The Blue Dress

Last Saturday I went to see Afagh (pronouced ‘Afa’), my personal shopper.

Now, before you start thinking, “Well, isn’t Kristin fancy with her personal shopper,” I want you to know that Afagh works at Macy’s and she is free. And she is my clothing angel.

I first met Afagh a couple of years ago. I was having an issue of my clothing not being congruent with this blossoming that was happening in my inner and outer life. I was shifting and growing in so many areas and I felt my wardrobe needed to change dramatically. I needed help to make this happen. I needed a fresh perspective from someone who knew style and knew what would look good on me. When I mentioned this to a friend she told me I had to make an appointment with Afagh.

The first time I worked with Afagh, she had about 200 clothing items for me to try on in the comfort of my own private, large dressing room.

It was heaven for someone like me who hates shopping and especially hates small dressing rooms where I’m hopping around, crashing into the walls and the mirror, scaring people who are the dressing stalls next door, all in my attempt to get the jeans off my legs!

When Afagh came in to check on me that first day, I had clothing strewn all over the floor and was wrestling with a difficult top that was half on/half on my body when she opened the dressing room door.

“No, no, no,” she said in her thick Iranian accent. “Kristin, you cannot throw the clothes on the carpet. You must think of these clothes as works of art. They are expensive. Someone design them as art. You must treat them like the valuable pieces they are, even if you are only trying them on and aren’t going to buy them. But if you do buy them you must treat them well. And you must, you must, take off your shirts like you are taking off the shirt of a baby –very gently. Not ripping it off your head. Tsk, Tsk.”

I stood there with the shirt still half on and half off my body and nodded.

She was right. The clothes were expensive. And they were beautiful. And I’ve since come to appreciate how they need to be honored in a way that is befitting of any work of art.

Then we had the talk about what looks good and what doesn’t. “Kristin, you must not be afraid of your chest. It’s an asset. You have to be proud of it, not cover it up. Here, try this,” and she handed me this low-cut super slinky top.

“I’m not going to wear that, Afagh, it’s not my style. It’s too…”

“Too what?”

“Too low-cut.”

“You need low-cut. You got it, flaunt it. Stop being embarrassed about what you’ve been given.”

Ouch. And shoot. She’s right.

So I started wearing slinky tops. Not for the attention. But for me. Because I can. And because. they. look. good. on. me. And I don’t want to ever be embarrassed about what I’ve been given.

Anyway, this last Saturday I went to see her and she always has one thing that I don’t want to try on but I do. Why? Because, dammit, she’s good. She knows my body and what will look good on me. Even if, at first glance, it looks like a funky bizarre-blue dress on the rack. Which is what this dress looked like to me. I didn’t want to try it on. But she insisted.

And so I did.

And damn.

I tried the blue dress on and for the first time ever she didn’t say a word. She just looked at me. And I looked at myself in the mirror and looked at her behind me and then back to the dress and then back to her and we both smiled.

“Damn. You are good, Afagh.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I really should just trust you more.”

“Yes. You should.”

And she turned and walked out of the dressing room.

*Photo taken by Cydney. (Thank you!)