Maybe it’s just my inner 90-year-old-woman talking, but there’s power in showing a certain amount of class.

It’s a great feeling to walk into a room and garner respect because of the way you project yourself.

While we may often associate early-era film stars like Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn with an image of class, these women are now ghosts of an era long gone in fashion and culture.

While recognizing that there has been an enormous shift in etiquette from Hollywood’s glamour days, I never thought I would feel as old as my mother after seeing an obscenely short skirt.

Maybe I didn’t get the memo, or my brain isn’t encoded with the genetic link that explains what seems to be an unspoken norm for club etiquette, but I find myself a little shocked and embarrassed at some of the things I witness on any given Friday or Saturday night.

First and foremost in my knitting basket of complaints is underwear. Not my own, but other women’s.

There really isn’t an excuse for this one, and I’m not even going to explain why one needs to wear underwear. It’s not an alien concept, nor some medieval practice.

Putting on skivvies before leaving the house is just common practice. Not wearing underwear should be reserved for young children who forget to pack them for after swim class, not women whose dresses are so tight that they are afraid of “panty-lines” showing.

If your dress is that tight, try the next size up. Or, try a different kind of underwear. Are we not made to feel humiliatingly inadequate on a regular basis by the stellar bodies of underwear models like Alessandra Ambrosio or Gisele Bundchen? Such products exist. 

Intentionally avoiding underwear is one thing, but specifically going without any form of outerwear at all is an entirely different matter. Anyone who has ever stepped foot outside on a winter night in Winnipeg will tell you the same thing – it’s really fucking cold.

And anyone else who’s ever waited in a line, outside, on a winter night in Winnipeg will also tell you that those lines can get really long.

By just using simple logic, I assume that everyone can come to the same conclusion: coats are a necessary preventative measure against little things like, say, severe frostbite or hypothermia.

If one is willing to spend at least $50 a night on cover charge, cab fare and drinks, one should not be reluctant to pay a dollar coat check fee.

Flushed red skin isn’t a good look on anyone, so cover up.

Men, don’t think you’re getting out of this one so easily. A major problem with the guys is their “art of seduction.”

I once stood and watched while an inebriated man proceeded to hit on a friend by suggesting the cute wiggle in her nose when she smiled was a symptom of lupus.

Maybe he was from out of town (or another planet) and that worked in his area. But even so, I can’t imagine any woman feeling particularly wooed by the suggestion that she has a chronic illness.

Above all else, keep it light and simple. Don’t try and get poetic, as sentiment and alcohol often don’t mix well. Laughter is always a good game plan.

And having enough space that they can’t smell the beer on your breath or get sloshed on is a good rule of thumb.

I’m not suggesting wearing long johns and parkas on your night out. If anything, such things would probably be an extreme hassle.

Also, a room full of wallflowers that are too intimidated and posh to approach anyone wouldn’t be very conducive to fun.

Keeping it classy is just about relative propriety; have fun, but keep your self-respect.

I feel like I should be saying such things from the vantage point of a rocking chair, but even though fashions come and go, having class never goes out of style. 

If you ask her really nicely, Victoria King might just knit you a sweater to stay warm while waiting in line.

Published in Volume 65, Number 19 of The Uniter (February 10, 2011)