THERE are a number of things in life I will never understand.
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Couples with joint Facebook accounts.
People who think they look good in Crocs.
Why people go on Big Brother.
As a keen racegoer, one thing I struggle to get my head around is women who refuse to acknowledge less is definitely not more when it comes to a day at the track.
I realise this sounds sexist, but as men’s fashions on the field events in the Wimmera often consist of one man in a suit, a bloke in a dress and a handful of Hawaiian shirts, I’m choosing my battles.
The issue of inappropriately dressed fashions on the field entrants rears its head each spring.
Now, I know some people enjoy being in the spotlight.
Others are peer pressured into signing up to support a friend.
But if your dress can be confused for a T-shirt – or if, heaven forbid, you’re wearing a playsuit – do us all a favour and resist the urge to enter.
You might have legs like Jennifer Hawkins – and if so, congratulations – but take a leaf out of the Myer ambassador’s book and dress like a lady.
Save your sky-high hemlines for Wilson’s, because the racecourse is not a nightclub.
As a fashions on the field aficionado, there is only one thing more frustrating than inappropriately dressed women strutting their stuff on a make-shift catwalk – the judges who award them for their audacity.
I’m sorry, but there are rules.
I understand not all race clubs have professional fashion judges at their disposal and if a judge has bad taste, there’s not a lot you can do about it.
But if you are asked to judge and you don’t know the difference between a fascinator and a headpiece, do your homework.
Criteria can range from attention to detail and suitability of the outfit to style and originality.
Hemlines below the knee should be non-negotiable.
If you’re unsure, Google can help.
Different levels of racing have different dress codes.
Flemington cracked down on crop tops in the members and Birdcage enclosures during the Melbourne Cup Carnival this year in the hope the message would trickle down to the general public.
It didn’t, but none of the flesh flashers walked away with a sash or thousands of dollars in prizes either.
I should point out that if you’re not entering fashions on the field, the rules for general racegoers are much more relaxed, particularly in the country.
If you wear something you feel good in you’re more likely to enjoy yourself than if you’re stumbling around in 15-centimetre platform stilettos and constantly hitching up your strapless bra.
A lot of people choose comfort over glamour and that’s fine.
At the end of the day – after a few wines and trying to avoid succumbing to the voice that screams ‘it’s okay to take off your heels’ – I usually envy them.
Speaking of wine, day drinking is not for everyone – as demonstrated by online galleries of the Geelong Cup and the @drunkgirlsofmelbournecup Instagram page.
I’m heading to the Dunkeld Cup on Saturday with some Mail-Times friends and colleagues.
Let’s hope dressing classy and staying classy aren’t mutually exclusive.
PS. While I’m on a roll, if you venture to a city meeting and do not know how to use a TAB machine, there is no shame in asking someone for help.
Please do not line up in groups of three or more to put on your six, 50-cent each-way bets and then start arguing about what that ‘box trifecta thingy’ is five minutes before a race is to jump.
Wars have broken out over less.