While not a tomboy, I'm not what anyone would call a girly girl either. I tend toward clothes that are sturdy and functional and don't give the matter much thought beyond that. So this week's excursion into the "pretty dress department" was rather like venturing into a foreign land. What I didn't know is that it's not only a foreign land, it's a hostile land.
I must have resembled a deer caught in the headlights because before I knew it the clerk, a grandmotherly type, had taken over. She asked what I was looking for, and within minutes I was guided to the dressing room with a pile of brightly colored silk dresses. It was as if the dress fairy went on a bender and caught me in her path.
The first dress in the line-up was essentially a green silk potato sack with ruffles on the side. I'm guessing the ruffles are what qualifies it as "design" instead of merely a sack with armholes. Trying to get into the spirit of things, I tried it on anyway. It was bad. Very bad. You really have no idea how bad. I'm not sure what body type can pull off the potato sack look, but my tall lanky frame is definitely not it.
Figuring things couldn't get worse, I reached for the orange dress pictured above. I was hopeful about this one. It had a modern asymmetrical line, and the color was striking. It quickly became clear that the dress was not as simple as it initially appeared. The skirt was made of interlocking wrapping pieces, and the top included a second camisole layer. Even seeing this complexity, I had no idea what I was in for.
Once unwrapped, the dress fell into a barely discernible pile of orange silk. I spent 10 minutes, yes 10 full minutes, trying to put the thing on before I admitted defeat. The lowlight was when my head came out one of the armholes. At least, I think it was an armhole. Swallowing my pride, I accepted that without a blueprint and possibly an instructional video, I was not getting this dress on. I refastened the hooks into some semblance of order and balanced it on the hanger. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it sneered at me.
Suitably chastened, I moved onto dress three and can happily report that not only did it fit, but, dare I say, it looked good. I did what any battle weary girl would do, I bought it immediately and never looked back. Sure, there may have been a "better" option out there, but I'm not cut out for the dress wars, and I know it. I took my bruised ego home to the comforts of yoga pants, t-shirts, and hoodies. No blueprint required.