Winter is upon us and with that comes the many formal occasions timed for this time of year so that the local folk can get frocked up.

Most of the occasions raise money for a good cause and there certainly are some generous people on the Coast.

The whole going-out caper must also keep the economy going as well.

I was at a ball the other night and it occurred to me that some evening attire makes little sense.

For instance, what is the go with men and dinner suits?

What’s with 250 or so men all in a room with black suits and silly shirts with funny collars and bow ties?

Why is it so? Is it some age-old culture that was invented to make everyone feel comfortable in a room no matter what their personal wealth or occupation.

Looking around the room with my untrained eye, it was hard to tell who was who.

I suppose that when people arrived it would be a giveaway, when the Mercedes, BMWs and limos pulled up beside my wife’s bubble car.

That may have been some indication of who was who in the zoo.

But apart from that it would be very hard to figure out the difference.

So I guess dinner suits, while clearly not my go, do serve a purpose and are the complete opposite of what the ladies go through at a formal occasion.

The other night there was more bling in the room than a Mr T impersonators convention.

It was everywhere, with the ladies all looking stunning, but I am confused by the contrast.

The hair and nails get a workover, then the make-up, the gown and the jewellery, and then they have to cram their feet into something that if viewed from another planet would have to look like torture.

Putting a perfectly good foot into something that really looks like it is designed to hold the big toe only, looks to me like an oversight by the original designer, who must have disliked women intensely, because then he made them put a heel on not much thicker than a nail and expected them to walk and look pretty.

As I sat in the room, looking at the goings-on around me, it became clear to me, after my four-standard-drink limit, that ladies shoes were not designed by a podiatrist or a chiropractor, because it cannot be any good for the mechanics of the body.

But as females most certainly do, they conquered the shoes.

So then Mr Stiletto must have got together with a dress designer and plotted how to make it even harder for them to get from point A to point B, because once they figured out how to walk in excruciating pain on stilts – looking poised and happy – they gave it a train, or whatever the hell it’s called.

All it does is drag behind them, trying to trip them up.

Just to raise the bar a little higher, hair extensions, jewellery, false eyelashes and extended nails were thrown into the mix.

But the ladies rose to the challenge once again.

By the end of the night, I had decided that the same guy must have designed the whole formal attire – both men’s and women’s.

I think he was certainly someone of moderate means who wanted to fit in with his more well-heeled males, and also to inflict some type of revenge for being wronged by the fairer sex.

It made me realise that wearing a dinner suit and looking like a fat penguin was far easier than the challenge put before the ladies.

But I must say there were a few exceptions to the rule the other night.

Because it was an African theme there were a few wearing safari suits, one in particular who kept busting out of his fork, and a guy wearing an elephant’s head who stole the show and, like Dr Livingstone, wanted to show everyone his trunk.

Maybe next year it could be a pyjama ball and then it would be fairly easy to tell who the big hitters were.

There I would be with my track pants while the more influential in the community would have their designer night attire.

I even know one guy who has been rumoured to wear a bonnet to bed.

It would certainly make for an interesting evening.

I do wonder what the elephant would wear though.