid, you don’t see those experiences from the same eyes as you do when you get older. For me, it was all about feeling grown, getting to dress up in the prettiest gowns, hanging out with my parents, and having a reason to wear my grandmother’s fur coat.
Over the past couple years, however, I’ve had the opportunity to attend my fair share of black tie events as an adult (with two in the past 2 months, actually), and you know what I realized? More than anything else? More than the fact that I still enjoy the feeling of wearing a beautiful gown? More than the time I get to spend with some of my favorite people while they show out in their best outfits? I realized that I just looooove to see a man in a tuxedo! And no shade to anyone else, but I really love seeing a Black man in a tuxedo. (There’s just something about seeing all that fineness combined with brown skin. #sorrynotsorry)
This shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me.
I’ve always thought a man in a suit was attractive. In fact, my friends used to jokingly say that I never dated anyone who didn’t know how to dress well in a suit. They were wrong, obviously, but admittedly, I was always more of a fan of a man who could pull off basketball shorts one day and rock the hell out of a suit on the next.
If I had any doubts of my leanings towards a good suit, though, seeing all those men looking fresh in their tuxedos certainly tempered that. They were doing just a little something extra for your girl at the last few events.
You know how men get when they see a big ol’ fat booty? How they just can’t help the stare that comes with it? They might even start internally singing “My anaconda don’t…” But as hard as they try, sometimes with all their might, that stare is just something they can’t control.
That’s me when a fine brotha walks past with his tuxedo nicely tailored, bow tie sitting right, pants legs hitting the exact right point of the ankle, shoes buffed, and shirt crisp underneath. Whew! I just can’t help it. My legs get weak. I start subconsciously biting my lower lip. My heart begins beating faster, and when I’m not careful, it very well leads to me messing up my red lipstick by the end of the night.
I mean, it is a serious problem!
One that I’m not really inclined to fix, but one that I am now willing to readily admit that I have.
So who’s with me? Does a man in a tuxedo do it for you? And if not, what’s something that’s really kind of normal that lights your loins on fire? Let’s share!