Frock Star

#74

I got this vintage Gunnie Sax dress at a boutique in Davis Square, Cambridge; a trendy neighborhood that was quickly gentrifying. I have a strange memory of this dress. I wore it to an improv show one night in the summer of 2006, here in Carrboro. The guests at the show were Salt and Demetri the Greek; big names to have pulled down, at the time. But one of them - Salt, I think - came with a very drunk date who stumbled to the bathroom and threw up a good bit. I hoped she was alright, and sat down to watch the show. But after intermission, Demetri was the only one who got up onstage, and said that his friend Salt had left to "take care of" his date. Apparently Salt had left her in his car while he did the show. Demetri made a really crass joke at her expense, something about her being "easy." I put on my jacket and walked right out of the theater. I walked around the entire parking lot, crying, nearly hysterical, looking for a girl passed out in a car, afraid she was being raped. Finally, still crying hard, I sat down on a concrete curb and called my then-boyfriend Dave. He was in Cape Cod, out on the town with friends, but he stepped aside so he could talk to me. He lovingly talked me through everything, after which I was much calmer, though still hiccuping. After a long talk with him I got up and went back to the theater, where Demetri was just getting into his car. I went up to him and said, crying again, "You cannot say things like that about women. You CAN. NOT." He put up his hands and apologized profusely, saying it had been a joke in poor taste, and he really hadn't meant to offend anyone. I nodded, knowing I wouldn't get any more than that, and drove home myself.

#89

November 2006. I wore this dress to Cosi Fan Tutte at UNC's Memorial Hall. I had been very sad over a lover who had abandoned me without explanation three months before; and had since resisted almost all my attempts at contact or reconnection, also without explanation. I missed him terribly, and was tired of dancing the dance of avoidance, so I came to this show of his. I sat, watching, feeling so shut out, holding my hand open, trying to remember Buddhist teachings of nonpossession, loving the show and crying a lot. Afterwards I hoped that I'd get to see him or even talk to him a little. And I did - only a minute or so, after the show, in the lobby, where he was cordial; I was so happy just to see him, and trying so hard to be open and warm and noninquisitive. He also introduced me to a woman beside him, simply by her name. I assumed she was a friend; at the time it was unthinkable to me that he'd begun a relationship with someone else after he'd left ours in such ruin. But later - nine months later - I learned that this woman was indeed his new girlfriend.   

November 2007. I wore this dress to Romeo and Juliet at Duke's Reynolds Theater. Rajeev was my date; he came over while I finished fixing my hair, peering in the antique mirror of my mother's dresser; he gave me advice on what jewelry to wear. He hugged me again and again, telling me how beautiful I looked. At Duke, we walked to the student center, hands clasped, under white lights against black night. Knowing that Rajeev is an ardent Tarheel, I whispered in his ear, laughing, "You're a pilgrim in an unholy land!" We watched the show, a colorful, dazzling, subversive display by the Classical Theater of Harlem - complete with glitter and ribbon and hoochie mama costumes - and afterwards dissected it over a Bloomin' Onion and an amaretto sour at Outback Steakhouse. Then, bellies full of sweet alcohol and good fried food, we fell asleep together at my place.

#13

One night Rajeev and I were stopped in traffic, on our way to see a play in Durham. It was a cold November night, but our car was warm; and everywhere around us there were bright colorful warm lights blinking, red and green and yellow. Rajeev was playing a Rufus Wainwright song for me called "Beautiful Child." I looked ahead through the windshield with tears running down my cheeks. Rajeev put his hand on mine and asked me what I was feeling; I said, "I'm just really happy."

#73

This cute vintage dress is from Roulette, the same place in Carrboro where I got #10 and #84. I first wore it to a surprise party for Manju, Rajeev's big sister. We were commanded to be at the house by 9:30 sharp, and as the hour approached, we all gathered in the living room. We said to each other, "Manju can't possibly not know. There are so many people here - she knows half of Durham - someone must have let something slip - and look at all the cars lining the street! If she doesn't know already, she'll guess as soon as she turns on the street."

When she opened the door, we all leapt up at her screaming "SURPRISE!!!" - and she covered her mouth with her hands in utter shock, backbone pinned to the door hinge. She really hadn't known! Music started up, and bewildered hugging commenced. So it ended up being a two-way surprise :)

See my party pictures here!

#9

I got this extraordinary dress at a Roman boutique. I first wore it on Halloween night, just a few days ago. I hadn't intended to dress up in a costume at all, but when I put it on and added the gold bracelets, earrings, and sandals, I thought I looked rather Biblical. So if anyone asked, I called myself Bathsheba. The first person I told was a man dressed like Captain Jean-Luc Picard - but he not only dressed up in the uniform, but looked the spitting image of Patrick Stewart! We talked as we walked. He was British, lived in Durham, and worked at an environmental research firm in Pittsboro. He talked very rapidly and gave me his "business card," as Picard, of course. And everywhere we went, there were cries of "JEAN-LUC!" and "MON CAPITAN!" See a picture of us together here.