This summer, I’ve issued an ultimatum to dresses.
As I get ready for the day, the morning weatherman waves from our television screen. He sweeps an arm dramatically across a map of Vancouver. Its meteorological topography is a violent sunrise ombre of yellow, orange, and threatening scarlet reflecting the climbing temperatures. As a Pacific Northwest girl through and through, I’m just not built for temperature extremes. Anything below 8C/46F? I’ll cry. Anything above 35C/95F? I’ll admit I’m just a little too toasty. But I love summer, I swear.
Regardless of comfort, I have to dress for the reality I’m in. This year, when I flipped my closet over to put away my wools and knits, replacing their freshly emptied hangers with airier linens and crisp cottons, I made the intentional choice to put the dresses I own front and center. The hope was that keeping them within such an obvious sightline would be the ultimate test for their place in my closet. Will they stay or will they go? The Clash had no idea the depths of such a question. We’re talking about important things now: Closet space. This season I’ll be keeping it top of mind just how often I find myself reaching for these dresses and actually wearing them.
The thing is, I used to love dresses.
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