Special review post from our close and fabulous friend, Natasha:
This past summer, my bestest male friend, and the sartorial brain genius behind this blog you’re reading, dished me up quite the surprise. One day, while checking my mailbox, I encountered a(n) (unexpected) package from Shopbop. Inside was every girl’s dream: literally, The Perfect Little Black Dress, Blaque Label’s Halter Top Dress, accompanied by gold and turquoise bead drop earrings by Kenneth Jay Lane.
I was floored, utterly flabbergasted. I rushed into my apartment, threw my purse on the floor, and put on the dress. I looked at myself in the mirror, my lips curling into the biggest smile. And then I twirled.
I recognize that’s an odd statement: that a dress compelled me to twirl. I am 27, not 7. However, this black dress is unique in that it exudes a demure femininity with its flouncing pleats that perfectly hit above the knees, adding subtle volume, and its sweetheart neckline accentuated by a sheer ruffle halter neck whose that ties at the back with a delicate ribbon, revealing a keyhole at the back. I turned in a circle, admiring how perfectly the dress fit and how sweet yet seductive I looked. And then I twirled, allowing its skirt to flare out. I felt like a giggling Marilyn, a girl who had just fallen in love and whose love was a secret I shared with no one.
Such a perfect dress cannot simply be worn to any occasion; it must be debuted. And so I chose a wedding at the end of the August, held at Pelham Manor in New York. It was the right decision: worn with the Kenneth Jay Lane earrings and orange heels I purchased from ASOS two years ago, I was greeted with endless compliments. Dancing with my boyfriend, I felt like the prettiest attendee.
Something must be said for the earrings, as they are stars alone. Two days after the wedding, my boyfriend and I met my [awfully opinionated] Brazilian mother for breakfast in Brooklyn. My mother is quite the character, a woman who clings to traditional norms, such as never wearing the house without red lipstick and nail polish. It is then of no surprise that she often scolds me in her thick accent, “Natasha, put on make-up – you look dead.” As such, I am sure to meticulously paint my face and wear my best clothing when in her presence. Sitting across from me that day, she looked at me and paused. “Natasha, where did you get your earrings?” Stammering, I tried to explain that my friend got them for me from a website. Pause. “Can I have them?” There it was, the Brazilian Matriarchic Seal of Approval on earrings deemed worthy of being titled a “classic” piece of jewelry to own.