There is the Hammurabi code, the Morse code, the genetic code, code of ethics, area code, zip code, binary code and, among many others, the dress code.

A code is often thought of as a set of rules that spring from converting information into signs or symbols. To a semiotician, the sign or symbol is that which tells the tale; a system of communication. Long ago clothing transcended the mere function of supplying shelter and warmth. Clothing soon became a code, a message sent by its inherent potential as a signifier; a communicating device.

If we are what we eat then we certainly are what we wear. What you wear defines, even improves, the wearer. Every outfit is a costume. Clothing communicates even for the wearer who claims not to care.

When the chef puts on his tunic, checked pants, and toque he visibly becomes a chef. A doctor dons a lab coat and he is easily identified as the doctor and is accorded all of the respect and trust that the title engenders. We can all tell the bride from the groom by what they wear, and what they wear is a signifier of the occasion’s importance. The priest his cassock, the nun her habit, the general’s uniform, the king’s crown, the signal is very clear and, for the most part, we behave accordingly; both the wearer and the observer.

For most who own one, a restaurant is a dream come true. Months, even years, have been spent

The only incongruity, then, is the customer. Drinking out of your perfect stemware is a guy in a logo emblazoned t-shirt, wearing a baseball cap (indoors!) and none-too-clean jeans. The other two guys at the table: more of the same. The ladies are perfectly presentable, having taken obvious care for a special evening (if you forgive the flip flops). The restaurant owner is understandably dismayed by the disconnect.

Once upon a time restaurants kept blazers in a variety of sizes and a drawer full of neckties on hand for men who arrived underdressed for the dining room (an accommodation only recently given up by “21” in New York). Some guys balked, but most learned from the lesson. The inevitable slide had, however, begun. Jackets “required” became jackets “suggested”. Dress codes began to disappear and restaurateurs relied on their customer’s good sense to arrive dressed appropriately. Wrong. Casual Fridays soon morphed into casual everyday and then into “sloppy is OK anytime or place.” The fashionable male of the 21st century is a sorry sight.

When Levi Strauss “invented” jeans, dungarees as they were called, they were meant for men doing hard, dirty work. In the first overflow of acceptance in the 1950s jeans were adopted for those in sympathy with the working class, whether they were apart of it or not. Then, as now, they also signified casualness, a lack of formality. Paired with buff colored, high-top work shoes and a chambray, plaid, or khaki shirt, the costume was complete; you were a worker, or a student with a Marxist inclination. The advent of designer jeans changed all of that, especially for women. Now, the price you pay for your jeans complicates the code, the message that is sent. How much one paid for that piece of the ubiquitous uniform says a lot about the wearer, “I am not just casual, laid back, at one with the worker or a neo-Marxist, but I also have disposable income.”

There is a same-ness to everyday living that is both complained about and encouraged. If we do not proactively differentiate one experience from another, it is all pretty much a lump of grey-ness. If you’re going out to dinner anywhere above the poisonous level of a McD’s, you should dress for the occasion, if for no other reason than that it improves the entire experience. There can be no doubt that what you wear influences your behavior and sends a message to your dinner partner, to the establishment, and then back to you that this is, indeed, “special”. Don’t you want the occasion to be special? Isn’t that what going out for dinner is all about? Don’t you want your partner and the establishment to know that you value and respect their efforts? It’s insulting to be otherwise. Rest assured, your small concession and effort will enhance the experience.

Rule of thumb: the more special, the better you should dress. Dressing down is putting down. Wear a jacket and tie and you are bound to hear the adverb-challenged cliché, “you clean up nice.” It is a compliment and an encouragement. If rolling out in your daily uniform of scruffy jeans, a t-shirt, and those near-dead running shoes that have never moved faster than a saunter is your prescription for rugged individualism (in spite of the fact that everyone else is wearing a variation on that theme) keep in mind the message you’re sending. The trite, “I don’t give a sh-t” message is easy to decode and usually elicits a similar response from others: “if he doesn’t, why should I?” There is some value in the timeworn phrase, “clothes make the man.” Have some self-respect, some imagination. Enhance the moment; remember the code … what you wear says it all.

Edward Bottone, a food and lifestyle journalist, is Chef/Instructor in the Culinary Arts program at Drexel University and has been a radio talk show host and TV presenter, and is also a food stylist and photographer.

Article photo from bobster855 via Flickr (Creative Commons), "The Cantankerous Cook" photograph from Hulton Archive/Getty Images, "Plate" photograph from FoodCollection/Getty Images.