Whenever the occasion calls for festive garb, my girlfriends rarely arrive already in dress. Rather they show up in jeans and scruffy tee shirts, lugging bundles of prospective items through the door. It is half the fun, this process of stripping down and slipping on different constructions of fabric, cut, and shimmer. Within moments my bedroom is a battlefield strewn with discarded boots, belts, and coats and the four of us giggling and tumbling all over the place as we shimmy into slinky dresses, frilly tops, towering heels, and bottom-flattering pants.
Amidst this furor of activity, we yak and laugh and demand opinions from each other. “No honestly. Tell me. . . .Don’t you think it's a bit summery for today? . . . Oh shut up, listen, can you see a line? . . . Look! They’re completely falling out. . . . Oh no, what’s that mark? . . . Shut up Hannah. . . . No it’s not!
“I can’t decide,” I wail plaintively.
“Well, it depends what you’re going for,” Danielle replies. “That dress is verrrry Frrrrench,” she continues rolling her eyes and R’s in a caricature of Gallic mannerisms.
“Yes, that one says cute and sweet,” adds Hannah.
“What about the brown one?” I speculate, “I really like that one.”
Hannah snorts knowingly. “That one just says sex pot.”
“Yeah, you know I am in the mood to wear brown anyway . . .” I remark, innocently adjusting the sleeves. “Yes, I think I’ll keep this on.”
After each outfit has been duly scrutinized, we descend to the bathroom to add the finishing touches to our visages. With all four of us crammed into the tiny space, it is a chaotic jumble of powders, pencils, creams, and brushes. I escape a near collision with Danielle’s blackened mascara wand; Hannah neatly dodges Aleah’s hair straightener. The feasting and drinking will soon begin, yet already I am filled with a sense of delicious satisfaction. I’ve got my girls with me—my dearest, long-time crazy ladies together again. And friends, that is a magnificent feast of its own.
Photography by Hannah Wahl
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