First I was invited to the Emmys and then I set about obsessing about my body. Now we get to the good stuff: the dress!

Here is the Anthropologie dress as shown on their website:

model in dress.jpg
white version detail.jpg

It cost $258, more than I've ever paid for any article of clothing, BY FAR. Still, in the scheme of things, of fancy dresses, of fancy dresses that are appropriate for the Emmys, it was pretty affordable. I slipped the price tag out of the dress and saved it in case I wanted to return it after the weekend was over and I was not consumed and insane with doing whatever I needed to do at whatever cost in order to not feel feral.

Here is a badly lit phone picture of me in the dress that first time at Sheila's:

First dress pic.jpg

Urjowan had done my hair in a bun and I was about get the lesson of my life on makeup (bronzer! eyebrow filler! primer!). I could barely stand in Sheila's awesomely sexy sex heels, thus my holding onto the counter for dear life. I felt good. I felt ready. I felt, frankly, AWESOME.

I went home, found the dress in my size in Utah, and had it shipped overnight.


Wha? I'm sorry, but I think I might be giving that model a little run for her money. This moment is the first and only time in my entire life that I have felt more beautiful, sexier, and just Fuck-Yeah WOMAN than a model, you know? (Also, please refer to previous posts linked above in which I acknowledge how sad and gross my body image stuff is, and yes, I know that comparing myself or any other woman to a model is the opposite of everything I try to do and be) Still, shit, I love this dress.

Anyway, I took the ribbon belt off, went with these shoes and my grandmother's jewelry (I had borrowed gorgeous stuff from friends but when it came down to it, I'm a vintage/quirky kind of gal and needed to put that in somewhere).


I wore lipstick in public while eating, of all things, just to see if it was possible and it was, much to my surprise (when I was three I surprised an old sleeping dog who promptly bit half of my upper lip and left it attached but dangling from my mouth, and while the scar is barely visible to most people I am hugely aware of it and have always felt it totally impeded on my ability to wear lipstick, that and the fact that I have a teeny tiny mouth).

first lipstick.jpg

My Rent the Runway dresses came and MEH. I rented them thinking that the white one would be the Emmys dress and the black one would be the night-before Comedy Central party dress (oh yes, I went to that too, all will be told, promise). I thought since they'd come the day before I flew out I needed to make sure I got something that wouldn't cling to my problematic thighs, be light and easy, and have a basic good fit that I could count on, and I loved the pattern. But meh. And the black one was super comfortable but nothing special. I returned them promptly.


My fancy lady friend Jessie (the one with the blingest dining set I've ever seen and who had thrown me one of those dress-trying-on parties) had lent me lots of dresses and I decided to go with the Kate Spade Jillian dress for the Comedy Central party. It fit me perfectly and was super comfy and had deep pockets. Sheila lent me this Kate Spade necklace so, hello, it all came together and I was all set for the weekend!

  What a shitty, linty photo!

What a shitty, linty photo!

Next chapter: The First Day In LA

AuthorSarah Reid