I’m heading to NYC for work this week and as part of my usual travel whirlwind, I’ve squeezed in extra fun, in this case fancy dinner + a Broadway show. And not just any Broadway show but one starring Potential Second Husband1 Leslie Odom, Jr. (known best for his gracious, and unsettlingly sexy2, portrayal of Aaron Burr in Hamilton or last year’s Glass Onion but also now starring in the newest Exorcist movie/my dreams). As soon as I saw a Facebook ad last month for Purlie Victorious [thank you this one time, Meta algorithms], I texted my NYCC boss to ask if I could cut out as soon as the con ends on Sunday and when she said yes, I bought tickets. Then I made dinner reservations for after the play. (And then I read about the plot).
As per my usual travel M.O., I’ve been packing in my mind for months and now I needed to add a fancy outfit for our date night. My first thought was the fabulous Ted Baker dress I found in The Forum Shops at Caesar’s a few years ago. I say “a few years” but it was 2018, which is more than half a decade and is an important detail in today’s tale of woe.
I tend to avoid anything that even hints at couture for many reasons ranging from practical (it’s expensive) to marginally reasonable (my basic body doesn’t really do swanky) to probably ludicrous (stylish clerks will be mean to me, like in Pretty Woman). However, I must have looked just drunk enough to spend a lot of money wistful when I glanced at the sale rack as we passed and the stylish-but-not-mean salesperson called me in to look closer. A stunning yet simple navy floral dress beckoned, and after the clerk explained Ted Baker’s daunting sizing (nothing on the rack was larger than “5” but that means 12 for US women3), I was compelled to try it on. And, it was a startlingly magical experience. Not since putting on my wedding dress have I felt so instantly lovely when stepping into a garment: the fabric was richly smooth, zipped snug in the correct places and comfortably loose where necessary for walking & sitting & reaching for food across a table. I had visions of wearing it joyfully everywhere fancy for the rest of my life.
Fast forward through a couple of seasons: I did wear this lush dream to a few dinners & shows (including, ahem, a Leslie Odom, Jr. concert) but then it hung idly in my closet, waiting for another suitable occasion. Cue the fanfare excitement of this month’s Broadway show date + a new comfy, stylish long sweater coat from Nordstrom Rack that would be SO CUTE with Dream Dress on a rainy fall NYC night. Fortunately I tried them on together before packing because here comes the sad trombone of perimenopause and its trademark abdominal weight gain.
I have been trying to make peace with this [10+ year] journey to the other side of adult womanhood; I understand intellectually that it is a part of aging and accept that it’s better all of this [gestures with disgust] than dying. Frankly, my woe is not about gaining weight - I like my body overall, never think about how much it weighs (I only own a scale for display, a cute vintage French Arctic Blue thing I got for $12); my body does all the things I really need it to do. EXCEPT fit into the Best Dress Ever (forgive me, wedding gown). But this is not really even about the dress, or even the gross societal standards surrounding women’s bodies [more on that another day]. It’s about the feelings infused in our things, particularly clothing.
I could have written this about the Citizens of Humanity jeans I found at Goodwill in 2017 for $29, jeans that I vaguely knew retailed around $200 but never touched because why? But when I fit into them, I understood how someone might feel the need to spend that much. They loved me as much as I loved them. I wore them nearly every day of my sabbatical from teaching, going from daytime errands to evening dates with a simple switch of shirt & shoes, for nearly two years until a few of those inevitable pounds made us part at last.
I could have written about a chic black top I bought at my favorite Portland boutique, wore to a few graduations and galas; a pair of navy corduroys that made me think of the best parts of third grade; a lusciously soft & thick houndstooth skirt, effortlessly posh with a sweater & boots; the perfect tomato red hooded trench coat, also found at Goodwill…
I could also have written about shoes I’ve loved, including a pair of black leather boots bought on that same Vegas trip that I’ll have to retire soon. But at least they got to wear themselves out first.
After a tiny cry, I found another suitable outfit for my date with Leslie Odom, Jr. (and 1st Husband).
Dream Dress remains hanging in my closet, for now. We still have some life left.
I have an extensive list, more on this later.
I’m okay calling this man sexy as he is a full adult/not the age of my children; Stephen Sanchez though...
I feel a post about the insidiousness of women’s fashion coming on.
Oh boy, the memories of past clothing and accessories. I still think wistfully of the black Frye harness boots that I wore on repeat for nearly a decade. Then my feet started getting angry with me, I added an orthopedic surgeon to my phone contacts, and now I wear shoes with lower heels. Luckily, the boots have migrated across the hall to my daughter's closet and still get worn.
Oh, the love of favorite pieces of clothing that can no longer be worn! I have had many such loves: the flannel shirt dress (full length) that I wore with my brown cowboy boots -- neither of which I can wear now. Ditto for jeans, back when they were effortless and comfortable.