When the dress code suddenly becomes a stress code

A golden key is delivered to the editorial office. ‘It would be my honour to invite you to the Grand Opening of Maison Moët at Parc Broekhuizen. Dress code? Surreal gold.’ Let me think. Um, gold. I do have some somewhere, golden shoes, I thought. But a whole outfit? Help.

Three days later. Total stains on the neck. Dress code? Ha, you mean stress code. De Bijenkorf. Asos. H&M. Zara. Wehkamp. Zalando. Mango. & Other Stories. Monki. I scroll through every single website, but there is no gold to my taste to be found. In December you are bombarded with it, but now the search for a festive dress with something gold seems impossible.

Where are all the sequins when you need them? This is the same challenge as looking for a bikini in winter. It’s just not doable. Why am I not friends with Gerard Joling? I message some friends, but I can’t get further than ‘I have a gold necklace’. Every party with a dress code painfully reminds me that I need to invest in a super cool dress that can always be worn. Oh wait, I see something cool. Oh, size sold out. Of course. Is this my punishment for always arranging things at the last minute?

And when I finally gave up the search, there it was, just like that, as if fate was playing along, a black dress at Fabienne Chapot in the collection. With golden details in the form of champagne glasses, stars, moons, fireworks; the whole shebang. A dress that is festive, but still casual enough to wear later. Zeeeuuu saved by the freaking bell. You understand that this kind of stuff is not very healthy for the heart rate. If you’re looking for me tonight, I’m floating around in a mansion in Leersum, probably with as many glasses of bubbles in my face as on the dress. Joe!