This Dress Is Everything I Want To Be In Life

A thing of beauty is a joy forever, or at least for as long as it remains in your Facebook feed.

I have found the dress that represents everything I want to be in life. There it is. The “Sparkle Within Dress.” It will make me sparkle within, like I am radioactive.

dress lead 1

Gazing on the thumbnail image, I see my future sewed into every sequin. A future of well-nigh guaranteed joy.

And so I click on the image, and there it is. The dress. Larger. Hanging on a headless cloth mannequin that could be me. With a price and description. But I don’t need the description. I know what the dress is. I know what the dress means.

If I had this dress, I would be an all-powerful flapper queen.

If I had this dress, I would be the human version of an art deco building.

If I had this dress, I would be the happier version of Dorothy Parker.

If I had this dress, I would be the hostess of utterly glamorous yet tasteful evening salons.

“Do come by on Friday,” I would say. “We’ll open some of the bottles I bought at auction from that Gothic castle that burned down.”

If I had this dress, I would glide across the floor of my gracious drawing room, air-kissing my smart and hilarious guests and saying things like, “How can you all be so smart and hilarious?” and “Can I get you another martini, Ruth Bader Ginsburg?”

Other times, I would wear the dress to the picture show or to the races and say things like, “Friedrich, please bring the Duesenberg around so I may go buy some bougainvillea.”

But I need the dress in order to obtain this existence. The dress is required. Without it, the future is dark and bleak, like the grave or a craft store that smells of Glade Yankee Christmas Candles.

The dress says: I sparkle like consumer desire. And I say: Does consumer desire sparkle? And the dress says: But of course it does, silly.

Screen Shot 2015-11-10 at 12.14.41 PM

And then the dress looks at me with amused and affectionate condescension and does that gentle-chin-punch-thing that men do in old movies when they mean to say: You crazy dame. I’m superior to you, but I find you fetching.

The dress says — nay, insists: You must drink cocktails when you wear me. Probably champagne cocktails. Probably many of them.

And the dress is right. The dress cannot be questioned.

You will totally not get a headache because I will prevent it. So says the dress.

If I had this dress, I would have a torrid affair with a writer-slash-pilot at the turn of the century.

But how will I return to the turn of the century to make this happen? I ask the dress. And the dress says, There, there. I will take care of it all.

The writer-slash-pilot would always be setting off to go big-game hunting or to explore unchartered parts of the sea, but I wouldn’t mind.

“I shall miss you, Ajax,” I would say. “But only in the independent woman sort of way. And I will still have my dress.”

“I will miss you too, my darling,” he would reply, taking me in his manly-in-a-literary-man-kind-of-way arms. “But I’ll see you after the rains.”

If I had this dress, I would also be a lady detective. I would solve crimes that would be more perplexingly quirky than deeply disturbing.

I would examine evidence with my gold-and-diamond magnifying glass necklace. Casting my sumptuous black velvet coat onto the nearest chaise, I would exclaim, “It’s clear that the killer is the cheese man. I could tell by the way he sniffed the Pouligny-Saint-Pierre.”

All of my cases would be cheese-related. And my clients would be thrilled with my deductions about Morbier and Mimolette. They would consult me on all murders involving Epoisses.

“That is amazing!” they would exclaim when I outlined my deductions. “You are an extraordinarily talented lady detective.”

“Thank you,” I would say, smiling inscrutably in the manner of the Mona Lisa and lighting a French cigarette. “But I couldn’t have done it without the dress.”

Images: Modcloth

Like what you read? Give Susan Harlan a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.

Responses
The author has chosen not to show responses on this story. You can still respond by clicking the response bubble.