My Favourite Outfit: Manori
Photo credit: Julianna Cummins
In this series, I ask the contributor to share an image of their favourite outfit – maybe a pair of pants they wore every day, maybe a special party dress – and write about where they were in their life and why this outfit has such significance. Today we welcome Manori, a friend-of-a-friend who, through the power of the internet, I have gotten to know as a Cannes-visiting film journalist and Austen fan. Doesn’t she sound cool? This is her favourite outfit.
I like things that last – old things, forgotten things, things that keep going. I’ve always gravitated towards colour and light and styles that have a bit of longevity to them. Being in the world feels so volatile sometimes: I want to know I can depend on something, and fashion has always afforded me a modicum of control.
I came across this dress in a teensy, chock-a-block full vintage shop on Vancouver’s Main Street three summers ago – a time in my life when there was little I felt I could count on. I was interning as a daily news reporter at the local paper, covering everything from rescued porpoises to drowned toddlers, all while floundering myself. I had just finished my last term of journalism school in Toronto and was cutting my teeth on some hard news at home in Vancouver for no apparent reason other than I’d been told this was what a young reporter was supposed to do.
I was miserable. But something I looked forward to every day were the bus rides from my home in North Vancouver into downtown. Swivelling around to glimpse the mountains behind us as we sailed over Second Narrows Bridge, I listened exclusively to the 1950’s-infused duo of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward – also known as She & Him. The songs “Ridin’ In My Car” and “In the Sun” brought me to a sweeter, simpler place, where I had time to enjoy one of the last summers I’d spend with my parents, waking up in my childhood bedroom deep in the North Shore woods. Zooey – with her full bangs and black tights and poodle skirts – appealed to me in particular, and reminded me of an iconic style built to last.
It was with her in mind that I plucked this red dress off a hanger and promptly paid for it. The darling layered collar and hooded sleeves were perfect. I didn’t even bother trying it on – I just knew I had to have it, and that I’d make it work, no matter what. When I got home that Sunday– one of the rare weekend days I had off from the paper – I realized the dress was too big and virtually transparent. I wasn’t accustomed to wearing slips, but I went out and bought one specifically for the dress, and later a skinny red belt to match. It would be two months before I had everything I needed to look presentable in this outfit, but I got there.
Whenever I wear this dress now, it brings me back to that summer, and I feel more happiness than resentment. It was a summer that helped me recognize I should do what I’ve always wanted to do, and become an arts journalist. It was a summer when I did what I had to do to make things work.