So the party was a blast and the dress was giving what it was supposed to give — drama, glamour, and just enough mystery to fit the masquerade theme. But let me tell you something… this bodice you see?
This is version number two.
Yes. You heard me correctly. The second one.
Because apparently, I didn't already have enough on my plate.
The original bodice? Oh, she was snatched. Sculpted. Immaculate.
And so tight after I draped the fabric over it that I couldn’t even get the zipper past my ribcage. So I thought, “Okay, no big deal, I’ll just make a few alterations.”
But this is where the story takes a turn.
I made the mistake — the grave mistake — of asking Chandler to unzip me.
And baby… she tried. She did.
But she zipped all the fabric into the zipper, locked that thing like Fort Knox, and froze like, “…Mom?”
When I say it was a disaster, I'm talking full horror movie. I started sweating and panicking.
I had to cut myself out of the dress — zipper, draping, dreams and all — just to escape.
So yes… back to square one.
I remade the bodice, added three full inches to the pattern (because apparently I enjoy breathing), and installed an invisible zipper instead of the demon clasp that tried to ruin my night.
And let me just say:
Best. Decision. Ever.
I could actually inhale like a person.
When I tell you this dress started wth nothing more than the shape of the corset and a prayer, I’m not exaggerating. Once that corset was done, I pinned it to my dress form and began draping like I was auditioning for a couture house. My original vision? A single piece of fabric, no seams, ruched to perfection—simple, sleek, artistic.
And then reality said, “Girl, be serious.”
After the pleat disaster (yes, the Bridgerton moment we don’t speak of), the one-piece no-seam fantasy was still feeling too busy. So I regrouped, took a breath, and grabbed my scissors.
I cut two panels for the front and two for the back, and suddenly the dress started listening to me. The fabric started behaving. We were finally speaking the same language. And then, by accident—or fate—I ended up with two fit pleats in the back that looked like intentional paneling. Couture by coincidence, honestly.
I always knew what I wanted to do with the skirt, a pleated bubble hem skirt reminiscent of the silk Oscar de la Renta mermaid gown, but on a more petite, work event holiday party level.
And let me tell you something I now understand in my soul: why the prom and bridal girls charge the big bucks.
Because the real work? The real sorcery? It’s all happening underneath. The corset foundation, the boning, the inner structure, the support, the shaping—the part no one sees but absolutely everyone benefits from.
Anyone can sew a pretty outer layer. But getting a gown with no stretch to fit like it was sculpted onto your body?
Oh, that takes pain, perseverance, engineering, and a few choice words you can’t say in front of children.
But once that draping clicked into place?
Magic. Pure magic.
The Party: Fashionably Late & Fully Dramatic
We arrived fashionably late, which was on brand for me, but apparently not on brand for H, who gave me a look that said, “Girl…” But listen: greatness takes time. But we still walked in like the tall, dramatic duo we are. I'm 5'10, he’s 6'8 — making an entrance is not hard for us. It’s actually unavoidable. We walked into the courtyard, probably the last to arrive. Again H not happy with me! by the way only 36 minutes late and it’s giving runway finale.
And listen… the compliments kept coming all night. Every room we walked into, someone stopped to tell me how gorgeous my dress was, and in true H form, he was right there beside me — my biggest supporter, my personal PR manager, and the only man alive who can hype me like I’m stepping onto the Met Gala red carpet.
All in all- the dress delivered. The night delivered.
