CLOTHES SHRINK. PEOPLE GROW.
Wore it for the size. Kept it for the story.
Her gown lived in my memory. Years later, mine moved in beside it.
twin vintage (circa mid 2000s) banana republic dresses
It was elegant, not gaudy or dated. Contemporary, but with a retro sensibility. It reminded me of a gown my mother wore in a photo that I found inside a family album as a child. I’d studied that photo so fervently that the protective sleeve still bears faint impressions from my tiny fingers.
I couldn’t believe my good fortune. It was the one. The perfect companion for an upcoming European holiday with my mom, dad, sister, brother-in-law, and baby niece.
Size 2. On a cruise ship with endless buffets.
It was ambitious, but not too much of a stretch. Not for me. While other passengers topped off multi-course meals with pastries, cheese plates, and crème brûlée, my strapless confection would keep me sated. Caressed. The gold-threaded eyelets would sparkle like fairy lights and light me up like a flute of champagne.
That was the idea, anyway.
We went jewelry shopping in Santorini, art hunting in Agios Nikolaos, and played with feral kitties in Patmos. I drank ale in Montenegro, feasted on calamari in Split, and devoured Pizza Margherita and lemon gelato at Piazza San Marco. And those were just the afternoons; every night I cleaned my dinner plate—desserts included. I savored every bite, every moment with my family.
My sandals betrayed me— the leather never broke in. I patched my blisters with bandaids. But the dress? It had my back. And my belly. And my hips. Gotta love an empire waist.
By the time I returned to Los Angeles, the zipper pinched. Still, the dress hung proudly in my closet. A month later, I spotted it again—this time in a size 4—and wore it to a party.
“...Is that the dress you wore on the cruise?”
“…You look great! You haven’t gained a pound…”
Years have passed. Sometimes I can still zip the size 4 if I inhale deeply, but eventually I have to breathe.
Regrettably, it’s one or the other.
If a good tailor can make a size 6 from a 2 and a 4, could a great tailor make an 8?
Maybe. But I don’t care.
Now my photo sits in the family album beside the image of my mother that inspired it. I’ll always keep them close.
But the dresses? I’m letting them go. May they find a new adventure someday.