And, for the record, the other night I donned The Skirt once more, which I haven't donned since this day:
which was way back when my postcode was three letters and three numbers, the ground was crunchy-white, and my hair was still taffy-coloured. Back then, our hands were so frozen we had to depress our whole finger on the shutter (not just our agile fingertip) to take the photo. Back then, my shoes slipped on the icy snow as I twirled and twirled, the heat under that velvet belying the nip of the minus-degreed air. Back then, back then.
Since finding the skirt (a vintage Louis Ferraud silk-velvet swing skirt, taffeta-lined, heavy as a heart) I have played with it in my mind. Do you have beloved items like that? Which you simply thirst to wear but which you can't imagine having the right occasion or the perfect 'others' to team it with. My problem was I was thinking 'dressy'- but as soon as I threw a cotton leopard-print nightie under and an old denim jacket over, my late 50s-early-60s Gin-Sling-and-stuffed-olive skirt got taken to a whole other place. Wearable. Wearable not to an opera nor a Don and Betty Draper 'do but a late night hot chocolate.Before I got in the car I spun around so that it came alive. Running across the road (no pedestrian crossing in sight) I gathered handfuls of velvet up and instantly found myself as a lady in a ballroom. What magic clothes create around us, in us, simply by being worn!