The Dress...let the search begin

A few times a year you have something in the agenda where you know a dress is required. Not just any dress, I'm talking about A Dress. Not to mention The Dress.

Next week I have two of those evenings in one week. Those evenings that are usually spread over a year. I'm only 5 days away from the finale of Holland’s Next Topmodel (event 1) and I still have a week for the party in honor of our one-year anniversary . For both events, I still don't have an outfit. Breathe in, breathe out.

Last night I manically clicked through 26 pages of ‘dresses’ on netaporter.com. I threw four into my cart and will see at home if there's something suitable. There are also three fabulous Gucci dresses on the way that my Gucci friend Alberto Zacchini has picked out for me, so it will all be fine, but I don't have it yet. And until that moment, I actually have no peace.

No reason for red spots and wet armpits because usually, I only find the final dress on the day itself. And even if you have it ready a few days in advance, the day itself can still lead to trouble.

Once I hosted the Marie Claire Prix de la Beauté. In Milan I had seen the most beautiful Valentino dress and it was fashion chief Simone who managed to score that exact dress for me. To leave nothing to chance, I tried it on a few days beforehand. Not having gained or lost weight, it still fit as if it were couture.

On the day of the Prix, I was just working. From the office, I would go straight to the location with a taxi that would first pick up my international editor-in-chief from Schiphol. The call from Sèverine (from Marie Claire International) that she was leaving Schiphol was my go-ahead to slide into my dress. Skin-colored slip, check, good stockings, check, small Chanel bag. I was truly prepared for everything.

Vavavoom Valentino and I walked out of the fashion room and entered the editorial space. I expected a lot of oh’s, ah’s, and applause, but I got shaking heads. “What?!” I asked, now slightly panicked. “Your slip, May. You can see everything through it. But really everything.” There was only one thing to do. Do a Patricia Paay (slip off, tampon in) and step into and out of the taxi as decently as possible. I stuffed the slip into my tiny Chanel bag and this problem was also tackled.

A few days later I had a brainstorming session about a Chanel-themed issue and we came up with the mattelassé, the typical way Chanel stitches her leather. Coincidentally, I had the same miniature Chanel bag with me, which I showed to our new designer for inspiration. Marcel was the only heterosexual man in the editorial team and still had a lot to learn about fashion. “Pretty nice, that bag. But what on earth do you keep in there?” he asked. “Usually my credit card and nothing else,” I replied. “I’ll take a look actually…”

And yes, there I magically pulled out my former slip from the mattelassé. Marcel didn’t flinch and said, “At first, I had to get used to it here in the editorial team, but I’m starting to like it more every day.”