Who ever commanded “Thou shall not wear white after Labor Day?” I believe, in the right weight and fabric, white translates year round. I find nothing quite as satisfying or versatile as a pure white frock. It can be spritely and playful with an innocent sensuality, or as gothic and mysterious in its deathly pallor as any sable garb.
Unfortunately, what is white rarely stays that way (like my muddying hair – but that’s a story for another post). Aside from this brief photo op, I’ve been hesitant to touch this dress at all for fear I will brush against something or spill a drop of tea, or the edges will grey from wear. I have tucked it away for a special occasion, so at least once it can be seen in its purest form before it’s inevitably scarred by human error and imperfection.
The cut of this dress only builds upon the weight of its color. Unbelted, it hangs shapeless from the body like some sort of baptismal gown or religious habit (fitting that we took these pictures at the doors of a church). It would be stunningly symbolic on a taller figure, but I’d appear lost in the unbridled fabric.
I’m have faith that experiments with layers and shapes will carry this through to at least pre-fall (nothing a black harness and leather leggings can’t help), but I’ve yet to find my excuse. If the occasion does not strike, this could be tucked away for the season.