the one that got away
you can buy back an earlier version of yourself—but should you?
I’ve lost more beanies in my lifetime than I care to count (on bus seats, neighboring barstools, airplanes) but for the most part, I’m good at holding onto my clothes—or at least letting them go intentionally by reselling or donating. I’ve only truly lost a few items—this black lace vest, a denim jacket I eventually replaced via Etsy, maybe one or two more things I’ll occasionally see in an old photo and wonder where they ended up. There’s only one that shows up in my dreams, though—this dress:
It was a cotton minidress in a babydoll silhouette, trimmed in crochet. The body was lined in muslin, the bell sleeves left unlined and sheer. Paisley and floral print mingled in a combination of orange and green that made the dress feel as though it had been pulled right out of the 70s. The zipper always got stuck on the lining. I wore it everywhere—to class, to work, to impromptu photo shoots on the roofs of bedbug-infested buildings (no one who lived in the McKibbin Lofts in the late aughts will disagree with that assessment). I wore it with my old ballet shoes, shredding the soft leather soles as I walked. I wore it with my purple leather Justin lace-up boots. I wore it with tights, with a denim jacket, with a fur coat. In the event of a fire, I would have saved this dress, my signed copy of A Complicated Kindness, and my hard drive (maybe not in that order). And then one day I didn’t have it anymore.
I thought about the dress again the other night and wanted to see if I could find it. I went to Etsy first, searched for “orange paisley dress,” and before I could even click on the filters to narrow it down, there it was—the first result on the page.
It felt like running into a long-lost friend (or maybe, more specifically, Googling the name of the girl you met on the beach twenty-odd years ago and finding out she’s married with two dogs and an impressive-sounding job—hi Kelly!)
I added it to my cart almost involuntarily, then returned to the listing to check the measurements. This dress likely will not fit me, and envisioning a reunion that ends with a rip or a tear or a zipper that can only make it halfway up the back feels bad. Do I really miss the dress, or am I just nostalgic for that moment in my life? And will re-buying this dress put me back in that moment? I think it’s probably healthier to admire it from afar—and hope that whoever buys this one gets as much joy out of it as I did from mine.
Here are some alternate paisley dresses if that dress has awakened something in you! All cotton, linen, or silk.
For a slightly more abstracted take, here’s a selection from Greek designer Mary Katrantzou, known for her intricate prints and trompe l’oeil designs—some shockingly cheap on the RealReal.
And a bonus, for those of you who liked the original dress—here’s another one made of that same fabric with a slightly different silhouette!
Side note: Avery Trufelman’s podcast, Articles of Interest, has a great and thorough episode about the origin of paisley as a pattern and how it became popular in Europe (in a twist that will surprise no one, it has to do with white colonizers!)—you should listen to the episode here.
As always, if you buy one of the items in the newsletter—send pics!
<3 E
Isn't it funny how losing things makes you obsess over them so much more? I just lost my sunglasses recently and immediately found a new pair online. When they arrived I felt sad that they weren't MINE. I wondered if it was a sign from the universe to move on that I just completely missed. It feels silly that clothes can cause me so much emotional turmoil, but they do, sue me lol. A beautiful story from you as always! Also, Mckibbin lofts 😭😭😭
I feel the same way about a couple of pieces of clothing I’ve lost (or in one case, had stolen) along the way. I miss them the way I miss pieces of myself that I’ve shed or left behind throughout the years.