We teamed up with Katriona Flynn, lecturer in fashion at TU Dublin, to ask readers to share their story of a dress that has played an important role in their lives. We were struck by the huge response, and how the physical features of the dresses played second string to the human stories around them, and the memories embedded within. Here’s a selection …
Submit your own ‘Story of A Dress’ to amy@thegloss.ie and discover more stories online throughout the series. See the details of a new Desert Island Dress Podcast coming soon, created by Katriona Flynn and Dr Dee Duffy below.
The ‘Formal’ Dress by Rebekah Rainey
Where do all the old formal dresses go? Do they don the mannequins of local charity shops? Do they lie in boxes next to artificial trees? Do our mothers hold onto them until, one day, deciding we were big enough to take care of our own belongings, pass them to us? Now faced with the dilemma, I’m not quite sure of the answer.
There was the formal and there was the dress. While one depended on the other, they were two very separate constructs. One would remind me of a fairly disappointing evening and the other would remain precious to me.
I envisioned orange, below the knee – because that’s what Buffy (the Vampire Slayer) wore to her Homecoming dance. And since Monsoon weren’t au fait with the latest Buffy-fashion and ASOS didn’t yet exist – it was off to the local dressmaker.
Fabric draped like curtains over every surface. Pins became a health and safety issue. And there, in tides of texture, existed the foundation of so many hopes and dreams. And he’d realise mine with perfect clarity. Accentuating my adolescent waist and padding out the areas that lacked, it would be the only dress I’d have made to measure.
My mother would now deem I was “big enough” and, truthfully, I have no idea what to do with it. I think it would cause me too much pain to wear it – not least because of the size 6 bodice. I’d think of him – the chaotic and loving hands that made it – and how he’d never make another dress. I’d think of my mother and how she’d do anything for her daughter. Neither mannequin nor box seemed a fitting end for it. Instead, I think I shall hang it. Beyond the coats of today, closer to Narnia; in a place where I’d one day venture if I felt brave enough.
Woven Memories by Mary Arnal
We had a tight budget back in ‘88 and so guests numbered only 35, flowers too were handpicked and the dress, well as it was a Spanish/ Irish wedding and I just had to have a flamenco infusion in Ireland.
I drew it. I looked first at Oscar de la Renta and Adolfo Dominguez and Loewe and many other Spanish designers. I looked too at every Novia magazine I could find. Finally a friend of mum’s, Belle Morgan in Newry, said sweetly that if I gave her my design and the material it would be her gift. So I did.
Ivory with french lace trimmings, a few subtle ruffles and of course 80’s shoulders.
The back had a row of tiny covered buttons and little bows. The veil tufted and held with a diamante flamenco clasp in the form of a matching rose. A small embroidered train and it was immaculate.
Accessorised by ivory and silver drop earrings, satin shoes and my mother’s Irish Missal with mother of pearl case. Bridesmaids in peachy frilled glory, all dresses exquisitely made and embellished by Belle.
‘Guapa, Guapa,’ shouted the Spanish guests, filming and snapping in black and white. It was a dreamy dress and so was the whole day. I felt like Lola Flores and Rocio Jurado combined. Antonio loved it.
A year later my sister Siobhan asked if she could redesign it for her King’s Inn’s ball. I agreed. The dress would get a new life, have a new story woven into its delicate, silvery threads. She shone in the tucked, dyed and transformed creation.
Twenty years later the home house stood bereft. A bulldozer primed to level it. We all lived abroad. We had decided to sell after our parents passed as it was not surviving well empty. Cousins descended like amiable vultures and cleared out every memory. All except one.
I was woken at 4am by a kindly old neighbour. ‘Mary, there is a beautiful dress lying on your road, with some old books and stuff, what will I do?’
We had forgotten about the attic! The wrecking ball had smashed through the house and contents of the attic had gone flying into the dusty air. The dress had ballooned up then floated down and lain serenely on the road like a silent corpse.
Gathered up that morning it was burned with other forgotten items. Cremated. It seems an awful thing to have forgotten such a beauty but it had achieved well its earthly purpose and truly made dreams come true. Those dreams still continue.
Vintage, Apparently by Carolyn Costigan
I’m not a hoarder, but I keep every outfit I’ve ever worn to a wedding. I bought this Renato Nucci dress in Fenwicks in Bond Street for a wedding in Ballinasloe, I had baby twins and a toddler at home and escaped for a day out in London .
A lovely sales lady took me in hand and as I tried on the dress she ran around getting me this Peter Bentley huge hat and LK Bennett kitten heels. I remember carrying home the hatbox on the train.
More than 20 years later, my daughter (one of the twins) shopped from my wardrobe and wore it to my nephew’s wedding this summer. It was a super relaxed and stylish wedding and the dress suited the vibe. She teamed it with a vintage Karen Millen cardi also from my wardrobe. “Vintage,” apparently – I still feel as young as the first time I wore it.
Coming Soon: The Desert Island Dress Podcast
The podcast that unearths the heartfelt stories behind the clothing we cherish the most. In this unique series, guests share the four garments they could never leave behind, each with a profound connection to their lives and loved ones. Join your hosts Katriona Flynn and Dr. Dee Duffy on a captivating journey through the wardrobe of memories, as we explore the emotional tapestry that clothing weaves into our most cherished moments.
