|
This
is not about politics.
This
is not about who voted for whom in the recent election.
This
is about the once-in-a-lifetime chance for a simple
girl to dress up and attend the Inaugural Ball.
|
|
This is about finding that perfect dress for
that once-in-a-lifetime event.
Faced with the near impossible task of finding
a dress that fit, with only five days remaining,
I approached my job with a faint heart and pessimistic
outlook. My dejected attitude only deepened
upon seeing the stock in New York City's finest
department stores. An unending sea of Easter
egg colors. A palette of rainbow sherbet. A
parade of crinoline. I was Emma Peel surrounded
by Scarlett O'Hara's wardrobe. (For heaven's
sake, I was not going to the senior prom!) But
there, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted
the dress I was destined to wear. Inspired by
the avant-garde, geometric prints of Italian
designer, Missoni,
this slinky number stood out among its peers
the way a disco track would stand out on WQXR.
Unlike anything I had seen elsewhere, this was
a good sign that no one would be wearing this
dress - the female version of plagiarism. Quel
faux pas! Floor length, knife pleats, halter
top, thin, suede belt to tie at the waist, delicate
bronze beads throughout. It nearly fit me off
the hanger, but nothing I couldn't fix temporarily.
The
night before the event, I stood with my mom
in front of her mirror while we accessorized
into the wee hours of the morning. Pulling out
yards and yards of gold, semi-precious stones,
ornaments, and beads, I glanced at my reflection
to see staring back at me a warrior in precious
metals. "I am not in the cast of 'Gladiator'!",
I cried, rebelling against her touches and trying
to create a signature of my own. We opted for
simple gold hoops, an antique filigree pin,
smoky quartz ring, and a 1940s bracelet watch.
Let the Bauhaus dictate. Less is more.
|
 |
|
Elegance
defined. The most stylish woman in the
history of the universe shows how it's
done. If you don't know who she is, kill
yourself now.
|
|
|
|
I was correct in my assumption that no one else would
be in my dress. Most of the dresses I saw had not
made an appearance since the last time a Republican
was inaugurated in 1989. My fears were abated. Nevertheless,
I had a growing urge to start handing out glamour-don't
citations. Allow me to elaborate:
There
was no chance that any two women were wearing the
same dress at the parties I attended. This
would be attributed to the fact that the styles in
attendance spanned two decades of fashion. However,
let's say, for instance, that you are planning on
attending a rather stylish event and would like to
avoid being one of six females outfitted in the same
trendy number. You can do one of two things. Ask the
salesgirl which style is selling like hotcakes, and
then choose something from the opposite end of the
spectrum. Or, you can opt for number two: shop around.
Visit as many stores as your schedule permits. You'll
have a better chance of choosing something unique
and interesting if you don't buy the first thing you
see.
Tread lightly with ornamentation.
I have never seen so many poufed, puffed, bowed, beaded,
sparkled, spangled, shimmered, ladies since the Greenwich
Village Halloween Day Parade. Choose a dress like
the one Catherine Zeta-Jones wore at the Golden Globe
Awards and you run the risk of looking like a lampshade
in your Great Aunt Bea's circa 1939 living room -
the one with those amusing, dangling crystals, sitting
on a bronze base embellished with cheerful cherubim.
Delicate, light touches of beading can be quite attractive.
Beading overkill can make a dress look cheap and will
add another ten pounds to the weight of the dress.
Imagine carrying around two 5-pound dumbbells in your
pockets all night. That would pretty much destroy
your hopes of gracefully floating into the room as
you make your grand entrance.
Try
it on.
Even if you are unsure of how it looks on the hanger,
take it into the fitting room. You may be pleasantly
surprised, or surprisingly unpleased. Rita Rudner
comes to mind:
Salesgirl:
It looks better on.
Rita Rudner: On what? On fire?
Make
sure it fits.
Does it gap? pull? sag? drag? Bring it to your tailor.
If you don't have time to have it properly fitted,
then maybe this isn't the dress for you. Most dresses
will not fit properly off the hanger.
Choose
a dress you will feel comfortable wearing.
If you are uncomfortable and insecure, you won't be
the belle of the ball and your fun quotient will drop
into negative digits. (Ditto for shoes.)
|
Avoid
a dress or skirt with a train, unless you plan
on having a footman with you all night.
Choose appropriate undergarments
and always check your rear view. I cannot
begin to count the number of women I have seen
who would never have left their house had they
seen what the rest of us should not have seen.
Put a little effort into
those finishing touches, i. e. jewelry, handbag,
shoes, hair, and makeup. I had the unfortunate
opportunity to witness a young woman in glamorous
dress with a freshly washed face and a hairstyle
that would normally accompany a pair of sweatpants
and sneakers. This is not a dress rehearsal.
Please. A little lipgloss. A touch of mascara.
Anything to indicate that this night is different
from all other nights. Of course, a little too
much effort in the hair and makeup department
could backfire. Those 'Dynasty' days are long
over. Or so I thought. An unfortunate guests's
hair-sprayed locks had such wing action, I thought
she would take flight. Her equally attended
face betrayed a heavy hand with the blusher,
so much so I thought she had been the recipient
of a left jab to the cheekbone.
You
get what you pay for.
Buy a cheap dress (sans zippers or closures),
fight with it as you try to pull it over your
head, and you'll end up wearing a deodorant-stained,
wrinkled mess all night long.
Reserve
white for your wedding day.
|
 |
|
Dy-Nasty.
80s icon Joan Collins displays the finer
points of what to avoid.
|
|
|
|
And last, but most important,
throw your shoulders back, walk tall and carry an
evening purse.
In
hindsight, I can say that the Inaugural Ball was not
the glamorous, powerful party I expected. I can say
that because I was one of the lucky few who had the
opportunity of a lifetime - to stand in line, lose
my coat, take home a commemorative gift, and ride
the Metro at midnight. Me and the other 34,999 fortunate
out-of-towners who descended on our capital city one
snowy night in January 2001.
A
self-described slave to style, not fashion, Miss E.
R. Kessler has been educated in the fields of interior
design, foreign languages, fine dining, adventure
traveling, and all-around advice giving.
She
has also been known to discuss domestic economic policy
with unparalleled aplomb.
|
|
|
