An Ode to My Little Black Dress

It was the good old year of 2013, my freshman year of high school, just weeks away from the biggest day my life had yet to offer: Homecoming. For years I sat at my computer on that very night, scrolling through Facebook (Instagram was barely a thing yet) looking at countless photographs of my older friends attending their own Homecomings. So I was prepared when it was my turn. I’d wear a dress just like them. Presumably tight & short, or what my mom liked to call “the ace bandage”. My plan was to go for a one-sleeve look in the color white. Because no matter how many times I watched “What Not to Wear” on TLC, I adamantly disagreed with the “No White After Labor Day” rule.

As a kid I was never really considered fashionable. My sister, a few years younger, was always the one to make a statement... with her statement-fur-coat (worn all year round) or her ‘NYC’ fedora or whatever head-turning look she had to offer. I, on the other hand, was a bit more tame. I mostly stuck with jeans and a t-shirt, unless I was at basketball practice where I relied on basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Looking back now, I understand that I was probably just scared to try anything else. All the more reason dressing to the nines for my very first Homecoming was a big step outside my comfort zone. Without a personal style to defy the masses, I was simply set on dressing like everyone else.

When the time came my mom took me to Macy’s to pick out the dress. My mom is very… opinionated. So with each dress I picked she'd remind me, “you seriously look like the Snow Miser in that color”, or, “no, that one’s way too tacky”. However, like any fifteen year old, I simply didn’t care what she had to say. I was going to find that white, one-shouldered, body-con dress. (Honestly, can you picture it!? Ugh, it was going to be awesome!!!).

After gathering an assortment to try on, I headed over to the fitting room. My mom followed, hoping so badly that they wouldn’t fit or would have a rip or quite literally anything to ensure that I wouldn’t leave the store with one of the numbers I had picked out. But alas, nothing was wrong with them. Each and every one I tried was my size, flawlessly sewn, and literally... so ugly I can’t even tell you how much I want to either laugh or throw up thinking about them. They were SO BAD. Beyond how they looked, I also felt absolutely terrible in them. I was uncomfortable and totally out of my element. I was so embarrassed of how my body looked underneath that single layer of stretch-polyester-whatever the fabric was. So I walked out of the fitting room defeated as ever.

It just wasn’t my year to go to Homecoming, I guessed. My mom told me not to worry, that we’d find something. But I didn’t believe her. Not until I saw that other girl- tall, blonde, and beautiful. She spun, practically in slow-motion, to show off her spaghetti strapped empire dress. In awe I turned to my mom and said, “Mom... I get it now. I’m going to try a different style”.

I left the store that day with a little black A-line dress. One with a shallow scoop neck and jewels outlining the neck and waist. It fell just above my knees and was simple, yet classy. On the big night, I paired it with a pair of black patent leather wedges and softly curled my hair. Needless to say, my mom was relieved. But she was also happy to see me feel comfortable and confident. Something I’d never feel in one of the dresses I originally picked out. My little black dress wasn’t like my next door neighbor’s or the girl’s from class. My little black dress was so me.

Seeing that fitting-room girl, a few years older and (obviously) countless dances more experienced than me, helped me understand so much more than what type of dress to buy. It was the first time I saw style as not only something to emulate, but to make my own. I realized that my lack of comfort showing off my body left room to show off other aspects of me- like my sporty, fun and (for the first time) chic sides, too!

Until this point I never thought my ever-so-particular personality or hyper-perfectionist tendencies could be fashionable. I thought fashion was something spontaneous and as wild as my sister’s fur coats. But my dress, no matter how tailored and simple it was, was actually fashionable too. My freshman year homecoming dress sparked in me a never before feeling: a new undeniable understanding of how I wanted to express myself through clothes.

So thank you, little black dress, for helping me feel confident and myself. For allowing me to create a sense of style around my comfort level, yet still encouraging me to push the envelope a little bit further with each new purchase for years to come.

P.S. Also, despite this horrendous photo example, thank you little black dress for not embarrassing me years later when I look at photos of that night. That’s a mistake far too many make. But hey, it’s just because they hadn’t yet found their little black dress to write an ode to.