When my husband and I were invited to a semi-formal work-related event, I sailed into dress mode like a 16-year-old dreaming of prom night, envisioning chic bliss in the perfect dress, albeit in a Beverly Hillbillies sort of way. Thus the search began.
I ransacked racks of clothes at department stores and dress shops where I found selections in small sizes a pittance compared to the abundance in size 16. My choices were also limited by my ever-pragmatic frame of mind that refused to let me pay an outrageous amount for an outfit I would likely wear only once.
When my shopping efforts produced no workable results and my options were dwindling, I dropped in on a secondhand boutique of gently-used designer castoffs. There I came close to snatching a spaghetti-strapped bargain but its floor-length made it too formal, and shortening the hem would have ruined the lines. Next I persuaded my husband to come with me to a bridal shop where the sweetest salesgirl hung a mix of styles in my fitting room, including some that were cut to flatter Marilyn Monroe's curves or Tina Turner's legs. After flinging more than half a dozen dresses off hangers and over my head, I walked out the door empty-handed alongside my husband, both of us downtrodden and exhausted.
On the way to the car, he said to me, "As well as you can sew, you ought to just make a dress." I responded by telling him that I would not even consider such an undertaking, even though I could handle a needle and thread quite well and had been in stitches most of my life.
I reminded him that I grew up poor and wore homemade clothes out of necessity, and that I still associated one with the other, and that through hard work I had risen above my meager beginnings and left my homemade clothes behind. I further explained that my sewing skills were cut out for quilts and crafts and that making a proper garment, like baking the perfect pound cake, takes practice.
My cry-me-a-river dissipated into the wind as my husband's negotiation skills kicked in. He can be persuasive at times and at times I can be receptive. The next thing I knew, we were in Piece Goods collaborating on a pattern, even though I had not sewn a dress since Mr. Carter's presidency.
Back at home I pulled several yards of sunshine-yellow gabardine from a stash of relics and made a prototype of the asymmetrical one-shouldered dress, learning again that following directions is easy but obtaining the right fit is challenging. Undeterred, I pinned and re-pinned before heading to the fabric store again to purchase two yards of satiny black fabric and a zipper.
I cut out the dress a second time then pressed the foot pedal of my Kenmore with tenacity and apprehension. My perseverence paid off and soon a dress that I liked emerged from my sewing machine but it lacked pizzazz. After yet another shopping trip, I spent two hours hand-stitching a sequinned trim around the neckline, across the shoulder and back. When the time came for the once-in-a-lifetime affair, I put on the dress and zipped it up, free of any homegrown shame or psychological snags.
The dress still hangs in the archives of my closet, nestled between skirts and blazers leftover from my office years. As predicted, I only wore it once, but a few dollars and a trifle of hours turned out to be well spent. A little bit of grit goes a long way, especially when you throw in some sequins and satin.
Copyright © 2023 by Mary Frances
Published in The Goochland Gazette May 10, 2023