A Tale of Two Dresses

About a year ago I fell in love with this dove-grey jersey dress from Zara in Dubai. It was on sale and not in my size, so of course I bought it.

As always, I was drawn to the asymmetrical cut and pleated details. It was too big, and I didn’t care; it was comfortable. I first wore it that holiday in Oman over jeans, for modesty in that Middle-Eastern country. It took me around Muscat, to the museums and galleries, the Old Fort and the souq; to the beach. It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

I returned home to the heat of summer and had to wait for cooler weather to wear it again. Some time after that it languished in the washing basket, waiting for a hand-washing Saturday.

It became imbued with happy memories and joie de vivre.

Imagine my distress when I pulled it forth and discovered it
eaten alive by moths! There are a dozen tiny holes or more, chomped in various parts of the dress’s anatomy. I washed it carefully nonetheless, but I could not wear it. Nor could I bear to throw it away.

Many months later, I thought I would try to have the dress copied (I ought to have taken it on holiday again, this time to the Vietnamese tailors), so I set about finding jersey fabric online, and asking for a price from my tailor. They quoted me three or four hundred dollars at a minimum! Regretfully, I put the dress away in my wardrobe.

One evening, not so long ago, I was walking home down Chapel Street and passed the window of a new boutique, Sadie. Before my gob-smacked eyes there was my Zara dress! Alike in every detail but one: instead of dove-grey, this incarnation was assembled from beige marle. This difference I cast aside as a mere bagatelle.
I wanted that dress.

I returned as soon as could be; reverently lifted the garment from its rail (a small size this time), and whisked it away to a changing room.

It truly was the same dress.

Of course I bought it, and now they hang side by side in my closet. It makes me happy.