Dress Me Up: A Charity Launch Event (2)

When we last left Agent N, she was caught in the conundrum as old as time itself- “I have nothing to wear”. Faced with the prospects of making an outrageous showstopping entrance versus exuding subtle intrigue, it all boiled down to four choices for her mission: Classy Chic, American Sweetheart, The Vamp or Vintage Glam. Which one did she choose? Stay tuned to find out.

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When addressing any and every wardrobe dilemma, it comes down to one word: Black. Especially in New York.
So I had pretty much set my sights on two picks; The Vamp versus Vintage Glam.

With that in mind, I hauled a duffel bag worth of two dresses, three pairs of heels, two handbags, one makeup kit, a mini jewelry box, hairspray, teasing comb, fake eyelashes, manicure set, a bottle of Static-Guard and anything else I could think of the next day. I was heading to the event straight from the office and obviously I was not a believer in Cosmopolitan’s “From-Work-To-Play-In-5-Minutes” guide.

So when the clock struck six and nervous anticipation had rendered me completely useless at my Macbook, I snapped it shut and called out to D- “Dress up time!” She came over to my desk to examine my magical duffel bag that held everything and the kitchen sink as I deliberated over what to wear.”Well…” I chattered excitedly, ” I think I’m going to go with the vintage dress cause it looks gorgeous with..” I stopped in my tracks as I’d unfolded the dress from its tissue paper. Uh-oh.
I rummaged through the bag as I muttered to myself ” You’d managed to bring a set of fake eyelashes but don’t tell me you’d forgotten the belt that holds this dress up…”

Flashback: A snapshot of the oversized tortoiseshell belt draped across the bed as I’d ran out the door this morning.
Shit.
I did forget the belt.

“Well it’s a good thing that you’d brought the second dress then,” D chimed as she sensed the distress on my face. “Mmm…yeah….” I bit my lip and eyed the clingy knitted alternative, “I don’t know if I can pull this off though.”

The misconception most men have when it comes to women and dressing up is that its the mere matter of looking good. Alas, if that was that simple, my dresser wouldn’t be wailing (not groaning) under the weight of my gazillion dresses, blouses, pants, skirts, bags, accessories, and shoes. When a woman takes her clothes seriously, its apparent by the myriad of personalities she might exude at any given day. Give a man a mask and he’ll show you his true self, bemused Oscar Wilde. I say, Give a woman a closet and she’ll show you her past, present and the self she wants to be. Clothes have this amazing ability to imbue one with a persona. While an extremist lets the outfit wear her to the point that one never knows her real self, the good ones allow that extra lil dimension to their personality with a pair of earrings or even the way one tucks the shirt in.

My hesitation with slipping into that dress wasn’t just a case of having to suck in the tummy the whole night through but whether I could slip just as easily into the skin of the vamp. Pouty, seductive gaze, suggestive strut and the whole she-bang. Call me crazy but what’s worse than a slightly schizophrenic/obsessive compulsive fashionista is one that talks the talk but lacks the catwalk.

“Oh well,what have I got to lose?” were my infamous last words as I pulled the dress over my head.

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Seven hours later, as we ran down the street holding hands and giggling like a couple of high school kids playing hooky, he pulled me into a corner and I fell on top of him. We laughed as he drew my arms to enwrap his neck. My breath quickened. “You know”, he murmured as he lingered in the trace of my neck,”that’s a really nice dress.”
I smiled to myself. His cologne faintly sweet and musky was strangely intoxicating.
“Why, thank you.”

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“You ladies looked like trouble last night,” G casually mentioned as I staggered in late to work the day after.
“More like trouble found us,” I absentmindedly muttered as I traced the collar of my shirt.
“You mean trouble found you…” D smirked as I grinned back at her.

If only they knew, if only they knew.