“Is there any more melancholy activity than sorting out the clothes of your deceased mother?” Standing in front of the overflowing cupboard, contemplating the magnitude of the task at hand, I wonder. Then I encourage myself: ok, since we have to go through this, and she was pretty, maybe I’ll find at least a few pieces to adopt.
For reasons of size, taste, time, not much is right. And then suddenly, I put my hand on this black pearl. Fitted, draped on the front, with a row of pearly buttons and marked shoulders, in the style of the 1980s. I slip in: perfect. Little dress, you are now mine.
But when do you date exactly? Fashion blurs the tracks, especially when, like me, you don’t know much about it. You look vintage, but you are in perfect condition. Are you actually a recent model? I search my memory, but cannot generate an image of your former owner (thus my mother) carrying you.
The investigation continues at the label level: 100% polyester. Plastic, what. A material very popular in the 1970s, but still used. The brand, Mondi: that means nothing to me. I stomp! The ax finally falls when I discover this inscription: “Made in West Germany.”
Dear dress, in the blink of an eye, you are decked out with a heritage dimension. When you were assembled, a wall was going right through Berlin. We made clothes in Europe. Two models of society were still competing for spirits. It goes back and yet, it is not that far. That’s what I want to believe, being a 1980s model myself.
Now, when I carry you, I am aware that I am carrying a little history with me, big and small. This extra soul adds to your intrinsic elegance. And put yourself aside in my closet.
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