In two earlier posts, I described what drove me to get a customized dress and how I rationalized needing multiple variations.
Up until a few years ago, the whole concept of working with a tailor on minor alternations was foreign to me. Ditto for getting shoes stretched. Clearly my suburban upbringing never included a semester of HomeEc; I’m afraid the glamour of COBOL beat out such fusty and low-status fare.
While I bet classmates who went on to qualify for Women in Technology International membership have no regrets, my fat little high-arched feet are attached to a different sort of brain, and they sure paid a terrible price.
Nowadays, though, I’m coming to terms with the basic tailoring experience. I’ve even gotten brazen and binder-clipped items into place to show what I’d like ruched or nipped. [Of course it LOOKS stupid, but I wouldn't need binder clips and a tailor if I could make it look pretty!]
Working with someone on a heavily-customized dress dropped me right into stranger in a strange land territory, though. And journeying to several warehouses filled with bolts of fabric (and lots of 80s-looking quilters) was positively anthropological.
I mean, I spent high school wearing my mom’s Norton McNaughton pants to class while the cool girls wore tiny Op shorts like this:
Random internet chick giving me clothing-related PTSD
In a worlds-collide moment, I’m actually thinking Ed Grimley might be WEARING Norton McNaughton pants in the photo I posted earlier to describe my body proportions. Hmmmmm…
And yet here I am, having made big strides away from bad silhouettes and baggy clothes and wearing head-to-toe black (well: 2 out of 3). Here I am, buying this crazy print I love for use in a 40th birthday dress…
only to find out (thanks, Jody!) it’s based on one of Paco Rabanne’s avant-garde creations that quite possibly launched the year I was born:
Paco Rabanne design c 1969, courtesy of coutureallure.blogspot.com
SERENDIPITY IN THE HOUSE
But with the dress in production and no turning back, I start to get Inexperienced-Print-Fabric-Buyer’s Remorse.
Suddenly, I’m beginning to think that my coloring + the print’s coloring + the print itself means trouble. I’m looking at the sample again, and I’m wondering if I have a Breast Cancer Awareness dress underway. No matter how many times I hold it up and squint, I’m no longer seeing “sophisticated”: I’m seeing “nipples.” Lots and lots of dancing nipples.
But it’s a face-on-the-tea-towels situation, which is why an invisipal like Bingo comes in handy. Because when she says:
Don’t worry, everyone’s going to love your Dress of a Thousand Nipples!”
she seems so sincere I can almost believe it.
Next: Part 3 of Sidestepping toward style, aka a few unexpected challenges
Filed under: appearance, color, starring select friends + invisipals, style over 40, vulgarity | Tagged: color, made-to-measure/alterations, starring: Bingo, texture/pattern, vintage | 2 Comments »