Prêt-a-Porter
Over two years ago, one blissful Saturday afternoon I was shopping in a Sacred Heart Opportunity Shop and unexpectedly hit the jackpot. Against the rules, I had taken so many promising garments into the change room (only four were ostensibly allowed) and was frantically shedding clothing as speedily as possible in case there were impatient customers waiting outside and champing at the bit.
One of the items I was excited to find was this silk pleated dress by Parisian brand Suncoo. (At least the label boldly states Paris.) It had never been worn, for the label was still dangling attached. It was priced at a pittance, a mere $10. I adored the colour, and I adored the flouncing pleats, the pin tucking, the details on the cuffs – everything about this dress I adored! I wore hearts for eyes. That’s probably why I didn’t notice one important detail …
THE ANTI-THEFT SECURITY DEVICE WAS STILL ATTACHED AT THE WAIST.
I did not notice this frivolous circumstance until the day I desired to wear it to work for the first time. There it was, a little innocuous white bowling-pin-shaped receptacle of indelible ink obstinately attached. I wore something else.
Some time passed before it occurred to me that the lovely and clever ladies and gentlemen of the Wardrobe department at work might be able to assist in ridding me of this embarrassment. I took it with me one day and sheepishly explained the situation while they grinned at me. Another colleague walked past at that moment and scoffed at my protestations of innocence.
The learned costumiers scratched their heads and confessed they had never seen this particular style of device before. So probably it was from France, and I was forced to wonder whether the original owner had liberated the dress from a store (they are excessively fond of liberté in gay Paree, after all). Wardrobe declared confidently, “Leave it with us.”
Happily for me, one brilliant seamstress had the idea to unpick the stitches at the waist, ease off the device, and then sew the seams back together. It was lucky the device was attached to a seam, for miraculously this shifty operation worked! Voila! they said triumphantly.
But the story does not end here. I took the dress home, and the next time I decided to wear it, I discovered that some of the stitching on the back had torn, and the concertina effect was ruined. What next! I despaired, and I repaired the stitches.
What next! I despaired, and I repaired the stitches.
What next indeed … Pleased, a couple of years later I finally got around to photographing the dress in order to write this story, and after the shoot as I was lifting it over my head, what should I do but smear scarlet lipstick on the front?! Hélas! What a series of unfortunate events! Was the dress hand-washable? Would I ruin the pleats (as I have done before) by willy-nilly ignoring a ‘dry clean only’ instruction?
Hélas! What a series of unfortunate events!
But the dress was indeed hand-washable. After applying an oil-free make-up removing tissue to the stain, removing as much as possible, and leaving a large oval-shaped mark on the panel of buttons, I hopefully washed the dress. (This useful tip I gleaned from a make-up artist once upon a time.) I cringed a little as I immersed it into water.
But hey presto! The stain came out, the pleats did not, and finally, finally, the dress is prêt-a-porter!
Photos: February 2016
