The Dress

the allure of material mythic quests

I wrote this last year for

Nicola Slawson

’s brilliant substack The Single Supplement and thought of it this morning as I scrolled looking for a dress to wear to a friend’s party in a couple of weeks so wanted to share it here!

Even though I’ve never come even close to being married I’ve mentally held space for the idea of The Dress. The wedding dress as a medium for simultaneously presenting my most beautiful, desirable, loveable self and communicating my taste, values and morality. It is a lot to expect from a dress. The dress has to convey a story: the legend of its origin – perhaps it was an antique sourced from the wardrobe of talented seamstress or was handed down through the maternal line then fashioned into something more modern, and also the story of the person wearing and the relationship they are marrying into.

My mum recently threw away her wedding dress. It had been stored at my grandparents’ house, but when they moved to live close to my mum she discarded it. Fair enough, I thought. Her marriage left her with no happy memories. She kept my grandma’s though – handsewn silk satin brocade, in a tiny post-war size. There is a felt tip mark on it from a time we must have played dress up, but I don’t think it fit me beyond 10 years old. I would never wear their dresses to be married in. Never update an heirloom to my design. But still even without a partner I have dreamed of a dress, daydreamed of a wedding. Shantung silk. Satin. Crepe de chine. I accessorized. Settled on my something blue. Tested entrance music.

If you don’t get married, how do you know which is the ‘most important day of your life’? Why do we think a wedding day is that anyhow? How can we tell until we’re near the end of life, looking back on what day made the biggest impression? Besides, that idea curtails my dress ambitions. I want the ludicrous dress. I want to have an occasion for it, to feel entitled to it, without having to justify what might be considered inappropriate expense, inappropriate deliberation. So, I’ve pursued The Dress for myself. First poetry book launch. Second poetry book launch. Sister’s wedding. My latest book launch. Each time I’ve told myself that these are once in a lifetime event that require a serious outfit, worthy of investment, worthy of drama.

For my first book launch I had one made – a long, black 70-s style empire line dress with a square neckline, trimmed in gold fringe. It was simple and based on a vintage dress belonging to a friend. I’ve worn it several times since. For my sister’s wedding I had another dress made, in yellow silk chiffon. I instructed the design myself and for this reason it didn’t quite work, was too fussy, and due to the materials I requested – silk chiffon, lace – ended up being bulky as they had to be backed by other layers. This dress hasn’t been worn again. For my second poetry book launch I bought a dress off the rack at great expense, in a hysterical quest. It is a black satin, lace and sequinned Temperley dress, and even thought I bought it in the sale, with an additional discount on top due to some logistical mishaps, it was stupidly expensive, and the cost remained stubborn as a tomato sauce stain on my credit card balance for years afterwards.

The latest quest was for the book I have out now – Arrangements in Blue. I decided the dress had to be blue and it had to be spectacular. Afterall, in part my book is about assigning importance and celebration to life events outside of marriage and having children. The dress had to tell that story. As I’ve been searching, my best friend has been searching for her wedding dress. Our chat is full of links shared back and forth, opinions offered, suggestions made. Neither of us finding The One. It’s been an interesting time to have the same pursuit. I’ve confronted weird ideas I’ve clung onto, like she should spend more money on her wedding dress than I do on my launch dress. That her dress should be more special. Why? The insidiousness of heteronormative romantic values.

I have a fat body so there’s additional challenges when buying special outfits. A lot of what I’d like isn’t available to me. There was a good deal of ordering in and sending back designer dresses in the largest available size – even when they technically fit they didn’t fit well. I ordered still expensive but less dramatically so dresses and held them in reserve. A blue wardrobe beginning to take shape. I ordered a custom-made dress in royal blue lamé, but when I tried it on I felt I looked like an open tin of Quality Street, with all the coconut flavour ones left in it. But I still clung to this dream of The Dress. The perfect story, the perfect appearance.

On the day of my party, when I went to get ready, I tried on all the blues in my wardrobe. The aqua silk, the sky-blue satin, the ink blue cotton, the coconut éclair Quality Street lamé, the twilight blue velvet with a rip in the hem. None met my perfect bar for either story or appearance. Instead, I pulled a cheaper, long, gold embroidered dress from its hanger, and put it on, feeling instantly better. It was another lesson in letting go of a hoped-for ideal. Of the power that can come in abandoning plans not because of failure, but because of a kind of self-friendship that says, I choose this. This dress is better.

The winning dress from my mammoth trying on session