There’s plenty of dining etiquette to know before this—forks, chairs, elbows—but one thing you ought to think about is your cologne. Scent and taste are inseparable. If you wear a high-performance going-out fragrance, your dinner date might be able to taste it. Choose something light, something that won’t clash with the rest of the table’s senses. Here are our favorites. —Luke Guillory, commerce editor
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You paid for a tasting menu, and the last thing you want to do is overpower everyone’s senses.
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A nice dinner out is always something to look forward to. Maybe you’re meeting clients for a steakhouse reservation you made months ago; maybe you’re taking your partner to their favorite restaurant for a date night; maybe your family’s in town and you’re headed to a lively, kid-friendly spot where everyone’s getting a side of fries. Whatever the plans are, one thing remains true: You should smell good when you show up.
A nice fragrance adds a little polish and personality to your vibe. That said, dinner scents should not steal the spotlight. This is not the moment for a cologne so loud the dinner party smells it before you even enter the room. The best fragrances for a nice dinner out are refined, easygoing, and maybe a little seductive, should the situation call for it.
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At Esquire, we are unashamed nerds for luxury. The aesthetic angle certainly counts, but we’re even more intrigued by what makes some things genuinely better than others—the materials, the handwork, and the ability to last.
The story, for us, always begins with the raw materials and the people who transform them, with skill, into something that’s both functional and beautiful. It’s as true, in the right hands, of a pair of bench-made shoes as it is of a factory-made car: If you want to learn the story of luxury, you have to go to the source.
Case in point (sorry): luggage. Buying a proper suitcase is arguably a first serious step in adulthood. Eventually you learn to avoid those basic Kickstarter-funded brands (look cool, cost little, disintegrate in weeks) in favor of what becomes your Sancho Panza, an indestructible, indispensable sidekick, capable of delivering your stuff in good order to multiple destinations, ideally, for years.
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What have I learned from transitioning? I can’t overstate the biggest joy, which is really seeing yourself. I know I look different to others, but to me I’m just starting to look like myself. It’s indescribable, because I’m just like, there I am. And thank God. Here I am. So the greatest joy is just being able to feel present, literally, just to be present. To go out in a group of new people and be able to engage in a way where I didn’t feel this constant sensation to flee from my body, this never-ending sensation of anxiety and nervousness and wanting out.
When I say I couldn’t have ever imagined feeling that way, I mean that with every sense of me.
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