Imagine yourself sitting at a gate in O’Hare airport, your crossed leg bouncing nervously as you await your plane and a mercifully short flight to Mexico. You are honeymoon bound and want everyone to know it.

What are you wearing?

I must have asked myself this question a million times. You see, it all began with a hat. A beautiful hat crafted from an old vintage mold. With a black, white and tan leather rose perched near my right temple and black and white bird feathers sweeping across my forehead to my right temple. What can you possibly pair with that?

I wanted a white dress, or at least ivory. Something classic. I searched and searched; from Macy’s to Spiegel to Nordstrom to Akira to Bergdorf’s online. EVERYWHERE! But to no avail. Everything was either too short or too sheer. I found a promising silver lace dress but it had a polyester slip. Who wants to wear polyester on a plane ride?

And then it happened. I stepped out for a sunbathed lunch break on one of those rare Chicago spring days where the sun warms the top of your head but the air is still just chilled enough to wear that fantastic new trench you bought at The Rack. I walked South down LaSalle Street to the Monadnock building, steeled myself against the heady smell of Intelligentsia coffee, and walked straight to a little boutique called Floradora.

I was greeted very pleasantly by a salesperson who asked if I was looking for something specific. After hedging a bit, I described the hat and told him I was looking for a dress to go with it for my honeymoon. There was one white dress in the store which he promptly pushed into my nervous hands (I had already checked out the price tag).

It was a simple white shirtdress with a big rouched white belt that tied in a bow at the waist. It didn’t look like much, but I could feel the gorgeous weight of the polished cotton pulling at the hanger. A touch of the fingers confirmed the quality of the dress. So I tried it on.

I came out of the tiny fitting room and the salesperson’s face lit up (most likely with the thought of my black leather Sonia Rykiel wallet--thank you Dad--opening). I fidgeted in front of the mirror a little bit, trying to find a reason to dismiss this slightly-more-expensive-than-I-had-hoped dress. But I just couldn’t. It felt soft and delicious against my skin. The bubble sleeves, tucked at a comfortable ½ length against the inside of my elbows were just voluminous enough to add a touch of Paris to the dress. The starched lapels were strong and structured, and the skirt flowed out softly from a cinched waist.

I ran my hands along the front of my hips. Pockets!

At this point, I was almost convinced. And then the salesperson spoke: “You know what would be great with this? A red belt.” And that was it. Immediately I saw a flash of Natalie Wood in the mirror, begging her sister to cut the neckline of her old white dress just one inch lower. And then slipping the forgotten, dismissed thing over her head only to find a wide sash around her waist, dyed red. Cherry red.

That’s when it dawned on me; I was taking this dress home.

There are just some things in life that are worth the investment. Good toilet paper for one. Or an ice white, polished cotton shirtdress that makes you feel like Natalie Wood twirling in front of her sister the seamstress, arms outstretched and singing a song about feeling just so beautiful.