Monday, April 21, 2008

A case of fashion abuse

Gentle reader, I feel I have to come clean. I'm involved in an abusive relationship.

No one knows. Sure, I have wounds and scars, but they're not the kind you have to use concealer on or make up lies about stairs and doors to cover. They're the kind you can't see. For you see dear reader, my abusive paramour is one of the soft, pretty, floaty order. It's a dress.

It's not so innocent.

It started like any other relationship - eyes across a crowded room, a brief flirtation as we sized each other up, and the next thing I knew I was undressed in a cubicle with the object of my lusty attentions in my arms.

It was obvious I wasn't her first - the fingerprints on her straps and the tell tale REDUCED sticker on her swingtag showed she'd been loved and left behind several times before. In hindsight, this should have been a warning, but I didn't care. I knew Dress and I were perfect for each other.

Things turned bad soon after our first evening out together. Everyone said we suited each other beautifully, and they were right, we were a good looking couple. But as we sashayed around the room together winning admiring glances, all I could think about was the truth - that Dress had made it almost impossible to leave the house that night, being stubborn and uptight and complaining we weren't a good fit. I knew sometimes she had to be cajoled into coming out with me (she said she preferred hanging out with the jeans at home - they were so relaxed, she thought), but I still thought it was worth it.

The problem is she was always so touchy - you'd only have to brush past someone at the bar and she'd react angrily, proudly showing off her scars to all and sundry.

Then, after a particularly big night out on the town together, Dress just disappeared. Gone, like that. This wasn't entirely out of character, she'd done it before - once I found her at a friend's house where she'd been "staying" in the spare room for a week. But I had a big event coming up and Dress had promised to come with me. As the function loomed near I started to worry - where the hell was she? Then I got a call from the local dry cleaner to come and "collect" her. She'd been there for days, apparently, just hanging around, but she looked so shiny and pressed I couldn't stay mad at her. That is until I saw the white stain.

"What the hell is this?" I demanded, but neither Dress nor the dry cleaner had any explanation.

"All I can do is send it back to the factory for them to look at it," said the girl behind the counter.

"YOU'VE BEEN SLUMMING IT?" I yelled, and whisked Dress home for a proper inspection.

Looking back on it now, our relationship was obviously on the rocks, but I didn't want to let go - I knew how good we could be together. It wasn't Dress, it was ME, I was the one that needed to change, I thought. I'd let myself go, put on a bit of weight, and we weren't going out together as much anymore, only on really special occasions - no wonder she was looking around.

I thought I'd make it up to her at the big event. I'd get my hair done, wear my best underwear and expensive jewellery and take her out on the town, and everyone would see what a great pair we were. Things were going to be OK.

But things weren't OK. On the night of the big event Dress flat out refused to leave the house with me. She kept banging on about how I only took her out to show off to my friends, and how she was just some sort of "trophy". So passive agressive. No matter what I did she just wouldn't zip it. After half an hour of tug of war I finally decided to wear something else - but Dress wasn't having that. Immediately she wrapped herself around me and wouldn't let go. I pleaded and begged, I yelled and screamed, but she wouldn't give. I was to go to the party with her half hanging off me, or not at all. In the end, shamefully, I had to threaten her with a pair of scissors before she finally gave up and slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.

In the end I looked through my little black dress book and found a forgotten old friend from many years ago to take instead. She still looked fabulous. I'm already planning to take her out again soon - I don't know why we ever broke up in the first place.

As for Dress and I, who knows? For now, we're spending some time apart.

She says I'll never find another dress as hot as she is. I think she's just biased.

(Australia's Next Top Model fans make sure to check back here Tuesday night - the ANTM blogging begins! Want to know what to expect? Click here)


  1. You and the dress DO look very hot together.

  2. I just spat toast. That was freaking hilarious!

  3. No more phone calls please, we have a winner. That was brilliant, PetSarr! Any photos of the two of you together during your good times?

  4. You and Dress will make up again. Same goes for me and turquoise Crocs. I should be well and truly ashamed of our relationship, but I'm not.

  5. Dress is a flighty whore. You should show her who's boss by giving her to the Goodwill. See how the tart likes that! I've had no sympathy for such know-it-all items of clothing after having to be cut out of a dress with a jammed zip. Sure it was Tarjaaaay and I was in the fitting rooms, but that's so not the point.