No, this old friend isn't a person. It's a store. And her name is Dorothy Perkins. DP is a women's clothing and accessory shop, filled to the brim with pretty, affordable items. The clothes, shoes and accessories I've bought there have always been among my favorites. I really, really love their product. And it's only just now that I've discovered I can order online and have things shipped to me in New York. My credit card hemmorhaged when I pulled it from my wallet. It knows it's about to get some serious usage.
Dorothy Perkins and I have been friends since my first trip to the United Kingdom, when I was 16 years old. It was my junior year of high school, and I was doing what was essentially a "nerd exchange" program with Oxford University. The nerdiest nerds got to attend nerd classes at the most beautiful school on the planet. It was a life-changing summer, in that kind of hazily-shot movie with voiceover and a great soundtrack way. I could tell a lot of funny stories from that summer. My first time clubbing (in Europe! With hilariously bad music and awkward dancing!). My new-found love of architecture!
(Check out these photos from when I went back as a grown-up. Still so breath-takingly beautiful.) We've got an artsy street-shot, and a nice snap of the famous Radcliffe Camera.
So, being in Oxford was a really great and important experience. Being with a bunch of other smart kids my own age was really exciting. And this was the first time I had been in the UK, and I don't know about them, but for me it was love at first sight.
At the end of the summer they threw us hormonal nerdballs a dance, where we could dress up, sip punch, and be sad that we'd most likely never see each other again. Now, before I get to the part about Dorothy Perkins, I need to do a quick recap of the fact that I was awkward and ugly as hell during high school. It's ok. I can handle the truth.
(Yes I can! Yes I can!)
It was true. Boys weren't exactly falling at my feet. Add to the fact that my roommate during this program was a living Barbie doll with expensive designer clothes, and the guy I liked ended up falling for (and dating on-off for years) my close friend, and you can see that I wasn't really rolling with the self-esteem of a baller.
For the dance, I decided to make a bit of an effort. Go out with a bang. I went to Dorothy Perkins in town and purchased the first lovely dress I'd ever bought for myself. Until then, I'd always shopped with my mom, had someone else's opinion to help me. This was the first time ever I'd shopped for a dress alone. The one I found was lovely, a deep burgundy dress with red accents, nipped in at the waist, with a bit of flutter at the hem and sleeves. I also bought some pretty hair clips with roses on them. It was (for a 16 year old) a lot of money and a big deal.
I remember that night I showered, and gently tied my hair back, and clipped back strays with the roses. Then I put on the dress, and I felt....so pretty. And I know in the grand scheme that's not a big deal, but I hadn't ever really felt that way about myself before. I knew I was smart, and funny, and (usually) a nice kid, but I didn't think I could feel pretty, or be admired like my smaller, thinner, blonder compatriots. As I joined my artsy crew in the courtyard outside the dance, my very first gay husband, a tall drink of water named Mickey, wolf-whistled and spun me around in a slow circle. He beamed at me and said:
"Girl, you clean up real good!"
And that was it. A male friend (who granted, wasn't into ladies, but whose opinion I trusted) thought I looked pretty. And while more compliments (from guys who were into ladies) came, that first one meant the most. Because Mickey was my friend, but he was honest and very passionate about style. If I looked like a hot mess (which was often) he'd let me know (aaand he did).
The light switched on.
Hey, I'm pretty.
I'm pretty.
And I feel it, inside and out.
That night, in the moment, the dress was the catalyst for realizing I could feel something new about myself. I'm not saying that fancy clothes and hairclips are the only hope for plain women. It's about finding what makes you feel beautiful. For me, it was a simple dress from a chain store. For someone else it could be a necklace, or a sweatshirt. It's not the clothing, but how wonderful you feel wearing it. It's letting something simple bring out the luminescence within.
So Dorothy Perkins, thank you. My Visa doesn't thank you, but the memory of a shy 16 year old does.
