The first time I put on a tutu in my kindergarten dance class, I knew I was destined for the stage.
As you all know, that didn't exactly go as planned, but my wardrobe sometimes mimics that of costume-worthy proportions. Those two years of dance class proved two things: dramatic silhouettes are my thing and dancing will never be my thing.
This Christmas, I was determined to find the perfect tea-length tulle skirt to satiate my apetite for girly, over-the-top, Carrie Bradshaw-inspired accouterments. The skirt was located via Atlantic-Pacific, a cool $300 Athropologie number even Santa couldn't afford. I have my mother to thank for snagging a less pricey and just as snazzy version from Shabby Apple.
I have to admit, I haven't found the right occasion to sport my most precious fashion find, but when
the occasion arrises some boy takes me to a place worthy of a skirt that takes up the entire booth or really just an event of immaculate proportions where I won't be the only one to make eyes at, you better believe my behind will be covered with yards of navy tulle. Until then, I will continue to play dress-up on Saturday evenings and have people take pictures of me while I saunter across busy downtown streets.
I found that the only thing I own worthy enough to pair with such grandiose proportions is my great great aunt's mink stole. Go big or go home, right? I was told she only wore it on Christmas, but I figured a tutu-clad wanna-be vogue-er dancing on busy roads is just as great of an occasion. In real life, if I wasn't just playing dress up, I'd stick to my plain (polka-dot, duh.) t-shirt underneath. It lets the skirt do the talking all while channeling my Sex and the City alter-ego.
Pictures: Daniel Roth
P.S. Does anyone know any pixie grow-out methods besides stock piling headbands?