At least once in life, every young woman is confronted with an irresistible dress that screams “leave me where you found me”. It’ll chew you up and make you miserable, this dress. It’s meant for an entirely different class of woman – the kind who live a life of glamour and can keep pace with sophistication and…backless-ness. The sort of woman who sports the kind of haircut that I just got, but one who has the attitude to match.
After three years of searching for the perfect hair stylist, I found one and had one gorgeous cut before he “retired” and faded into the mists. Finding a replacement has been a bitter struggle of downwardly mobile expectations. My appointment today was a referral from a woman that I met at a fashion show several weeks ago. The woman was cover girl and, while I recognize that I will never be cover girl, I figured that whoever worked on this chick could at least give me a cut that made it look like I cared about what was happening on top of my head.
“What are we doing today?” Asked my new stylist.
“Something that’s a little less…this.”
And so, ah – she succeeded. I feel like I need an entirely new wardrobe. Which is where The Dress makes an appearance. No ordinary girl alive would have paused upon encountering this supreme species of garment. To describe it would be to invent a new vocabulary. Who was this gorgeous creature in the mirror and where on earth can she possibly be going? I pranced and twirled in front of the mirrors for at least 45 minutes trying to justify what could be only described as a ludicrously frivolous purchase. I’d never have anywhere to wear it. No work function would justify Dress. No social function would justify Dress. And I already have lots of other dresses that I flounce around the house in, for lack of a better venue. This dress was tight, that’s for damned sure. Modest in the front with a tucked waist, ruched for slightly exaggerated hips, a boat neckline and an extreme taper mid-calf in a way that can only be described as Morticia Adams. Curves were bangin’. This dress made a woman of me. While the front raised eyebrows, the party was definitely in the back. Black lace plunged to just above where things get interesting and was severed in the middle by an exposed zipper. More with the hips and then a flare behind the knees where the fabric gathered from the front for the tapering effect cascaded into an elegant short train. It fit like a glove and was hella sexy woah. And some bastard had put it on sale.
You haven’t got the balls, woman – said this dress. I am an untamed beast that eats livers with fava beans and a nice chianti.
And so I’m going back for it tomorrow. I’ll wear it jogging if I have to.