Little Black Dress.

Ever since Coco dared to thumb her nose at pastels and Audrey stepped out for a monochromatic breakfast, a woman without the perfect LBD is like … well … a 40-ish man without a sports car.

It’s like having a midlife crisis and being trapped in your closet. At the same time.

Each time I’ve needed a little black dress life grinds to a halt at DEFCON 1. I’ve bought, returned, altered, worn and donated at least 50 since achieving adulthood, all in pursuit of finding “the one.” Lace, satin, crepe wool, cotton, jersey, rayon, chiffon. Sheath, shift, A-line, wrap,  v-neck, boat neck, sleeveless, quarter sleeves, capped sleeves, long sleeves. Beaded, sequined, fringed, tiered, slit, simple. Ankle, mid-calf, below the knee, above the knee, well above the knee. I liked something about each one, but never truly loved any of them.

And then my search for the quintessential cocktail dress that showed just enough leg, décolletage and delivered exactly the right body shaping characteristics suddenly became a search for something different.

Little Black Dress? Meet Widow’s Weeds.

In the midst of everything I was suddenly faced with the stark reality that I needed the penultimate little black dress. Something classic yet current. Something befitting the collision of youth, the maturity of motherhood and the wreckage of love interrupted. Surrounded by friends that gently propelled me through the motions of a search I once found irritating and now faced with ambivalence and dread, my fingers moved listlessly through the racks until I found it. Simple, black and loose enough to conceal the increasingly gaunt figure beneath. And like all the rest that came before, I didn’t love it. I despised it.

It hangs quietly in the corner, a relic that I loathe the idea of relinquishing. I’ve worn it since, always in respect and sadness and oddly comforting in its discomfort. Tomorrow I will wear it once again to remember and pay my respects to a man I did not know.

And to honor the woman in the little black dress standing silent and proud before him.