The dress
By Stephanie Brinker, Guest Contributor
A great allegory that made my heart melt!
A few weeks ago, I received a gift—an exquisite dress. It was so incredibly beautiful, it made me weep. I didn’t order this dress. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t pray for it. I didn’t even hope for it. As a matter of fact, I thought I would never have use for anything so stunning. I mean, at this point in my life, did I really need it?
I’ve had other dresses before. They were nice, but they got ruined by mistreatment or abuse. When I put them on, I felt kind of ambivalent about myself. They were just dresses. But this dress . . . oh, my goodness. When I dared to put this dress on, I felt like I had never felt before. I felt like I was beautiful and I never wanted to take it off. It felt so right and so lovely. For the first time, I felt like maybe I was worthy of such a costly dress. It fit me perfectly.
It did make me a little nervous to be wearing something so precious. I had a funny feeling in my stomach, like butterflies. When I looked at myself in the mirror, though, it just felt right.
I had tried on many dresses in my life. Too many to count. Some I didn’t even remember. A few I actually bought. But when I would look in the mirror, I didn’t much care for me in them. I saw a lot of flaws and each time I looked, I saw more. As I wore them, wrinkles and stains and tiny tears began to appear. I would try to fix them, but they only got worse. The tiny tears became holes so big, they exposed the ugly parts of me. I began to hate them and thought about throwing them away, but it was hard to do. I didn’t know what I would wear if I did.
The dress would always become unwearable and I would discard it and begin trying on new ones. It made me sad because even though I didn’t care for it, at least it was something to cover and make me unexposed.
When I would try on the new dresses, I would see flaws in them, but at least they were something. It was better than being without a dress. So, after a few tries, I would choose the least offensive dress and take it home. I would wear it, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d ask myself, ‘What was I thinking? Is this really better than wearing nothing?’ I mean, they kept me warm and covered, but sometimes they were far too expensive and they never seemed to last very long.
I had a couple that lasted, but only because I kept mending them and telling myself they were better than nothing. I told myself that it was better than walking around naked. But at night, when I would take the dress off and get into bed, I questioned that reasoning.
When the dress would begin to wear thin, I would ask myself if I was caring properly for it. I must be doing something wrong for it to get ruined. I rarely blamed the manufacturer. It was always my human frailty and inadequacy at caring for things that made them rip and stain.
A couple of the dresses I kept for far too long. I kept mending and each time I would put it on, I would cry a little. How on earth could I continue to wear this? But I never wanted to give up because the process of finding a new dress was not very pleasant.
Oh, sure, it was fun at first. When I saw dresses on the rack, they were so gorgeous. Somehow on me, though, they didn’t ever look the same.
It wasn’t too long before I figured that the problem must be me. I looked around at other women and their dresses were so pretty and fit them so well. I never saw stains or rips, just loveliness. Why couldn’t I pull off fashion the way they did?
Then it came to me one day. Try on some pants. Maybe I just wasn’t meant for dresses. I was a worker. I should look the part. So I put on some jeans and told myself that I liked them just fine. Who needs a dress anyway? It’s not like I was a princess or model or movie star. I could wear jeans and be comfortable and never worry about it again.
I’ve had other dresses before. They were nice, but they got ruined by mistreatment or abuse. When I put them on, I felt kind of ambivalent about myself. They were just dresses. But this dress . . . oh, my goodness. When I dared to put this dress on, I felt like I had never felt before. I felt like I was beautiful and I never wanted to take it off. It felt so right and so lovely. For the first time, I felt like maybe I was worthy of such a costly dress. It fit me perfectly.
It did make me a little nervous to be wearing something so precious. I had a funny feeling in my stomach, like butterflies. When I looked at myself in the mirror, though, it just felt right.
I had tried on many dresses in my life. Too many to count. Some I didn’t even remember. A few I actually bought. But when I would look in the mirror, I didn’t much care for me in them. I saw a lot of flaws and each time I looked, I saw more. As I wore them, wrinkles and stains and tiny tears began to appear. I would try to fix them, but they only got worse. The tiny tears became holes so big, they exposed the ugly parts of me. I began to hate them and thought about throwing them away, but it was hard to do. I didn’t know what I would wear if I did.
The dress would always become unwearable and I would discard it and begin trying on new ones. It made me sad because even though I didn’t care for it, at least it was something to cover and make me unexposed.
When I would try on the new dresses, I would see flaws in them, but at least they were something. It was better than being without a dress. So, after a few tries, I would choose the least offensive dress and take it home. I would wear it, but it wouldn’t be long before I’d ask myself, ‘What was I thinking? Is this really better than wearing nothing?’ I mean, they kept me warm and covered, but sometimes they were far too expensive and they never seemed to last very long.
I had a couple that lasted, but only because I kept mending them and telling myself they were better than nothing. I told myself that it was better than walking around naked. But at night, when I would take the dress off and get into bed, I questioned that reasoning.
When the dress would begin to wear thin, I would ask myself if I was caring properly for it. I must be doing something wrong for it to get ruined. I rarely blamed the manufacturer. It was always my human frailty and inadequacy at caring for things that made them rip and stain.
A couple of the dresses I kept for far too long. I kept mending and each time I would put it on, I would cry a little. How on earth could I continue to wear this? But I never wanted to give up because the process of finding a new dress was not very pleasant.
Oh, sure, it was fun at first. When I saw dresses on the rack, they were so gorgeous. Somehow on me, though, they didn’t ever look the same.
It wasn’t too long before I figured that the problem must be me. I looked around at other women and their dresses were so pretty and fit them so well. I never saw stains or rips, just loveliness. Why couldn’t I pull off fashion the way they did?
Then it came to me one day. Try on some pants. Maybe I just wasn’t meant for dresses. I was a worker. I should look the part. So I put on some jeans and told myself that I liked them just fine. Who needs a dress anyway? It’s not like I was a princess or model or movie star. I could wear jeans and be comfortable and never worry about it again.
I was happy in those jeans. For the first time in my life, I didn’t need a dress. I accomplished so much more in the jeans, and did so much more comfortably. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t mind not having a dress so much. No, this wasn’t bad at all. I was learning and growing and didn’t have to worry about a dress making me feel badly about myself. After all, they showed me every flaw. The jeans were so much more forgiving.
Life was good. Really good. I was enjoying myself.
Life was good. Really good. I was enjoying myself.
Then came this dress. The dress! As much as I loved life in jeans and never imagined myself wearing a dress again, it came to me. Out of the blue. Just appeared, uninvited, un-asked for. Should I keep it?
The answer came in the mirror. Darn, I look good in this! And I feel good in this. I’m going to keep it. Should I write a thank you note to the manufacturer? Should I tell him how much I love this dress? It didn’t matter. He never had to know how grand he made me feel and how much I love myself in this dress. This time, when I put this dress on, I sometimes cry. But I cry because it was such a surprise so late in my life and was so unexpected. What a lovely gift. One I never dreamed of wearing at all, much less at this age. I guess it’s never too late to find the perfect dress.
The answer came in the mirror. Darn, I look good in this! And I feel good in this. I’m going to keep it. Should I write a thank you note to the manufacturer? Should I tell him how much I love this dress? It didn’t matter. He never had to know how grand he made me feel and how much I love myself in this dress. This time, when I put this dress on, I sometimes cry. But I cry because it was such a surprise so late in my life and was so unexpected. What a lovely gift. One I never dreamed of wearing at all, much less at this age. I guess it’s never too late to find the perfect dress.
I loved myself in this dress. Maybe it's never too late to find "the one".
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, click a button on any page to send email with details of the request.