THE PAIN OF FINDING THE DRESS

In three days, gulp, is the finale of Holland’s Next Topmodel. Three days later, gulp-breathe-in-breathe-out, we will host a grand and captivating party here. You understand, that calls for a good suit. And I don’t have one yet.

As I type this, a box from Gucci has been delivered that is so large that I, and I mean this, could lie down in it. Moreover, at any moment the doorbell could be rung by a friendly gentleman from DHL with a box from netaporter.com in his arms. So it will probably be fine with that outfit. It always is, even if it’s at the very last moment.

I remember a Marie Claire Prix de la Mode. There were a few dresses from Escada hanging, but they were a bit too extravagant for my taste. A stunning Fendi wouldn’t close. Not even when I exhaled very hard and Simone, the fashion chief, tried to pull up my zipper while fashion editor Marjolein and intern Cher held the zipper together. No option. I might tear out of my dress.

So it was wise to have a little give around the belly and breasts.

What almost no one knew was that I was just five weeks happily expecting what my third daughter would be. So it was wise to have a little give around the belly and breasts. On the day itself, something else would be delivered. I believe it was Marni, but however beautiful, not for me and certainly not for this moment. Just when I was starting to get a bit seriously desperate (I was still six hours away from a grand dinner that I had to host with 125 VIPs), Simone looked at a corner of the fashion room. “And what about that one, what do you think?” They were the dresses we had used for a shoot with Doutzen. She was on the cover of our next issue. “You’re kidding.” I said. I mean, duh, Doutzen. “That Pucci dress is fine. It’s made of a thick, stretchy fabric and besides, it’s nice because it’s from an old winner of the Prix.” Simone said decisively.

Okay, with Doutzen the dress was loose and with me it fit, but still. It fit and it was stunning. The dress was mine to wear.

The issue with the cover of Doutzen and the report of the Prix de la Mode ended up in the same issue of Marie Claire and of course I sent a copy to Peter Dundas, the creative director of Pucci. A few weeks later, a thank you card was on my desk. From Peter. In his characteristic, classic handwriting with extremely long fountain pen strokes, it was written “Dear May-Britt, thanks so much for the beautiful cover and for wearing my dress.” That’s nice, I thought and quickly read on. “You both looked fat.” What? Fat? Okay, I was a tiny bit pregnant but fat, meh. And Doutzen definitely not. It turned out to be a handwriting thing. It said ‘fab’.

In the end, it all turned out fine.