Dress Stress
Long past midnight, a few days ago, I was trying to find an outfit for a black-tie event the following evening. I would be leaving directly from work, so I had to lay out my outfit the night before, just as I had done in elementary school (and truth be told, middle school and most of high school too, though without my mommy’s help). We’re in the midst of a hideous heat wave, so I decided from the get-go that I wouldn’t be wearing anything long. So I dug into my closet looking at all the little black dresses I own.
Which, as you can imagine, took a while.
There was the silk satin strapless Moschino, and the other silk satin strapless number. The basic Dolce & Gabbana sheath. The Emporio Armani dress with the jet-beaded straps. The Prada sheath with the velvet ribbon and grommets. And the…
I tried them on one after the other, and none of them passed muster. I mean, each dress fit, and was lovely in its own way… and yet, somehow just not right for that moment. How could this be?? Don’t I collect LBDs like other people collect those state-themed quarters?
On to the much dicier strategy two: separates. The number of permutations, of course, escalated. The flouncy silk chiffon Malandrino, the black Prada lace tiered skirt, the silk shantung… And on top, the white lace spaghetti strap top, the peach satin empire waist top, the cranberry-colored Matthew Williamson tank with beading, the YSL ruffled halter… Ten tops, ten bottoms = too many choices. And let’s not even start talking about the shoes and the earrings and the wrap…
In the wee hours I ended up packing one of the strapless dresses, the black lace skirt and a selection of four tops, in the hopes that I would be struck by inspiration the next day.
But of course at the last minute I had a moment of panic, thinking that none of my choices was quite formal enough. There’s black tie, and then there’s black tie. And this event was not taking place in my usual milieu – where you wear either jeans and stilettos and a fancy top or go full-on high fashion, nothing in between – so I had no context in which to deconstruct the dress code. For all I knew, there was plenty of in between. Did they really mean black tie – or creative black tie? Or the terribly open-ended “smart dress”?
The mental anguish! It was too late for me to go home – and god knows how long the whole trying-on-staring-in-the-full-length-mirror-yet-again process would take. I would just have to make do. Figuring that separates would seem less formal than a dress, I chose the strapless number, and as it turns out, my stress was for naught. If I may say so myself, I looked pretty darn good.
To think that for a moment I actually envied the lack of variety that men have, suit wise and shoe wise. Well, maybe for a second anyway. Deep in my heart I know the truth: I don’t need less, I need more!
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