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| The 'Before' Shot |
Wardrobe malfunctions; why do they always seem to happen at the most inopportune moment? It’s as if cosmic spite and shoddy tailoring have aligned to create instances of gross mortification almost exclusively at public outings. Let me explain.
Last weekend I attended the wedding of one of my close friends. The Galway nuptials involved a prolific congregation and an ill-fated sense of preparation on my part. I was keen to perfect the art of capsule dressing and bring with me only that which would fit into an overnight case.
Given the art of ‘light packing’ (literally) isn’t my bag; this feat was no mean one. After all, I was the girl who saw fit to bring four kilogrammes of jewellery on a Spanish beach holiday. Reported sightings of Mr. T in Andalusia were big news that summer. Despite such atavistic hoarding tendencies, my edit was merciless and the results, smug-worthy.
It wasn’t until I unpacked my wheelie bag at the hotel, a mere hour before the marital vows, that I made the ill-fated discovery - a rip the size of the San Andreas fault under each arm of my 1960s embellished dress. I somehow managed to overlook these seismic gaps after wearing it to this year’s Rose of Tralee festival. If memory serves me correctly I also suffered an exploding dress in The Kingdom the year prior. Note to self: avoid Kerry.
With no sewing kit, back-up dress and little time to spare, I was forced to enter the church like Tin Tin Tracy from the Thunderbirds. Hugs and handshakes were swapped for a more bucolic ‘how’s it going’ wink as I attempted to cleverly disguise my unsuspecting air vents with a rigid arm lock.
The reception didn’t fare much better. Strangers seemed nonplussed to hear I was a ‘fashion writer’; not to mention my attempts at raising a toast, passing the salt or cutting a rug. Indeed my rigid dance floor shuffle resulted in two sequins interlocking, ripping and letting loose an Armageddon of beads. Let’s just say it gave the Siege of Venice a new twist.
Chastened by the event’s unholy dress disaster, I chose to bow out early and head back to my hotel. Exiting the venue in manner of Courtney Love’s long lost twin, I heard a passer-by exclaim, ‘Christ, that must have been some party!’ If only he knew the half of it!
