Grazie Mille, Mr Giorgio Armani

Reminiscing about my son MB's Bar Mitzvah, (see the previous two posts), has brought back fond memories of the preparations towards that big day and also a story about the dress I chose to wear at the dancing party we held for family and friends after the synagogue.

So here's the story.

I needed a dress. A party dress. A happy dress. And whenever I need a happy dress the person I think of is Giorgio. Yes. Giorgio. Giorgio Armani. The Italiano.
Don't get me wrong. I don't have a big wardrobe of Armani. My daily clothes tend to be non designer T-shirts, trousers, shorts and pants. I'm generally just any other Mum, driving her kids around. Sometimes with a dash of makeup, many times not. I have my good hair days, and also many bad hair days. But when I need a happy dress, I turn to Giorgio. Because I am, at heart, an Armani girl (Woman is probably more appropriate these days). In other words, whenever I have tried out an Armani dress, I have always, always, found the perfect dress for me.

So. I needed my happy dress. And, as mentioned, I went to the Armani store in Tel Aviv's luxurious Kikar Hamedina square, which hosts many of the international designer stores. I walked in with my jeans, coat (it was November and the party was in December), and a saggy, bulging (handkerchiefs, wallet, keys, glasses, papers papers papers) handbag. I had actually taken extra care that day to put on some make up and I even had the presence of mind to bring with me a push-up bra and the new black shoes I decided I would wear to the party. I have tiny feet, so whenever I find a shoe that fits me, I snap it up.

The saleswoman, Beatrice, greeted me very graciously and asked me what I needed. I explained. And then she brought out a couple of dresses. I tried one. It was ok. I tried another. Ummm. Not exactly what I was looking for. And then I saw it. The third dress. And even before trying it on I knew that that was it. That was the dress I had imagined in my thoughts. Right there. On the hanger. Waiting for just me.

It was a black hip-hugging dress, with a U neck-line and tiny shoulder flaps. But the best part of that little black dress was that it had tiny pearl-black tassels sprinkled all over, giving it a very 20s, yet extremely modern feel. It was lovely.

I went into the dressing room and came out transformed. From a Cinderella housewife I suddenly was a sparkly, beautiful princess. The dress hugged me as if it was sown for me, there were no adjustments to be made, and everything was perfect. It was THE PARTY DRESS.

The next day I brought my husband to see the dress and he loved it too. But then we debated a bit. Did the Bar Mitzvah warrant such an important dress ?(it was very expensive, even after the 30% discount) Was it all perhaps too over the top? "Perhaps it is more a dress for a wedding," my man MM said.

"I know," I replied reflectively. He definitely had a point. But then I looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing THE dress. I looked at my full head of black shiny (albeit colored) hair. My still firm arms and firm (somewhat sexy) butt. My slim legs and long unwrinkled neck. And I asked myself. "Will I look as good at my son's wedding?"

I bought the dress.



Photo caption: Armani with models at the Autumn/Winter 2010/2011 Collection.
Photo credit: http://www.giorgioarmani.com/pressRelease/pressDetail?prid=0&year=20102011&language=EN