One from the Vaults

The Dress, seen here with fuchsia fascinator from Accessorize

The Dress, on previous outings.

This has not been the best week, work wise, and so my creative brain is taking a bit of a dive. Therefore, I have resorted to the vaults for inspiration today.

I am going to a Shebeen party this weekend, for my lovely friend Lara's birthday, and I need something a little South African to wear. I have been racking my brains, thinking about what to wear, when I remembered my gorgeous Stoned Cherrie dress, wasting away at the back of my closet. Its a full skirted wrap around, made with cranberry and black shweshwe fabric - African Modern chic! It has had several thrilling outings in its time. And so I thought I would share with you a couple of its little anecdotes...

Early on in the dress's life it visited Moyo in Durban. It was surrounded by large sculptures of seaweed made out of recycled bottles, carved wooden tables, mosaicked mirrors and lounges padded with silken, sari pillows. Its full skirt lay fanned out against the sari silk under the moon on the deck. The dress ordered a strawberry daiquiri, and tried to sip it before the Durban humidity had turned it into a pink pool. She feasted on samoosas, as she bit into them each corner spurted soft cheese and spring onions. The irony of all these tourists looking for an authentic African experience at uShaka was not lost on the dress - she took the African face painting, and the engineered township music, the native crafts, and the toyitoyi-ing waiters, with a pinch of salt. And afterwards the dress went for a walk on the beach, got sprayed by the sea, and licked the drying salt off her lips.

The dress spent a night of revelry on the River Thames with other dresses. Everyone was in their best and yet nothing could compare to the magnificence of London by night. The eerie splendour of the Houses of Parliament, as the dresses floated past, was eclipsed only by the ominous presence of the Battersea Power Station. It haunts the edge of the river, in its own mists, daring the dress to question its emptiness. Battersea knows it is safe in its position of esteemed endangered site. It does not have the obvious flash of tower bridge, or the audacious iconic nature of the Eye, and it does not need it. The dress holds her breath as the mighty station recedes into the distance, and she softly flickers in the breeze.