Autobiography of a Fashion Object

By Renée Kocian

09.26.21

I remember it like yesterday, arriving from Italy with all my brothers and sisters. I’d heard of this foreign land from many but never thought the day would come where I would see it myself. As I was unloaded from my cushioned home and hung upon a soft display, I stretched my soft silk down to the ground, growing long after a snug trip across the ocean. Now more comfortable, I glanced around to view my new home. A sign caught my eye ‘Maria’s: The Finest of Luxury Gowns in Staten Island’. I smiled softly to myself, New York, I had finally made it. There were many other gowns here of all nationalities, I saw some French chiffon dresses, some Spanish skirts, and even some English tweeds around the corner from where I was stationed. New to the store, I was hung with some other Italians that could help me get acquainted with my role in this village of international fabric. 

  It only took three days before I found her. She was roaming the shop floor with her billowing blonde hair, and I watched as her blue eyes scanned each rack looking for something magical, something breathtaking, something like me. Confidently I reached out from the rack and brushed her wrist as she walked by. Stopping in her tracks the woman turned to me, eyes narrowing, I watched as she took in the sight of my gorgeous maroon and crème colored shapes. It was seconds before I had her in my grasp. Once I was cascading down her body, I knew there was no way she’d ever give me up now. I was exclusive, one of a kind, if she didn’t want me then she was what we call in Italy a ‘stunad’. Looking in the mirror I felt so full of joy and life. I could see a smile creep on her face as I hugged her ribs and slid of her curves in all the right places. My soft Italian silk dipping low in the back made me feel sexy yet oh so very classy. While my knotted shoulders and v neckline caressed her skin and accentuated the thin collarbones of this little French woman. It was no surprise when I was placed in a soft garment bag with a little window and taken to what would become my new home.

  Once the lady arrived at her home, I was immediately drawn from my temporary compartment and shimmied into once again. Eavesdropping, I heard the woman call to a man and tell him that she found the most beautiful gown and she’d be out in a minute. I quickly adjusted my slinky shape to enhance her bosom and proudly displayed myself as we meandered into the living room for the man, Peter’s, thoughts. “Oh Andrée, she’s beautiful! You’ll steal the show!” he beamed. I blushed in his presence, clearly this man was Italian, it was no wonder he had such great taste. As the days passed, the woman, whom I came to know as Andrée, let me adorn her daily. She’d whisper sweet nothings to me, and I would give her a little squeeze to let her know I heard. 

  One day, Andrée approached me and told me we were going to a very important event. I was so excited as I was neatly laid inside a petite box and positioned perfectly to get my beauty sleep. When I woke up it was November the 8thof 1975, Andrée was in full makeup and had her long hair strategically placed upon the top of her head. I snuggled up against her as she slinked me on and ran her hands over my curves. “Today’s the day” she whispered. It was cold when we left our hotel room, freezing as a matter of fact. I snuggled close for warmth and ached to get out of the snow, my Italian heritage did not prepare me for such weather. When we finally got back inside, I realized where we were, a wedding. By the looks and sounds of it, a Canadian wedding. Andrée’s sister was getting married, and yet I could feel all eyes on me. I felt like the most sophisticated and elegant gown ever made. All the women wanted me, and all the men wanted Andrée because of me. I’ll remember that night forever, the way I swayed across the dance floor and glided along, lingering just a little longer for those who would never see me again. I knew I wasn’t supposed to upstage the bride, but I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just me who loved the spotlight, but it was the spotlight that loved me. When the night ended, I hung my silken cloth low and slept till morning. As Andrée spent the next morning placing me back within her petite luggage, I reminisced over the dreamy night when I was the star of the show. 

  After we arrived home from the wedding, I expected Andrée to take me everywhere with her, but things changed. Suddenly she wasn’t walking around the house with me anymore and posing in front of the mirror. I spent most of my time stuffed in between other clothes in her cramped little closet. Occasionally I’d be set free from my confines to enjoy a night out for one of Peter’s many cousin’s weddings, but otherwise my life was rather mundane from there on out. At least that was what I thought before I experienced a truly, horribly, boring lifestyle. One day I was adorning the shape of Andrée when I noticed some rippling in my delicate silken skin. It seemed that Andrée had thickened with age whereas I kept my figure. My slender fit could no longer hold her within. Frustrated, I refused to zip for Andrée, hoping she would pick up on my hint and lose a few, but instead Andrée decided to lose me. She locked me in a closet with other forgotten gowns and turned her back on me. I was outraged, I could feel the fire in my Italian blood boiling, and I swore she would never use me in such a way again. Betrayed and hurt, stuck between a thick itchy blazer and a black French chiffon gown, I could see my fate before me. Here I was to live and die, an old Italian spinster with no one who loves me. To shield my fragile heart, I fell into a deep sleep for many years.

  Decades later, in 2019, I woke up to a bright light encompassing my sleeping chambers and shaking me from my slumber. I felt her before I saw her, two soft hands crept along my sides. ‘Andrée? Could it be?’ I thought. When the blur and dust of sleep finally settled, there was a young woman, blue/green eyes bright and smiling as she ran her fingers down my silken waves. She looked familiar, like I’d seen her in a dream and yet I knew we’d never met. I reveled in her touch and sighed as I felt the warmth of love surround me once again as she filled out my shape. When I’m with her I feel right, I feel good, and I feel beautiful. Feelings I thought I’d lost long ago. I know now that my purpose in this life is to be with her, that all of my past has prepared me for this woman, in this moment, at this time.