Whose Sari Now?

Wherein Our Heroine Goes Exotic.

I went sari-shopping yesterday.

Yes, you read that sentence correctly. Those who know me are probably having a hard time imagining a tall, broad-shouldered, Teutonic farm-girl type draped in bright, embroidered fabric, but so it is.

My friend Alicia and I have been trying to schedule a date to go looking at Indian clothing for quite a while. She gave me a royal blue sari over Christmas, but I lacked the necessary petticoat (and knowledge of how to wear the darned thing). The idea of abandoning The Land of Winter for The Land of Bright Colors also appealed immensely. So we toodled off to Silver Spring to check out one of the shops.

I learned a great deal - but my principal lesson was: Indian clothing makes you lose your mind. The fabrics are so gorgeous, the embroidery so intricate and the colors so luscious, you just want to throw caution to the winds and say, "I'll have one of everything." But here's the rub: Alicia (whose family is from Gujarat) can drape herself in sherbet-colored silk and go off to a Westerner's wedding looking so elegant a catwalk model would turn seven shades of envious green. If I wore mine to the same wedding, I would look like I had raided the dressing up box or mistaken the wedding for a fancy-dress masquerade.

It's not fair. But I'll find some event where I can wear it. Never fear.

I bought a salwar kameez anyway - at the very least, I can wear it to my own dinner parties and be the coolest, most comfortable woman on any hot, humid DC night.

Posted: Friday - March 26, 2004 at 08:07 AM | |