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(Photo Credit: thisnext.com)

            This Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress        


(Photo Credit:fashionchoice.org)

                       This pair of  black Christian Louboutin  suede knee high boots    




                                                     THE LOOK HUBBY WOULD HAVE WANTED ME TO ACHIEVE (IN HIS DREAMS)

In deference to my husband’s work as a lawyer, I try my best to conform to dressing up in a manner that is acceptable to him. Well, at least now. When I was younger (at least in the last five years) my style has been unorthodox, funky, unpredictably rock chic, shabby chic  (or just plain shabby) uber chic, over the top and even despicable. Ask the nuns I rode in the elevator with in this hospital by the mall. Well it’s relative. I mean I survived it although I don’t know if the people around me did.

Now that I’m older, and his clients and partners, for lack of a better word, are more corporate, I strive to dress up more, ugh, corporate as well. And that means changing my entire closet altogether.

We are a sweet, sedate and subdued couple who rarely fight (yeah, yeah – boring) and argue only over very little, almost trivial things – mostly grammatical lapses (his and hers), my being stubborn for not punctuating long sentences with a colon, semi-colon,  Oxford or serial comma,  the appropriateness of a word, finding the exact word for a certain context, how to raise our only son Enzo (he is a spoiler, I am the antithesis), my asking for a moratorium (at least for a year) to cut the crap on his intellectual conceit about his having come from UP – both college and law school now that no one from UP topped the bar (he gave me this undecipherable look that if he had been a judge, he would have banged the gavel on my head instead, LOL) , why I travel a lot and travel light and why he cannot (he brings his blue books to check – a whole suitcase of them, that’s why), why  the beef in the pochero is not tender enough and yes, why I wear what I wear. Especially my penchant for making long tops into short mini dresses.

Recently, he added a new rule to selecting my wardrobe – age appropriate.

He has asked me to stop wearing mini-skirts and short dresses because women over forty already have knobby knees.Obviously, he has probably seen Angelina Jolie and the hideous pose at the Oscars.

And so this new un–bendable rule became a problem when I got invited to the 80th birthday of a grand matriarch of an uber rich, prominent diplomatic clan where all her children and their spouses and grandchildren and their spouses scattered all over Asia, Europe and the US will be coming home for the grand event. As I am not much taken into big social soirees, for I look with askance the soignees who date their DI’s, the social climbing parvenu with their fake Birkins and the designer logo-monogram clad from head to toe arrivistes (I am, as of the moment – uncategorized, as I never go out of my merry way to be invited. I just get invited. Period. I don’t even know why I get invited. Often I just retreat in a corner, holding a wine glass with wine that I don’t even drink, people watching, playing fashion police in my mind).

Every woman understands that the most dreadful thing that that could happen in a party is to run into somebody with the same dress as yours. And if you do not have a reserve dress in the back of your car, then you’ll have to slug it out with ‘who wore it better’ survey. And pose all you might. And don’t forget that pout.

I plead guilty to having several dresses still with tags in the closet. So for this event, I had this oh so divine Diane Von Furstenberg wrap  dress which I haven’t worn yet simply because, it didn’t fit me but I bought it anyway. But, lo and behold, it did now. So I showed it to my husband and he seemed to approve. The sleeves are long, the fabric sheer but I said I could get by with a camisole. So I walked around the room wearing the dress until he noticed that the neckline was too low. He said ‘You can’t wear that dress with a neckline that low!’ I shot back ‘But you can’t expect me to clasp the neckline of a DVF dress with a safety pin!’ I assured him that if I would lose more weight, the fabric of the wrap dress would  clutch my uhrm, curves even more and that should provide more cover on the bodice. He seemed mollified but reminded me about how busy he was he wouldn’t have  the time to deal with my crankiness which happened each time I’d go on diet.

Then we got to the footwear.

Just as soon as we resolved the issue of the low neck line, came the issue of the footwear. Hubby almost fell off his seat when he saw me in front of the mirror with my knee high boots. He expressed disdain and asked ‘You’re wearing that dress with that?’

‘A-ha’  I nodded as I twirled in front of the full length mirror and pranced about the room in my DVF wrap dress and boots.

‘ Is that, ahhhm, age appropriate?’  he asked

‘I think it is. See, no knobby knees’ I grinned

‘But the celebrant is 80 years old’ he argued.

‘And this guest is only 43!’ I countered.

He scratched and shook his head, trying to find a more plausible argument. After a brief pause he said ‘I don’t think anyone in his right mind would be wearing boots in a room full of diplomats!’

‘Aah, Sweetie, au contraire, I said. ‘I think I’ll be in good company. All her sons are flying in from Texas. How cowboy can you get? And while we’re at it, may I borrow Enzo’s horse?  How cool is that – getting into the ballroom on  horse back?’

End of argument.

(See, I said I always win)

And peace reigned in the Angel household for a long long time until the next grammatical lapse that I spewed out and he needed to correct.

So that’s the ensemble to the party (minus the horse of course!) where I stuck like a sore thumb in a room full of ruby brooches, emerald cabochons, chandelier  and drop earrings that competed for attention with the glint of Baccarat crystal chandeliers, South Sea pearls and God only knows how many carats of diamond bib chokers (there was just too much glare, I should have worn sunglasses that night,  LOL) worn over cocktail dresses, Herve Leger bandage dresses, designer gowns that showed off curves sculpted by Spanx and rhinestone studded heels. (I’ve never seen so many Jimmy Choo’s).

It was a cool party . No dress code. You could wear anything you wanted. Even the ones your husband didn’t approve.

Being old school however, hubby wore New Zealand merino wool,  Loro Piana. Not a bad choice, if you ask me.