on the lookout for her new styles. Just last week I saw this paparazzi photo of her coming off a plane in a multicolored orange, green, and yellow three-quarter-sleeve sweater matched with an orange scarf. I’ve been looking everywhere, but I can’t seem to find anything that looks remotely like it. If you see something like it, could you call me?
Madonna is, was, and will always be the queen bee to my wannabe.
The Impossible Dream
knew exactly what I wanted to wear for my senior prom, and nothing was going to stop me. What I wanted was very simple: a black strapless top with a knee-length crinoline poufy bottom. In the late eighties, with Madonna and Cyndi Lauper as our teenage fashion idols, how hard was that going to be to find?
Amy Chaikin already had her prom dress: a feminine white strapless, tight-lace, floor-length gown that she’d matched with some white gloves and a white sash she’d tied around her neck. When I started on the quest with Julie Pelagatti, the first dress she tried on was the one she got: a gold lamé strapless that sprouted hoards of stiff fabric in shades of gold and white on the bottom of the floor-length gown, making her look like a gold mermaid. Personally, I didn’t like the dress, but conceeded the point when Julie said, “I want my prom dress to reflect who I was in my senior year of high school.” Looking back, both dresses reflected who my friends were at the time. For Amy it was her ethereal nature, always looking on the bright side of everything. For Julie, her dress was a shining example of someone who was nothing like everyone else and didn’t care what anyone else thought. I, on the other hand, wanted to look like everyone else, but with a bit of myself thrown in for good measure. That’s why I thought my idea of the black strapless with the crinoline was perfect.
With my two best friends set and ready to go, I still had my own dream to conquer. I searched everywhere, all the department stores in my neighborhood, except of course John Wanamaker‘s, which I hated and was positive they wouldn’t have had anything cool in there anyway. I checked all the boutiques in downtown Philadelphia. Zilch. I went to visit my brother Michael at college in Washington, D.C. Zip. My cousin Michele and I took a day trip to New York City. Not even close.
Was I asking for such an impossible notion? All I wanted was a simple black strapless dress with a knee-length crinoline bottom ! They had gold mermaid dresses out there, but God forbid a simple black strapless with a knee-length crinoline bottom!
“Look, I know you’ve got your heart set on one thing,” my mother announced one day as I got home from school, “but I found a backup just in case.”
“Oh, Dean,” Laner said, “you are going to love it!”
Like a curtain unveiling a priceless work of art, Arlene slowly hiked the Saks Fifth Avenue chocolate-brown plastic covering over the hanger of the dress to reveal a Victor Costa blue-and-white polka-dot strapless tea-length dress with a blue-and-white ribbon tied around the bodice. My mom and I were big Victor Costa fans; he was a designer for the masses who knocked off some of the hottest dresses around. When Ivana Trump, a personal icon of Arlene‘s, announced that she in fact wore Victor Costa dresses on occasion, Arlene knew she had concrete evidence that he was one of the most important designers (or redesigners, as it were) of the time.
“I couldn’t resist,” she said, taking it off the hanger and placing it against my body. “If you don’t like it, Gladys at Saks (Arlene’s favorite saleslady of the time) said we could return it.”
I put the dress on and modeled in front of the mirror.
“It’s stunning,” my mom gasped.
“Princess Diana, look out!” Laner cried out
I liked It; I kind of really, really liked it.
“You don’t like it,” my mother sighed.
“She hates it,” Laner sighed.
“No, I like it,” I sighed.
“But you have a dream,” my
Madonna is, was, and will always be the queen bee to my wannabe.
The Impossible Dream
knew exactly what I wanted to wear for my senior prom, and nothing was going to stop me. What I wanted was very simple: a black strapless top with a knee-length crinoline poufy bottom. In the late eighties, with Madonna and Cyndi Lauper as our teenage fashion idols, how hard was that going to be to find?
Amy Chaikin already had her prom dress: a feminine white strapless, tight-lace, floor-length gown that she’d matched with some white gloves and a white sash she’d tied around her neck. When I started on the quest with Julie Pelagatti, the first dress she tried on was the one she got: a gold lamé strapless that sprouted hoards of stiff fabric in shades of gold and white on the bottom of the floor-length gown, making her look like a gold mermaid. Personally, I didn’t like the dress, but conceeded the point when Julie said, “I want my prom dress to reflect who I was in my senior year of high school.” Looking back, both dresses reflected who my friends were at the time. For Amy it was her ethereal nature, always looking on the bright side of everything. For Julie, her dress was a shining example of someone who was nothing like everyone else and didn’t care what anyone else thought. I, on the other hand, wanted to look like everyone else, but with a bit of myself thrown in for good measure. That’s why I thought my idea of the black strapless with the crinoline was perfect.
With my two best friends set and ready to go, I still had my own dream to conquer. I searched everywhere, all the department stores in my neighborhood, except of course John Wanamaker‘s, which I hated and was positive they wouldn’t have had anything cool in there anyway. I checked all the boutiques in downtown Philadelphia. Zilch. I went to visit my brother Michael at college in Washington, D.C. Zip. My cousin Michele and I took a day trip to New York City. Not even close.
Was I asking for such an impossible notion? All I wanted was a simple black strapless dress with a knee-length crinoline bottom ! They had gold mermaid dresses out there, but God forbid a simple black strapless with a knee-length crinoline bottom!
“Look, I know you’ve got your heart set on one thing,” my mother announced one day as I got home from school, “but I found a backup just in case.”
“Oh, Dean,” Laner said, “you are going to love it!”
Like a curtain unveiling a priceless work of art, Arlene slowly hiked the Saks Fifth Avenue chocolate-brown plastic covering over the hanger of the dress to reveal a Victor Costa blue-and-white polka-dot strapless tea-length dress with a blue-and-white ribbon tied around the bodice. My mom and I were big Victor Costa fans; he was a designer for the masses who knocked off some of the hottest dresses around. When Ivana Trump, a personal icon of Arlene‘s, announced that she in fact wore Victor Costa dresses on occasion, Arlene knew she had concrete evidence that he was one of the most important designers (or redesigners, as it were) of the time.
“I couldn’t resist,” she said, taking it off the hanger and placing it against my body. “If you don’t like it, Gladys at Saks (Arlene’s favorite saleslady of the time) said we could return it.”
I put the dress on and modeled in front of the mirror.
“It’s stunning,” my mom gasped.
“Princess Diana, look out!” Laner cried out
I liked It; I kind of really, really liked it.
“You don’t like it,” my mother sighed.
“She hates it,” Laner sighed.
“No, I like it,” I sighed.
“But you have a dream,” my
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