No matter what I write next, the real gist of this post is that I love this dress. I'm on the cusp of buying it and a blog post is often my tipping point on these things, so here I am tipping myself.
Looking at clothes and seeing a perfect version of a potential you, a mere transaction away, is something I think we all do. In most cases it works itself out, reasoned into some kind of neutral space, where the dress is reduced from that absurd potential to a mere thing you might wear, occasionally or often. Then, if you still like it, you like it less for the idea and instead for simple things, like the material and cut that will flatter your figure.
But sometimes it stays in that hepped up space. Then the denial of it is as significant as the indulgence. Thinking it should be a reward or for some unachieved goal signifies a kind of undeserving state you're placing yourself inside of, where this dress would be too much to possess right now, its potential premature in the mundanity of your days.
Or maybe you buy it. And you fret over the two sizes you always seem between, until you commit to the bigger one to be on the safe side. Or the small one because you're feeling optimistic. And it wings its way to you, across the ocean or over land.
Perhaps you think then of the report you recently heard that Fedex and UPS will soon use unmanned aircraft to fly their packages. So you picture it up there in a drone, a vision of the future. And you imagine packages falling from the sky, landing on doorsteps and desks, and people becoming used to ducking and diving.
Until the dress arrives. Then you open it and hang it on the back of a wardrobe door where you admire it. You don't try it on yet; you just got into work and the stink of your commute might sully the silk. And there it hangs until one morning, you reach for it and try it on.
The trying on can go two ways. In the good version means it finds itself a regular spot in your wardrobe rotation until it's no longer a dress you love, but one you trust. One day you'll notice a fray or pull, a small water stain on the silk. But you keep wearing it for long after that.
And there'll be other dresses and other seasons. More things to love, more things left unworn. And that potential you you imagined really does emerge on certain days, a shock to yourself. It has nothing to do with the dress, or with any dress, really. But then again it does.
Products: Cancer necklace from Brooke Gregson | Ellen dress from Toast | Liesl scarf pattern from Quince & Co. | Ophelia from James Heeley | Tolomeo Ring from Temple St Clair | Rachel Comey Oberon boots from Totokaelo | Classic Peggy bag from Mimi Berry