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Love-hate letter to Betsey Johnson
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Dear Betsey Johnson,
I'm writing to let you know that I hate you.
And by that, I mean that I am madly in love with every piece of brilliance concocted by your insidiously beautiful mind. Every silhouette shape, every color palette, every carefully placed ruffle. Crafted into a modern fairytale far better than eye candy.
Yeah. I'm talking visual orgasm.
Right there, right in the middle of the store or across the sidewalk while window shopping or under my silk sheets as I scroll down page after page of shopping erotica until my laptop overheats but I am still gasping, breathless, overwhelmed by your every rouche and seam.
"OHMYGAWDOHMYGAWDOHMYGAWDHOLYOHMYGAWDWOWOHMYGAWD."
You make me squeal.
Oh no, don't think I'm like that. I've never cared about labels for the sake of labels and I don't know much about designers. But every time I see a dress that evokes such a reaction, it is your name that winks back at me. Teasing me. Taunting me. Laughing. At me.
And it never bothered me much; I was content being an admirer from afar. After regaining some composure, ignoring the confused looks of Those Who Just Don't Understand, I'd only nod and think, "Well done, Betsey." And I could carry on with my day. I swear I never gave that dangling price tag even the most fleeting glance. I mean, I'd never pry into something so intimate without being committed first. I adored your work and felt satisfied just looking at it. I didn't need more.
Until this.
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Betsey Johnson Black Dahlia dress $450
You are ruthless.
This dress is the reason girls like me rob banks. Or take out a loan so they can wear this dress while robbing banks, just to be classy about it. And just so they can say they're dressed to kill but I bet you saw that one coming.
Do you understand--can you even imagine--how it felt to walk past this dress every day on the way to my minimum wage hostessing job at a Chinese restaurant that only hires Mexican cooks? Hearing it call for me but knowing I could do nothing?
There was no way to justify lusting over something this impractical. I had no immediate event to wear it to; I was going to plead the I-must-have-it-in-my-closet-because-something-will-come-up-sometime-in-the-future-maybe excuse.
So I made the mistake of trying it on.
You tailored this for me, didn't you? It fit like a glove but not in that too-tight-squeezing-my-love handles-sort-of way. My waist hit right where you expected it to, and the hemline strategically fell right above the knees; the perfect length.
And that was the moment I knew that I was ready for things to get more serious. This was the one.
I was nervous, but with shaky fingers I fumbled around the interior lining until I found that rectangular bulge. I didn't wait; I turned the price tag over and squinted at my fate in the janky lighting of the dressing room.
Oh, Betsey. I don't know whether to sue you for that heart attack or for the heartache that followed.
For the next two excruciating months, I had to walk past and pretend nothing had ever happened. I mean, okay on occasion I stuck my head into your store just to gaze at its OMGness...and a few times I did wait for different girls to be working just so I could try it on again and again without looking like a brokeass-lovesick-Chinese-food-hostess. But I stayed strong.
And then one day, popping into your store like always, just to, you know, "look"...there was nothing to look at. Yeah. Just as suddenly as my pink-sequined heartthrob appeared in my life, it had vanished. I was left to stand alone in a sea of pretty dresses that meant nothing to me, forced to answer a distant "Can I help you?"
No. No they could not.
It's late hours like these that I think of what could have been. Looking back, I wonder if I made a mistake. Maybe I should have put out. Love has no price...although if you're a brokeass-lovesick-Chinese-food-hostess, $450 is a lot to cough up. It's late hours like these, when the sky is dark with night and wet with dreams, that I hunt the depths of Ebay, longing. Lusting. Waiting. Hemorraging because maybe I actually have cancer and didn't want to mention that till just now so you wouldn't feel sorry for me.
Don't worry, I'm still staying strong.
You played me, Betsey Johnson. I just thought I should let you know.
Always,
Korbi Kay
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