Same dress—- but in real life

Previous generations had Jane Austen, Noel Coward and Edith Wharton to teach them about human behavior in adult society. Today, we have sitcoms. From “I Love Lucy” to “Three’s Company” to “Friends,” we see the frivolous comedies and deep anguishes of social discourse play out in 22 minutes set pieces accompanied by braying laugh tracks.

Some social situations, in fact, are so familiar from television that it can be a shock when they occur in real life.

Recently I was at a small pool party in my neighborhood. The hosts had a lovely home with a welcoming patio, a kidney-shaped pool and a small but carefully landscaped yard. The guests —- 20 or 30 of them —- milled about in small groups, sipping cups of fruity punch.

It was a quiet party with an easygoing vibe, until someone shrieked. Was this a cry of laughter or pain? I couldn’t tell at first, but soon sensed a kind of airborne merriment. A cluster of women had gathered on the patio, and I wandered over to find out what the commotion was. In the center, two slightly red-faced women stood arm in arm. They were wearing the same dress.

My mind raced to television. I have surely watched this situation over and over again. The TV Tropes Web site (www.tvtropes.org), which tracks devices and conventions in television writing, lists more than two dozen instances of the “Dresses the Same” trope in shows as diverse as “Monk,” “The Golden Girls,” “Living Single” and “Family Guy.”

Through it all, one thing is clear. In the sitcom world, women respond to this predicament with abject mortification. It is a situation to be avoided at all cost. Didn’t Lucy and Ethel tear each other’s identical outfits to shreds? Would that happen here?

Unlikely. These two women in their matching cotton print dresses entertained their all-female crowd, which pealed with laughter, for several minutes before wandering their own ways.

I quickly cornered one of the women, who introduced herself as Diana. I had to know: Was it mortifying?

“No,” she laughed. “It was funny. Maybe a little awkward. But not mortifying.”

The item, I learned was “a cute, little swim dress” that both women ordered online from Athleta.com. Because it was such a casual dress, the situation was more funny than embarrassing. Had it been evening wear, she explained, then things would be different. Apparently, expensive dress shops keep a registry of who’s wearing what to high-profile events, specifically so such a sartorial calamity can never happen.

“Besides,” Diana commented, “we look so different that this isn’t a big deal.” True that. The other woman was tall, with sandy brown hair and an athletic build. Diana was petite and brunette. Both looked very pretty.

For whatever clueless male reason, I persisted with my questioning, noting that they accessorized the dress identically, with chunky pendants on thin chains around their tanned necks and thin-strapped leather sandals over brightly painted toes.

“You’re very observant,” Diana said, casting a glance across the patio to her twin and stiffening every so slightly. Soon, the conversation was over.

As the evening went on, I observed the two women skirting around each other. Maybe I was imagining it, but they did seem to establish a DMZ. After about an hour, the woman I didn’t talk to changed her clothes, saying that her dress got wet from the pool.

It was interesting to see this situation play out in the real world. But what I found more compelling, perhaps even shocking, was that the comedy of manners that plays out in my head is much more “I Dream of Jeannie” than Jane Austen.