The Red Dress
Musings on an impulse 2020 pre-pandemic purchase before we knew better...
There’s this poem that I love by Dorothy Parker. It’s called “The Red Dress.” For whatever reason, it has always stuck with me since the first time I read it. Perhaps it’s my penchant for nostalgic tendencies, often looking back, wondering what could have been…
Too — I recently listened to a podcast1 featuring Tia Williams and I nearly cackled as she described herself wading through old boxes of physical fashion magazines from her heyday in “Big Beauty” and calling it her “Havisham Moment.” No explanation. Full stop. I, only knowing what she meant because one summer I was “forced” to read Great Expectations due to a parent (I have four) believing I’d be “ahead” of my peers if I encountered it early. Dear reader, for whatever reason, I was never formerly assigned Great Expectations2. But I digress…
Five years ago, somewhere between an American Ballet Theatre press release and this Avenue Magazine spread that I’m still obsessed with, I purchased a dress in anticipation of attending a spring performance where Misty Copeland and yet to be named principal Calvin Royal III3 would take center stage at the Metropolitan Opera and perform MacMillan’s Romeo and Juliet. You know - the sweeping music, tragic romance, and the fact that by chance4 two Black dancers at the top of their fields would be dancing the title roles on a historic stage on an equally historic night. I, fresh off of season one of a Lucy Hale led Riverdale spinoff and a semi-solo trip to Hawaii, believed I’d be attending such a magnanimous event despite living in Los Angeles at the time. I went so far as to draft an email to my boss that I’d be missing a Friday of work come season two’s start to fly east. I would not let mere geography allow me to miss such a once in a lifetime performance. We, dancers of a certain age and color, melanated, Black, othered in predominately white spaces, were finally having a breakthrough moment on one of the brightest stages.
Or so I thought.
Because my career was taking off, because I felt comfortable and empowered, because perhaps things were finally going my way after eight years working in television and film, I felt emboldened to make a purchase. To drop saved money on a dress worthy of this occasion. And, while I’m different person now, then 31-year-old me decided that a then $245 Ted Baker skater dress was what I needed. After all, the show I was on was renewed for season two, Hawaii was on the books, 2020 was going to be my year…. Obviously, I was - well, we all were - changed forever.
Here and now is not the time or place for me to unpack my feelings about the last five years — they’re too big and complicated and I’m still finding the words, as most of us are, for that too big of feeling of loss and regret. Instead, I wanted to come on here, for it’s been a minute, and pay ode to a Ted Baker London skater dress, tags still on, that I told myself I’d wear when Misty and Calvin finally took center stage as Romeo and Juliet.
On October 22nd, Misty Copeland is set to take her ‘final bow’ on the American Ballet Theatre stage. Not at the Metropolitan Opera but next door at the David Koch. And… I don’t think I’ll wear the dress. I’m a different person. No longer wearing things above the knee. That 31-year-old at the start of 2020 who purchased it, to allude to Mariah Carey… I don’t know her. Instead, I’m on the last stages (I hope!) of a head cold, did my best to paint my nails (in bed) in honor of Copeland’s 2012 Firebird moment5, and plan to roll up in whatever appropriate attire that still fits me6, then roll right back into bed with a hot cup of tea.
Back to Dorothy Parker’s “The Red Dress.” The poem ends on her usual tongue in cheek note of exasperation. The protagonist, at the end of the piece, it seems, despite all hopes and dreams of her future, of the potential of this, “… gown of reddish red / As fine as you could see…” is left holding the bag with, “…this silly gown.” To put it plainly, that’s how I feel about my Ted Baker number, tags still on, bought for a future that never came to pass. Perhaps one day I’ll wear it out and proudly, but for now, it remains an “option” in my closet for some spring fête or to be donated toward a worthier cause.
Cheers to Misty, Calvin, and a dress that would have had so much fun in an alternate timeline.
For the record, I do not listen to podcasts save perhaps a few seasons of Pod Meets World.
But I do hope you’ve seen the Dev Patel adaptation! Wait, my bad… it was actually The Personal History of David Copperfield. But still hit play! It’s absolutely delightful.
He would be promoted that fall.
Or design? Someone’s memoir will tell us in ten to twenty years hopefully.
It ended up being an oversized grey, tweed suit combo from 2024’s Uniqlo’s : C collection as seen on Clare Waight Keller here.