I like short dresses.
And short shorts and short skirts. Very short. Eyebrow raisingly short (in some suburbs and establishments). My friends know this. Last week I was telling my friend Olivia about the luscious leather skirt I just ordered from ASOS. “It’s a mini,” I said, to which she responded, “Obviously,” with a touch of obligatory spice. Just a touch. I can’t blame the girl. There have been one or two occasions when I caught sight of myself in a shop window whilst legging it down Long, or in a photograph from a party past, when I thought “What in the name of Jeff Goldblum was I thinking?”
But not often. More often than not I have my party dresses hemmed shorter than average. And with good reason, I would argue. My legs are without doubt my best, most lithe, most shapely attribute, and I am a firm believer I dressing for your shape. The curvier details of my bod remain arcanely concealed behind billowing silk shirts, shirt dresses and artfully sculpted body cons. I would never, for instance, be caught dead in anything of the cropped top variety, nor in a fitted halterneck, boobtube or midriff baring number (Amen).
So what’s all the fuss about? When I started working I was told quite swiftly that my hemlines were too risqué. At the time I actually thought WTF (and a few other expletives), because in my view, said skirts and dresses were modest, knee-length and appropriately demure. Apparently not. But as time wore on, I noticed other girls in the office start to take a little chance here and there. To represent, as it were. And I smiled wanly.
Don’t get me wrong, I like a knee-length, calf-length or even ankle-length hemline just as much as the next girl, but I am particularly drawn to Kate Moss-esque mini’s and Alexa Chung-inspired cutoffs. Anna Dello Russo’s Balmains and Diane Kruger’s thigh-skimming shimmiies are, to me, at once itty bitty and beautiful. There are street sightings, though, that get me doing an extra turn in front of the mirror to check that those cute little halfmoon creases at the bottom of my derriere are not a’showing. I saw a few girls at Rocking the Daisies with them alarmingly on display. As a rule, if, when seated, your bare ass cheeks make contact with the surface that you are sitting on, it is time to consider an extra inch or two of fabric. Furthermore, if you are frequently in danger of exposing your flange, then you should keep an honest friend handy, at least to encircle you with a spare cardi when the going gets, well, muff. Towards the end of Winter I went to Melissa’s on Kloof for a quiet, civilised lunch with a friend. Just as we were about to broach the topic of the buffet table, two girls walked in. One was wearing what could only have been a jersey, over stockings with boots. Those stripes at the top of her stockings were showing, two horizontal shouts of Too Damn Short! Those stripes? They’re sexy when all you’re wearing is lingerie with them over the top and you’re pottering around your room getting ready to go somewhere. Otherwise, they’re just not. And a grandpa jersey doth not a dress make.
Proportion play is big this Summer – Miss Moss micro-minis meet floor length petal-like floats. The trick is to find a balance between the two and always to wear what suits you. I have just added the second maxi dress of my entire life to my wardrobe and love how glamorous it feels to wear something so long and dramatic. A floor length dress can be just as much a head turner as a micro mini can.
And that’s just fine by me.