Topic 72: Fashionable Tardiness

Carol:

Timely Matters

I don’t like to be late for anything, so I overcompensate by arriving early. Another member of my family—you know who you are—is often late not to be fashionable but because he gets caught up in a newspaper article,  lingers over  one more cup of coffee or can’t find his keys. I once got the idea that we could carpool together to our jobs in San Diego, about a half-hour drive from our home, but one morning as I sat waiting for him in the car again, waiting. I imagined him scurrying around the house looking for his wallet or a notepad; I realized carpooling was not good for my blood pressure or our marriage.
 

I do recall one occasion that merited the grand description of “fashionable tardiness.” The summer of 1972, several friends traveled through Europe together. In London we bought matinee tickets to a play, but someone—you know who you are--decided to meet us after he did some last-minute shopping before our return to the States. I arrived at the theater early, of course. As the minutes ticked by, my anxiety level began to rise. The theater filled, and the lights dimmed. My anxiety turned to anger as I stared at the empty seat next to me. Anger turned to concern as the play began, and I thought of possible scenarios: death by double-decker bus, mugging by Cockney pickpockets. Fifteen minutes into the play, I finally spotted him at the edge of the aisle waiting for an appropriate moment to squeeze along the row to his seat. Concern turned to relief turned to anger turned to…omigod, he looked so handsome. He had bought a brand new sports coat and tie, and I had never seen him look quite so, well, fashionable. I gave him a little pat as he sat down, and he smiled at me quite proudly. This was the same guy who the year before had bought his first pair of plaid polyester bell-bottoms at K-Mart. Marc had smiled at me quite proudly back then too.
 

I suppose the notion of “fashionable tardiness” comes from the idea that in high society people wanted to make a grand entrance in front of a crowd. I know that what makes being late fashionable versus rude is a matter of cultural context. Google shows us that.  Fanny Burney wrote about “fashionable tardiness” in her 1782 English novel Cecilia. Ohio-born William Dean Howells wrote about it in his 1888 novel April Hopes.  A 2010 Peace Corps trainee blogs that time is “fluid” in Rwanda, and being fashionably late can mean anything from 40 minutes to an hour. 
 

My favorite part of My Fair Lady is the ballroom entrance of Eliza Doolittle, newly transformed from flower-seller into a finely-gowned lady of society. Henry Higgins, who would never dream of being late to anything himself, carefully schools Eliza about the drama of making a grand entrance, the epitome of “fashionable tardiness.” Abso-bloomin’-lutely loverly!
 

Now that I’m retired, I don’t even carry a watch and I don’t care so much whether people in my family are late or not—you know who you are—but I still can’t break my own habit of punctuality. As far as I’m concerned, there is no such thing as “too early.”

Sources:
Ian in Rwanda:

Megan:

Fashionably Late

I am never fashionably late. I am neither fashionable nor late. My friends would tell you that I am extremely prompt, strangely so … often arriving exactly at the time we’d arranged. There is a reason for this: I arrive early and hide around the corner with an eye on my watch.

Ok, that’s not exactly true (I don’t have a watch).  I mean, I don’t always do that. I just cannot stand being late. I would rather be an hour early than 15 minutes late.  I think I get this from my father in reverse– he is always late. When I arrange to meet him at the movies, he often walks in late. This irritates me to no end (especially if I’ve already seen the movie and I know he will like it). I also don’t understand someone who is okay with missing the previews.

Tardiness runs on both sides of the family, and it actually doesn’t bother me (except at movies).  I don’t hold it against the late person, especially if that late person has kids. Kids slow you down. I have no problem waiting around for someone, that’s why I always carry a book in my bag.

Anyway, the expression “fashionably late” conveys the impression that a person is too busy and in demand to arrive on time, having to flit from one engagement to the next. I am neither busy nor in demand (possibly because I am not fashionable?). But I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been the first person at a party because, even though the invitation said 8 p.m., no one bothered to show up until 9. That does annoy me. I didn’t show up early (cuz I was hiding around the corner), but the fact that I am the only person there is embarrassing and conveys the impression that I am desperate and over eager. I don’t want to have to think about this crap – that’s the problem with these topics sometimes. I am not a very good grownup, I fall down stairs and I’m obsessive compulsive about being on time. Thanks for reminding me Topic.

Wait, here’s something kind of funny and weird. I get lost a lot when I drive. I’ve mentioned that before. Consequently, I leave early to allow extra time in case I get lost. What I might not have mentioned is that I often get lost driving familiar roads. One might cause the other. For example: a couple of weeks ago I was going shopping with some friends and arranged to meet at one of their houses at 8 AM.  This friend lives roughly ten minutes away, but it had snowed that morning so I left at 7:30 to allow extra time. The snow melted by the time I reached the main road, and I knew I was going to be early so I started planning where I could park the car and not be seen when I missed the turn to her house. It took a couple of minutes to find a suitable place to turn around (inconvenient dog walkers) and I was heading back in the right direction when a song I really like came on the radio and I was distracted. I missed the turn again. I’m not going to bore you with all the details, but I missed that turn 3 times and by the time I got on the right road, I pulled into her driveway at exactly 8 a.m. That happens to me all the time. I don’t know if it’s luck or my self-conscious screwing with me, but seriously: all the time. That’s why I’m never late.