The Little Black Dress

So today I went shopping for a simple, but elegant, black dress.  One that I could, with the use of the right accessories, make formal or casual.  One that would last me the rest of my life.  The cut of the dress wasn't important to me, though I had hoped to find one like the one Diane Keaton wore in "Something's Gotta Give".  And I had hoped to buy "made in America", a designation that means more to me now. 

Now I'm not a real lover of shopping.  I tend to favor one stop shopping, rarely taking the time to price compare.  I generally know what I'm looking for and have a vague price range in mind when I head out.  I don't like spending time poring over racks and racks of clothes.  Nor do I like taking off and putting on clothes more than the once in the evening in preparation for bed and in the morning for the day's activities.  If I know I'm going to be trying on clothes, I need to go into the dressing room with several items.  I won't go to all that trouble for one item.  And lastly, I really, really, hate salespeople who hover. 

The best place to shop and meet all my criteria is the mall, a place I generally avoid.  I started at Von Maur, slightly pricey but past excursions there have been successful.  I found several black dresses and selected five to try on. 

Tell me, how is it that a dress can look fine on the hanger and on me add twenty pounds?  You've got to understand, there wasn't a huge difference from one dress to the other.  Most had rounded necklines, some lower than others.  Most were of the sheath variety with a slightly fitted waist.  Most were sleeveless though a few were three quarter length.  One after the other went on and then off.  All of them made me look dowdy.  Yes, I am 61 but at 5'9", 138 pounds, and more toned than I've been in years, there is no excuse or reason to settle for dowdy.  I finally asked the salesperson to get me one of the dresses in a size 8, rather than the 10's I tried.  It did fit better but I had to ask myself, would this dress be wearable if I gained five pounds?  The answer was no.  And none of the dresses were "made in America".  In fact, when asked, I was informed that there were no black dresses in the store that were made in America!
Already not in good spirits, I left Von Maur in one worse and headed for the not as pricey but with a slightly larger selection Macy's.  After wandering through various sections (clothes were grouped by designer) of the ladie's department, I found another six dresses to try on.  One after the other I put them on and took them off, rejecting the unflattering fits of all but one.  That one had potential.  I put it aside, finished trying on the others and put it on yet again.  Did it resemble the Diane Keaton dress I had hoped for?  No.  Did it fit and flatter my figure.  Yes, kind of.  It is sleeveless and while I've been working to firm up my arms, they are, after all, sixty-one years old and gravity has done its job.  I'd rather avoid sleeveless but not this time.  I figure I can add a colorful shawl to cover the arms.  The length was slightly above the knees, a length I can live with.  Was the dress made in America?  No.  Made in China.  Did it meet my price range?  Yes.  After some internal debate, I decided to get  the dress.  Though not perfect, it will do.  I know, I settled, but like I said, I really don't like to shop.

So, there was a time when I could find attractive clothes in numbers that far exceeded my budget and my need.  Most of these clothes not only fit but flattered.  Or at least I thought they did.  Truth be told, many were not particularly comfortable or practical, but I accepted that as part of the cost for looking good and being stylish.  The most uncomfortable or most difficult to care for didn't last past one or two wearings and that, too, I accepted.  I didn't consider the money I wasted.  Neither did I consdier where my clothing was made.  Now I wonder.  Did they really fit and flatter?  Or was I fulfilling a different set of criteria, seeing with a different set of eyes?  A set that saw being in style, wearing a name brand, owning what I thought everyone else wanted to wear the most important criteria.  Did that define flattering?   Maybe then, but not now.  At sixty-one, my clothes have to be functional, lasting, flattering, priced right, and easy care.  Criteria I can meet with a bit of effort on my part.  I'd also like my clothes to be made in America but that may only happen when I make them for myself.