First Impressions

No matter what your age, your social standing or your education, there doesn’t ever seem to be an end to the anxiety raised by making first impressions. They cross all boundaries; not only are they pivotal in your job and in social situations, but they influence almost every aspect of daily life. We all has that fear that one of these times, our foot will be planted inadvertently, but firmly in our mouth - from our first day at school to our final introduction at the pearly gates (Well, you see God... you are God, aren’t you? It was like this...).

First impressions lay the foundations for any future relationships and that only raises the emotional stakes. I always hated meeting people for the first time, mostly because of an absolute lack of confidence in myself; how could anyone except truly deranged and abnormal people, find me of any interest. Combine this with a genetic ability to blush to the point that even Rudolph couldn’t hold a candle to my reddish glow, you can get a rough idea of how much I enjoy first meetings. But I struggled through them, always trying to use my humour and limited charm to make people believe that I might be an asset at some time. There is nothing worse than having your first meeting with someone end up with you crying your eyes out and wetting your pants. Fortunately for me, that happened when I was two and not at any time recently. However, that is not to say that recently I didn’t feel like crying my eyes out and wetting my pants.

Many factors can go into a successful first impression. There are all of those readily recognized external things, like your appearance and the way you carry yourself. But also, and I think more important, there are the internal ones - the feeling that you are the one, the absolute Zen of it all, that exuded confidence and feeling of being in control that seems to carry you through. Sometimes you can emerge from one of these meetings amazed at the length of time that has gone by.

But on occasion, even with the most attention to detail applied, a small distraction can disrupt everything. In one meeting I had, we were two guys that were trying to make that first big impression with a Calgary company that signaled that we were the people and the product to be carried by them. Part of this preparation involved the delicate balance of our appearance.

I know of many first impressions that are lost in the greyness of being somewhere between over-dressed or underdressed. The meeting we had arranged called for the complete package. I, most normally found in jeans (clean on important occasions) was dressed in an smartly cut suit. Around my neck I wore a tie that made a statement; what the hell it said was beyond me, but apparently it yelled. There we were, two guys power dressed, ready for anything. We probably should have slammed each others shoulders and growled as we pumped each other up, but as refined men of the power elite, we compliment on another on our natty attire and put the finishing touches to our appearance.

Standing in front of the large bathroom mirror in the hotel room, I contemplated my appearance. I adjusted my tie, making sure the full Windsor sat squarely, when I noticed the shaving kit on the bathroom counter. Among the many things that spilled out was a small bottle of Dippity-Do hair gel. I looked at it with a mild level of shock. I called out to my business partner, asking him to come in the bathroom. I held the bottle like some sort of accusatory piece of evidence. He came in and asked me, "What?" I just said, "Dippity-Do?" He replied that his hair was really fine and the gel helped it stay in place. "Yes, but Dippity-Do?” I stammered. “Couldn't you use something with a name a bit more masculine? Maybe Oil of Whale Testicles or something? If I only knew about this earlier, I am sure we could have knocked off that Doo-Wop guy singing on the corner and scored his tube of Brylcreem. Don't you know that every time I look over at you during the meeting I will be thinking that everyone else in the room will be staring at your hair and texting each other with, 'Is that Dippity-Do in his hair?'"

A stutter was his best response. “Why don’t you just slap on a tutu, go into the meeting on your tippy toes and give them all a big, wet, sloppy kiss. It would have the same effect!” To say I was unsettled would be to minimize my state; unfortunately the whole thing went south from there.

Probably the most significant first impression and one that stays in someone’s memory the longest is “meeting the parents”. Nothing causes more hand wrenching and foot shuffling than that moment. But now that I am positioned to be the parent who is being met, I can say with honesty it is almost as gut wrenching to be met.

All the ideas I entertained over the years of greeting the future spouses of my children - with such lovable antics such as blowing loudly on a empty paper towel tube and then emerging with a whoosh from a darkened hallway dressed in tights and a towel for a cape proclaiming myself to be SuperDad have gone by the wayside. I am now leaning towards the funny, but subdued and understanding parent. Having raised my children I know what lurks behind that happy and pleasant exterior. I also know what evil can lurk in their beating little hearts. So if I want them to move out anytime soon, I better not scare anybody off.