Dressdecode: Armour

Someone once asked me the significance about the gold skull-and-crossbones pendant I’d often wear once upon a time and I’d laughed at his seemingly complex and obtuse theory of how it reflected my hidden macabre personality. “I’m wearing it cause it matches my outfit, you’re overthinking it…” I remember the slightly condescending tone I’d used.

Fast forward a year later and the last laugh’s on me. He was right in his own way, I pull out certain looks or accessories every once in a while that seem off-kilter to my usual personality. Depending on the company you ask, my taste has never really veered from the ‘classic chic’ or ‘casual glam’ vibe I tend to convey. (i.e. black, white, solid colors with a hint or two of sparkle or skin). I do have a penchant for luxurious textures and skins (PETA will probably not appreciate my love for croc, python and fur) albeit on a budget for now but even then, the wildest I’ll go would be leopard.

However, it dawned on me today that some of the pieces I have that others consider edgier and goth are one of the first few I’ll reach out for whenever I’m in an ambivalent mood.

“K, should I wear the dagger-shaped pendent, the leather cuff with metallic buckles or the PVC bondage-y boots?”

Today was such a day when I’d instinctively reached out for a grey turtleneck minidress (sombre? check), black oversized cardigan (warmth and practicality? check), PVCish black leggings (rockstar cred? check), gold dagger pendent lying precariously close to my heart (freudian symbol ready for dissection? check), white coat-of-arms oversized pendant (theme association alongside said dagger pendant? check) and floppy beret (item that obscures half of my face? check).

I was feeling slightly blah early on a Monday morning which I was certain would develop into the full-blown blues by mid-afternoon. Usually on days like these, I’ve no energy or interest in engaging my OCD habits of planning the perfect outfit so deciding what to wear takes 5 minutes instead of the usual 55. Even then, as I strode out of the house I started pondering on why did I decide to dress up so aggressively and ready to take on any motherf*cker coming my way.

And that’s when I had the brilliant epiphany that my closet goth reveals itself as my modern-day armour. A skull-and-crossbones necklace is a shield from the rest of the world but an obvious indicator that I’m feeling that odd mix of vulnerability and defensiveness. Exactly how Barthes describes why a lover might wear sunglasses:

“Yet, to hide a passion totally (or even to hide, more simply, its excess) is inconceivable: not because the human subject is too weak, but because passion is in essence made to be seen: the hiding must be seen: I want you to know that I am hiding something from you, that is the active paradox I must resolve: at one and the same time it must be known and not known: I want you to know that I don’t want to show my feelings: that is the message I address to the other. I advance pointing to my mask: I set a mask upon my passion, but with a discreet (and wily) finger I designate this mask”

I’d laughed then at his attempt to psychoanalyize me with my necklace because I assumed he was trying to break down my personality that very first day we met. I guess we just overlooked the fact that its not so much a reflection of my personality coming into play- just my armour trying to guard me from myself.

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.

………………………………………………………………..

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.

………………………….

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.”

……………………..

“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.

Happy Thanksgiving (and a great Black Friday..)

Thanksgiving has been one of those American holidays I haven’t had the chance to truly celebrate despite the three years here just because I keep picturing the suburban family gathered around the table with a beautiful roasted turkey. Sometimes being in the city doesn’t quite cut it and I do miss being able to pop in and out of home to see the family (unfortch an 18-hours flight away rather than a 3-hour bus ride). And then, just as waves of the blues and nostalgia fade in, they get replaced by the promise of a lil retail therapy to cheer up any homesick girl- Black Friday…

Contrary to popular belief, I’ve never actually gone all out on Black Friday. As much as I enjoy the thrill of the hunt, shopping the day after Thanksgiving just seems like a bloodsport and I rather sit that match out thank you very much. One of my favorite sartorial moment though was 2 Black Fridays ago, which I had previously blogged about and stumbled upon its archives when cleaning up my hard drive. Enjoy:

“But on Friday…Black Friday to be exact (the day after Thanksgiving where every single store in the US of A goes on sale)..I’ve made my bestest, biggest, purchase of my shopping life…it was like the holy grail of all bargain hunts….hahha I bought my first Gucci.

Or rather, my first “Gucci”s….

J came up from Michigan for Thanksgiving so we’ve been having alot of fun this week and we decided to do serious damage on Friday at Woodbury Common. Now it seems like everyone in the world knows what Woodbury Common was except for me…so to explain: its a congregation of every designer and non-designer brand imaginable that sells their stuff below retail price..they’re factory outlets but each brand is housed in an actual house…and since they’re so many, it looks like a small suburban town except there are huge signs over the houses and they have window displays. A.k.a..it was N’s heaven…to make it worse, they blasted Christmas music through their speakers so everyone was all Xmasy and I really got into the whole mood and started picking out things for the family etc…

Anyway so I was having a pretty good day and I’ve finished my Christmas shopping for the whole family and I only managed to stick to buying one thing for myself which I really needed/wanted (I can’t tell you what it is since I bought the same thing for my sis). So I was done and I wanted to go into Gucci for the fun of it since I remember how F said the prices were really good…. Now when she said prices were really good, she meant: A US$1000 handbag would go for $799 kinda bargain… so I figured, “Oh well, let’s just go and see if I can find anything…I’ll even be happy with a keychain.”

(K, my closest friends would probably know this about me… and as you can figure out from my meeting with Tom Ford *oh wait, I didn’t blog about that in detail did I?* ..I’ve this obsession with Gucci and Tom Ford ever since I saw Zoe Tay in that Gucci dress in the music video for The Unbeatables II in 1995 (Yes, I have an amazing memory for fashion in the 90s). And yeah, like I said…if it wasn’t for the Gucci Fall 95 collection…N would be a psychologist and not doing fashion in Parsons NY- the very same school that Tom Ford graduated from. But I’ve obviously not gotten anything from Gucci cause duh..I’m not rich. And I was kinda sad when Tom Ford retired because it meant that I couldn’t get anything from his collection anymore and Gucci has never been the same since…so enough background to explain this story: moving on…)

So I was browsing around by myself, I’d to wait 7 minutes outside because there was a line to get into Gucci…it wasn’t all that crowded compared to other stores but there were obviously more people compared to the usual boutiques. So I’m checking out the bins…*hahah yes there were sales bins…* and I was surprised because they were all scarves but the tags were like “Wtf???? $300????” And I dug around the tshirts- $289, $447, $199…the cheapest thing was like a plain white tshirt for $99…. I was so despondent that I just started milling around…looking at rich Japanese women trying on $1999 coats and not wanting to leave after 2 minutes of being in the store. So I said “Screw it, let’s just look through the clothes and see what’s nice so that one day I can afford it…”

So I saw this pale pink suede pencil skirt and my first thought was “Hey this is gorgeous..” And the second thought was…”Hmmm..I’ve seen this before… hey omg, its from a Tom Ford season!” And true enough it was from Spring 2002 which probably was the year which was the epitome of Gucci’s look. Then I looked at the tag….

…and my hands turned cold and my chest tightened…

“No way..” I thought to myself…”This must be a mistake, maybe its the size..”
So I looked around me to see if anyone else noticed what had happened while clinging onto the skirt for dear life. I looked at it again, “Hmmm…it does look a lil big..but I mean, that cant’ be it” and I put it against me… it seemed to be my size. So I looked around again. Yet no other women seemed to notice what was going on and no one else was pouncing and trying to grab the skirt out of my hand. So I found a salesman and he must have spotted the mildly distressed look in my eyes… and I go:
“Excuse me, could I just ask you how much this is?”
He’s all (bright smile):”Well, you tell me how much do you want it to be?”
So I got super confused and laughed nervously because for a split second I really thought I could tell the price I want and that’s the price I get… “Well, see the tag says this but I’m just checking because maybe its the size..”
And he looked at it and said “Well that’s the price you’re gonna get it for then..”

So I nearly hugged him out of joy and died on the spot.
And I turned around to see if I can spot anymore bargains like that..
…and I spotted the same skirt in khaki.

“Omg…I can have one for play and one for work!!!” I thought to myself, grabbing it yet again and wondering what the hell the other women are doing or if they’re super blind. Granted, the skirts were hidden behind a couple of other skirts that were definitely more exhorbitant…still…

So I went to the dressing room thinking “k, even if they’re too big and fall off my waist, I am still gonna get them because I can just bloody alter it…ITS GUCCI..”

and they were perfect… the perfect pencil skirt cut I’ve ever tried on. it felt like butter wearing them, they were shapely but my ass didn’t look huge, my waist wasn’t too wide, they hid my tummy, and I had no vpls!!!

Basically they were perfect…and I started laughing to myself in the dressing room thinking that God must be really happy with me to give me such a nice surprise…I started to think it was fate and I had to like, save a village or something to give back half of the lil blessings He’d given.

So I got out of the dressing room and another saleswoman helped me out…and I asked “K, I’m getting them but I just need to check the price with you again. You’re sure its not missing a digit?”
She: “Nope, that’s how much they cost alright… plus you get an additional 25% off on all ladieswear today”
Me: “WHY IS IT SO CHEAP????”

Hahahha…brilliant right? Just when I think I’m actually becoming a very matured polished woman, I say something like that. She just laughed and said “oh its from an old season…”

I didn’t care…I wanted the old season…think about it…it’ll go up in value in the next 10 years. A vintage Hermes Birkin was auctioned off for $28,000 the other day.

Anyway so now I am the very proud owner of two Gucci suede skirts.

K so by now, you’re probably fed up with listening to me go on and on about how brilliant a buy it was and dying to know the maths…..

Like I mentioned, the scarf cost $300 and the cheapest thing I saw was $99 for a tshirt.

So here’s the original price of each skirt:

US$1720

Wanna know the price on the tag?

US$69

MUAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH

Total cost after discount:

US$110

Cost of paying only 4% of retail price:

PRICELESS

So yup, I am a happy girl.”

Dress Me Up: A Charity Launch Event

“Agent N, this is your mission should you choose to accept it:

1) Its your first chichi event…

2) With celebs and paparazzi…

3) You can’t stick out like a sore thumb..

4)But not be another in a sea of black..

5) It is still “work” technically…

6) But c’mon, bright lights and performances!

7) It’s in the dead of chilly November…

But screw it, I wanna show off my hard-earned calves!

…………………………….

So after a month and a half of seeing it come to life, the charity that we’ve been working alongside to get its gears in motion will finally be launched tomorrow. Though the main aim of the night is obviously to create awareness of this amazing cause- educating young girls in Africa through scholarships and mentor programs, it doesn’t hurt to have an occasion for yours truly to play dress up. That and rubbing shoulders with the beautiful and famous (alas, it’ll probably be more of a ‘leaning against the wall trying not to look like a deer in headlights as Mr-I-Read-About-His-Latest-Escapade-With-The-Buxom-Model-In-OK-Magazine-Last-Week passes by’ thingy)

Truth be told, we weren’t really sure if our names were on the list on the first place but hey, surprise, surprise! Therein lies the usual predicament: what the f%*& am I going to wear?

So here are the contenders:

Classy chic

American Sweetheart

The Vamp

Vintage Glam

So alright, I concur with black being the color du jour. Doesn’t mean it’s gotta be boring though….

Just as addictive as chocolates

Tune in next week to find out what happens to Agent N, did she manage to pick out the ultimate combo of femalefataleslashintellectualphilanthropistwhoreallydoescareaboutthechildren or does horror, upon horrors, her winter nemesis- Dr Static and his evil sidekick Visible Pantyline- lurk in the background to mastermind their diabolical scheme of completely making her into a total fool??

Fashion Plate: Why a Halloween costume is similar to a wedding dress

“Just around the corner in every woman’s mind – is a lovely dress, a wonderful suit, or entire costume which will make an enchanting new creature of her.”

Wilhela Cushman

(Editrix’s Note: Apologies for the belated post…honestly, after the two tomes I’d posted about love, life and what I wore- I got a touch of ‘performance anxiety’ and kept staring at the screen blankly while twiddling my thumbs. So I figured, whenever I’m sick of text, that calls for a fashion visual instead- introducing Fashion Plates!)

Dress (de)Code: The Owl and The Pussycat*eyeframes*

Some of the most trivial moments in life form the most defining neuroticisms in a person. That moment for me occurred the day the optometrist declared “Ah, you read too much… you need glasses!” I was eight years old.

Glasses are a strange thing. On everyone else, they lend an air of sophistication and wisdom. Once the predicament befalls oneself, they become a mishap instead- a sign of old age or worse still, the mark of a nerd. Those things didn’t come to mind the day I was picking out eyeframes at the optician’s with my parents. Given the fact that I was only a child, I was delighted to have a shiny new toy. It was a pair of light pink acrylic frames, large enough to cover my face, with a matching pink glasses chain (lest I ran around during recess and god forbid, drop my glasses and scratch them..).

The next day I went to school with nervous anticipation- “Would anyone notice?”, I asked myself. I did feel a pang of self-consciousness as I looked into the mirror that morning. As all mothers do, mine patted me on the head and said I looked wonderful. She was being kind of course. The initial reactions from my friends were of surprise and curiosity. I was apparently the first amongst them to don a pair of glasses because apparently I was the one who’d read the most. Curiosity became amusement as they took off my glasses and peered through the foggy thick lenses. And at risk of sounding like a Judy Blume cliche, amusement was replaced by mockery- in less than a week, I was known as “The Owl”.

Being a nerd isn’t the end of the world. In fact looking back, I marvel at how I used to digest Agatha Christie mysteries when I was ten. (My current reading habits consist of US Weekly and TimeOut if I’m feeling particularly astute.) However for a little girl whose ambition in life then was to become “Miss Universe” and was known as the belle of middle school, the transition can be hard to bear. I thought I was being oversensitive when I saw the gag of giggling girls hush whenever I came over. These were the same girls who’d used to fawn over the cool shiny stationery and cutesy hairstyles I would herald in. Then when the boys started taunting in the hallways “Look, here comes Bookworm!”, my suspicions arose. The final straw came when my crush, the Prince Charming I fell in love with at seven, announced to the world- “She? I can’t like her… she’s not pretty, she’s a nerd!” My world came tumbling down.

I spent the next few years of adolescence in relative obscurity, hidden behind my glasses. If I was going to be a pariah because I was clever, then damnit I’ll be the cleverest lil girl out there. Off I sailed into the horizon with my large pink-rimmed glasses as my flag, winning awards, scoring at exams and ironically given the moniker “The English Professor” by my own teachers. I was on a roll. When I was twelve, I had accepted the fact that I was never going to be a beauty queen. By then, I was part of the popular clique in school- only there by virtue of me being ‘the smart one’. I learned then that power came in various forms. As I watched the other girls fend off male attention (we were in the throes of puberty by then), I’d secretly wished that I could take off my glasses and be Superman. Being Clark all the time was becoming somewhat depressing.

Fast forward to high school. I was eighteen and still ‘the smart one’. I had a new pair of glasses by then. Rimless and narrow, the glistening of the frame rods in the sun were the only giveaway. They were the closest I came to being free of glasses since my parents had instilled the fear of contact lenses with horror stories of losing eyeballs and fungal infections. I fell in love with another boy and although we were friends, he didn’t reciprocate. Again, as I looked around and narrowed my eyes at peers who were starting to couple up, I felt sorry for myself. I was never pretty enough for someone to take a second take and see me as anything else but a friend.

Then came The Prom and I decided to take a stand. Potential blindness or not, I was going to put on contact lenses and finally break free of hiding behind the frames! The proverbial ugly duckling turned into a swan that night- it was a roaring success. Although the boy never became my boy, I didn’t forget that feeling as people came up to me and echoed the same sentiments “Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you..you look like a star!” There was no turning back.

Silently but steadily, my awkwardness grew into composure. I started appreciating my different look as the dark skinny girl faded into the background. My cheekbones became sharper, my almond eyes became more catlike and my curves finally decided to show up at my doorstep. Boys didn’t call me anymore because they wanted their homework done, they started calling because they “wanted to get to know me”. Part of me was secretly thrilled at the metamorphosis. The other half pretty much didn’t know how to deal with it.

I fell in love with a boy and this time, he actually loved me back. He said I was pretty and I was happy. Finally, I thought, someone who saw me as a Belle and not The Owl. It took a while to get used to. “You have such beautiful eyes,” he used to say “Sad eyes but beautiful…”

My eyes became sadder when he went away. For the longest time, I chose to believe that he realized his mistake and saw the real me. Quiet, insecure, dull- I was really the girl hiding behind her foggy thick lenses instead of the princess he’d thought he saw. My world came tumbling down. Now I know better- love sometimes just fade away and I try hard each day to be kinder to myself.

One gorgeous Sunday, I was browsing leisurely through the flea market and chanced upon a stall selling vintage eyeframes. My heart skipped a beat. Nestled in the rows of dusty archaic glasses was the most beautiful pair of cateye frame glasses. It was an experiment of exaggerated proportions as its gilded gold frame was balanced by the jet black lower rims. Gaudy from one angle while classic from another, its duality wasn’t for the faint of heart.

I slipped them on as a lark and looked into the mirror- I’d found my happy medium.

Perhaps it was the frame that accentuated my almond eyes. Or the gold that perfectly offset my tanned complexion . Maybe it was the little bit of geekiness with black rims. Whatever it was, it didn’t look like I was hiding behind the glasses anymore. Instead, they complimented my features and seemed to be coaxing out the girl I’ve grown into. I would love to bestow symbolism on this odd pair of glasses and think that it’s calling for me to fully embrace all my facades. The smart aleck alongside the exotic belle. Clark and Superman . The Owl and The Princess. Perhaps I’d forgiven the mindless taunts of children or maybe, just maybe- at the end of the day, its nothing more than a pair of glasses that I don’t feel ashamed of when I slip them on.

Epilogue: A couple of years ago, I bumped into the first boy as I had on my frumpiest outfit and you’d guessed it, my glasses. I strode up to him and uttered “Do you recognize me?”, confident that my metamorphosis would blow him away. He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Of course, it’s you.” My ego deflated as I cursed the damn glasses. “Shit, did I still look like a nerd?”

Before leaving the city, we had a chat and I mustered my courage to ask “When we saw each other for the first time in 10 years, how did you know it was me? Do I still look horrendous?”

He laughed,

“Do you want to know the truth?

It was your eyes.

You did changed a lot and I almost didn’t recognize you. But when I saw your eyes, I told myself- there’s only one girl I know with those eyes.”

I remind myself with that story each time I get lost in trying to define myself. That while I was busy trying to prove myself worthy, there was someone who did notice the small things. And yes, it did turn out that he actually did love me too. He’d just thought he wasn’t smart enough for me.

Dress (de)Code: Almost Perfection.

There it was. Absolute perfection.

Hanging on a clothes rack outside the store, it was the unassuming “SALE, $35″ that first caught my eye. Without slowing down my pace, I casually scanned the rack from the corner of my eye- ready to dismiss its measly offerings. Then I did a double take. Quiet and dignified, it hung patiently in line. I stopped dead in my tracks and turned around. It was the dress I didn’t know I was looking for. Till now.

Upon first glance, it was a simple affair of black and white. The white Victorian ruffles down the neckline was a clever juxtapose to the stark black buttons and clean minimal nehru collar. Gingerly pulling the dress towards me, its sleek silhouette became apparent with its tapered hemline that was literally mere inches short of classifying it as a micromini. Yet its sauciness was tempered with an intelligence that went beyond looks. The bottom of the dress was designed as a tulip skirt- the excess cut around the hips meant it would complement a woman’s curves rather than punishing it. Yet its playfulness was just as endearing- ‘ Oh look, its not really a white blouse tucked into a high-waist tulip skirt… its a one-piece dress! Oooo…trompe o’eil! And check out the skinny braided leather suspenders attached…how cheeky!’

Perfection. On sale.

Then I looked up and saw him.
There he was. Close to perfection.
I did a double take. He was standing in the storefront and adjusting a mannequin on display.

“Uh-oh.”

Tall and dignified, his brown hair fell into his eyes as he focused on the task at hand. His cheeks, sculpted like a Greek statue, were ironically the same shade of pink as those found on cherubs in Raphael paintings. He stepped away from the mannequin and furrowed his brows. A moment or two of deliberation, he disappeared from view into the back of the store. I snapped back into reality and my task at hand. Still clutching the dress, I deliberated for a moment, took the hanger off the rack and stepped into the store.

There was another customer trying on a jacket. It was not as perfect as my perfect dress. He was standing behind the cash register as my eyes darted around for the fitting room, “Can I try this on?” He smiled and said “Go ahead.”

The tone of his voice threw a glimmer of hope- it would seem that he was straight.

As I entered the bright fitting room and drew the curtain behind, my mind started wandering.
“You do not need another to add to your 76-strong army of dresses”
“But this is the dress I’ve been looking for!”
“Since when?”
“5 minutes ago”
“What if it doesn’t fit?”
“Don’t say that!”
“It did look a tad small… uhoh, did I hear a rip?”
“Stop imagining things!”
“He’s cute isn’t he?”
“Yes he is..”

I took a deep breath and exhaled. Examining myself in the mirror, I was surprised by how well it fitted. The ruffles were subtle without losing its girlishness and the skirt draped elegantly across my hips. In it, I was everything I wanted to stand for right now at that moment- intelligent, feminine, sexy and playful.
“Wow”, I told myself, “it really is perfect.”
As I peeled off the dress, my mind was already set. “Now if only it was that simple with him…” I sighed during the awkward moment of having my hands in mid-air as I pull my sweater back on (I always had the unexplainable fear of having the curtains drawn open while in the state of undress).

I came out of the room and he was waiting outside.
“So, how did it fit?”
“Oh wonderful, I’m definitely going to get this but I’m just going to browse around for a bit.”
His eyes were hazel and warm.
“Sure, whatever we have in the store is on sale because the new Winter collection’s coming in tomorrow”, he casually announced as he carefully folded my perfect dress and placed it atop the counter.
“Really?” My tone went up a few notches in anticipation. A man after my shopaholic heart. “Do you have any fall jackets?”
He paused and cocked his head to the side. “Hmm.. let me show you. We don’t have the discounted tags on them but just ask me and I’ll let you know how much it’ll cost.”
I gazed longingly at the navy military blazer he’d led me to. I touched its silver buttons and admired the detailed stitching on them. It was an interestingly beautiful jacket. But there was something missing. It wasn’t perfect.
“Do you want to try it?”
“Hmm..I really shouldn’t”
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll put it back on the mannequin. It’s no problem at all…” as he unfastened the silver buttons and handed the jacket over. Aww, how chivalrous.

I looked into the mirror and noted how well-made the jacket was. I didn’t look half-bad in it but still. It didn’t seem right. For me at least.

I held onto the jacket and wandered around the tiny store area, absent-mindedly sweeping my hands across the other beautiful pieces hanging on the racks as my heart raced.
‘Should I try to engage in a conversation? Why isn’t he engaging me in a conversation? Am I too obvious? What should I say? Should I just pay for it now? Maybe I should pretend to be on a call to stay in the store longer? Does he think I’m weird for going in circles looking at the same rack for the 4th time?’

I made up my mind as i went up to the register and handed it back to him. “Nah, I’ll sleep on the jacket but I’m definitely getting the dress.”
He smiled and said “Sure, will that be cash or credit?”
His lips were pink and soft. He was such a pretty boy.
“Cash please.”

As he wrote the receipt for my perfect dress, i glanced at the screen of his laptop that was sharing space on the counter. It had a video still of Bill Clinton giving a speech alongside a fancy dashboard. Aha! My one hope at a conversation starter- “Are you editing a video?”

He looked startled for a second before realizing that I was referring to the work-in-progress on his laptop. His smile became broader as his tone raised a few notches “Yeah, just doing some editing for myself.”

Dashing, knows fashion, smart and creative. No way.
“I’ll assume this isn’t your real job then.” (Wow, what an original line.)

He laughed as he handed over my change “Oh no, this is where I am when I’m helping out my girlfriend…it’s her shop. Or rather, you’re suppose to call it ‘helping out’- rather than free labor.”

Damn. And he was funny too.
“Gotcha,” I laughed at his attempt as my heart sank a lil.
“Well then, don’t forget to come in when the new collection’s here. Thanks for coming and have a good one!”
“Thanks, you too!” I hollered back as I strolled down the store aisle.

For a second, as the cool gust of air greeted me out of the store the first thought that popped into my head was “Woe is me. Why are all the good ones taken?”
“I knew he was too good to be true…lucky bitch.”
“Tough luck, old chap. Back to the drawing board.”

Then I looked down and saw in my hands the brown paper carrier with my perfect dress nestled inside the tissue paper. I smiled to myself “Well, at least I got the perfect dress I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

And I went on my way.