Who are You Wearing?

The Met, enough said. Katie already comprehends the significance of being able to do a summer internship at the largest museum in the entire United States. As she continues walking toward that pristine eastern edge of Central Park which shadows the legendary Upper East Side, the NYU art student adjusts her back in vogue Zach Posen skirt. Just like Zach’s favorite muse, she too had the same build and name and wasn’t afraid to let her shiny chestnut brown hair bounce around in an unkempt updo. While the pay was technically zero, the status and name dropping alone was priceless. The inclusion of fashion being art has not been met without some controversy, but for the true fashionistas, this was a no brainer. Has anyone ever bothered counting the time consuming hours it actually takes to hand sew the thousands of tiny stitches needed to secure the back of John Galliano’s latest show stopper for Maison Margiela? That is what I thought.

As Katie approaches the off white steps to the entrance of the Beaux-Arts building that originally opened its grandiose doors back in 1872, she is still impressed with just how many visitors are waiting for the official 10:00 door opening. A couple of quick taps alerts security to give her a wink and an entrance into a world that houses over two million works of mastery. As she passes through centuries of architecture and artifacts ranging from Medieval Europe to extensive holdings of African and Asian paintings, she makes her way to some sterile looking elevators which will inevitably take her down below into a world of costumes and accessories. She was on a mission.

“A time Capsule of 20th Century Fashion”. While this project may sound simple enough, Katie is beginning to feel the need for an extra valium with her morning coffee. The basement is the place where all of the real treasures are to be found. Boxes after boxes line up the dimly lit caverns underneath all of the selfie taking tourists who are only too happy to share their moment in time on Facebook (filtered, of course). Devon approaches Katie with the air surrounding him truly taking a pause. He is a light skinned Black man with energy and charisma to spare. Dressed in the sharpest Lenny Kravitz rocker high heel boots which coordinate perfectly with his black jeans and, yes, black finely knit T, he had a physique that is finely tuned without bordering on gym honed. He is officially hot but no one really knows what team he is on and instead just smiles in a subtly flirtatious manner without trying too hard.

“Katie. My beautiful little rose. I am so sorry to give you this last bit of notice but I am going to have to leave early today. I have left a complete list of inventory and heartfelt focus points.”

“Focus points”? “When are you leaving? It is 10:05.”?

Devon swings the always obligatory Louis satchel over his shoulders as he replies, “My sweet flower, I have pulled an all nighter and this project could honestly use a fresh set of eyes. Besides all of that, I have been invited to that all important final weekend getaway to the Hamptons with Taylor.” Devon bends down and does the two air kiss staple before he pivots around and glides out of the secluded area. Click. That’s it, then. The door is securely shut. The whirlwind that once was Devon has left Katie stunned and even confused. Leave it to the enigma of the former underwear model to have a steamy fling with someone with an androgynous name.

As the old fashioned clock on the wall begins to slowly move its archaic hands, mid-day has morphed into cocktail hour. Katie begins to realize that she hasn’t even taken a bathroom break. “This is ……” The perfectly pressed Dita floral print that was intended to be optimal for grabbing an after work drink had seen its pleats evolve into waves. Katie stands up and tries desperately to smooth out the vibrant blues and golds of the fabric’s petals as she heads for the door. Much to her surprise, every time an attempt is made to exit the fortress of all things priceless, the lock will not budge at all. Instantly, Katie whips out her cell and angrily begins to press the digits of her 7:00 partner in crime. Nothing.

“Wow! This is just not happening!” Despite knowing that there is no active signal, the future Anna Wintour refuses to give up. At least, not yet. It doesn’t take long before fury turns into worry, which, in turn, turns into full blown tears. As the clock’s hands eventually move to almost midnight, all thoughts of hooking up with the hot guy that is kicking off his job as a Wall Street wannabe is flying out the window. Yet again, another great outfit wasted.

Katie spent the next five minutes with her tousled pony becoming drenched in her eyes before finally deciding that it is what it is. Kicking off her perfectly coordinated Riki suede mesh pointy toe kitten heels, which did, in fact, hurt her feet, she decided to kiss up to the boss. Sitting down at the barren table, minus the curator notes, she made herself comfortable for the duration of what will be a very long night. There is simply no need to factor in that she was going to be way behind in “Bachelor in Paradise”. Why make matters any worse?

For a girl who constructed her entire wardrobe after the 15 Basics a French Lady Wears, the idea of translating century old pieces might become a bit daunting. Katie began playing with the few strands of hair that have begun to fall out of her tortoise shell clip before she slowly feels an uneasy sense that she is no longer alone. The lights flickering are cause enough for her to tilt her eyes upwards, for good or bad. Ever so slowly, a subtle grey mist begins to envelope the ceiling and slowly directs its energy toward the very center of the room. “I must be tired,” Katie thinks. Soon enough, she will discover that she is wide awake.

Never a true believer in anything supernatural, Katie was beginning to question both her sanity and sobriety as the misty fog began to take shape into the enviable image of a voluptuous woman. At first, Katie was a bit pissed off being that she has spent so many hours in hot yoga and logging in time at the outdated Soul cycle. Here she is trying to trim her thighs when this damn vision is flaunting the extra carbs and looked like the object of every person’s fantasy. How dare she, or it?! Maybe it was the relaxing prescription combined with the flask she daily sneaks in, but Katie’s anger turns to curiosity. “Who are you”?

In a voice that can only be described as silky, sexy and otherworldly, the reply was simply, “Marilyn”.

“As in, Monroe?”

“Yes”

While all of this should not make any sense at all, it somehow did. Instead of being scared, the 20 year old upstart began to feel excited. Seriously, there are not too many people that get facetime with a legend like Marilyn. The two women take their seats at said work table, with only one really able to physically touch the papers and laptop. Despite none of this making any sense, it became crystal clear that Marilyn was wanting to give her two cents to Katie regarding all things fashion. So, here we go.

Page after page, images of decades of influential fashion began being thumbed through by Katie’s perfectly ballerina pink manicured nails. “Stop. Stand up,” Marilyn said. A black and white photo of a 1920’s Flapper dress had caught her eye. While secretly Katie had wished the dress had been worn by the controversial It girl actress, Clara Bow, (right before she did the entire USC Football team, allegedly), it was just a store sample. Still, she ever so carefully placed it aside for a second look.

Katie began perusing through the racks with the must have gloves all to ensure that the pieces remain as good as gold. Almost oblivious to the fact that she may, or may not, have a screen siren in her midst, Marilyn began to speak her mind in that childlike voice she was so famous for. “Do you realize that the women were frowned upon for wearing their makeup like that? I had friends retell how scary it was for them to chop off their hair and go bold while exposing their knees.” The stillness of the desolate room was quickly overtaken by her breathy giggles as she remembered that the women wore painful, constrictive bras to help offset the show of leg. Point taken, the Jazz Age.

As Katie ever so carefully examined each piece, the Roaring Twenties soon turned a page to the next chapter, the oft forgotten 30’s. As Katie stops to admire an ivory puff sleeve gown which surely sent poor Coco C. into a tailspin, the tag attached simply said, “Publicity Photo/Joan Crawford.” Katie began reaching for her notes and made mention that the Garconne movement was now placed in the “Toss” column had anyone been cleaning out their closet. Lost in her thoughts, she almost forgets that there may or may not be another opinion present.

“Ugh! She was just so petty! Let’s face it; the B had to wear some ‘ol drapery like that. Otherwise, everyone would have known that she was not too genetically blessed with curves.” Katie looks up and sees that some habits definitely do die hard. Well, before the Kardashians, there was another bombshell. Miss Monroe finally realizes that the young lady is studying every single swish of her derriere and faces Katie instead of the gilded, full-length mirror. Without a hint of hesitation, her perfectly manicured red nails (a bit too pointy for Katie’s tastes, rest lightly on the young lady’s shoulders. She uses this opportunity to make things a bit more intimate and decides to whisper in Katie’s ear, rather than just speak. “Try it on.” Katie caught a whiff of the screen siren’s famous Chanel No.5 as the blond backed away.

Katie knew better. The repercussions of being busted if she ever were to get caught with any of these threads on her recently spray tanned back would be getting fired and, perhaps even worse. She may end up living out her days selling clothes at some remote Dillards somewhere where people actually believe that pink is ever an option. Still, just the sheer idea of immersing herself inside the same satin garment that Mommie Dearest once wore was too amazing to pass up. Katie did a quick once over making sure her moment had zero chance of being captured by some perverted security guy watching footage from a tiny hidden camera before stripping down to her cotton thong. How totally humiliating to be busted wearing such a collegiate looking undergarment in front of arguably the most celebrated sex symbol of all time. “Before you begin to judge, and I know you will, I haven’t had a boyfriend in several months,” Katie said.

The dress was definitely looking a bit midi being that at 5’9’, Katie would have stood a good five inches taller than Ms. C. Oblivious to her surroundings, Katie’s fingers began playing with the fluidity of the skirt and she began stroking the hems amazed at the notion of this one dress spawning 500,000 knockoffs back in its day. Then, something quite surreal began engulfing the lithe brunette. She blinked a few times thinking she might snap out of it. Looking directly into the same oversized mirror MM had recently been twerking in front of, Katie saw rows and rows of ball gowns and tuxedos and a mid sized stage toward the front. Looking side to side, the faces all began to have some familiarity to them. Dashing Clark Gable. Regal Grace even before being royal. Bette Davis! Why is it that she always looked pissed off? Then, right on cue, Katie’s newfound roomie for a night glides by wearing what can only be described as gold material painted on her 35-22-35 figure. Katie slowly feels anger and frustration seeping in and begins to wonder why she is experiencing such a need to say some Twitter hate directed toward her. As Marilyn shimmies her way to receive some award, the entire room goes crazy. Katie is now truly appalled! “Some people simply have no taste!” Then, she looks down and notices that her once too short dress fits her perfectly. Reaching for her long, blown out hair, she becomes startled to discover that it is pinned up in tight waves.

Katie begins to feel her eyes swelling, knowing that she is mere seconds away from actual waterworks. Although never a huge fan of Lindsey Lohan, Katie is now empathetic in regards to the stress of having to live through that predictable second go-round of “Freaky Friday”. A few blinks later, on the verge of passing out, Katie refocuses to see herself, once again, staring at the too short hemline. Frantically, she begins lifting the possessed clothing over her head. In the meantime, Marilyn has perched her full backside on top of the lone stool in the underground room. Katie can’t help but be a tad bit transfixed by the juxtaposition of the cold, steel surface supporting the actress’s famous softness. “What was all of that”?

“You see? She really was that word I said. Jealousy is toxic if you let it consume you. She never got over that night. What’s next”, she cooed?

As the two ladies exited one decade and entered into another, Marilyn’s controlled demeanor took a hard turn. Katie quickly assessed that the 1940’s was an emotional rollercoaster for countries worldwide. As Marilyn began folding her arms in front of her, the confident façade now seemed sad. Katie understood that in order for this “Pretty Woman” moment to continue, another path must be taken. Pushing aside the basic, utility type dresses which were many women’s daily staples during WWII, a couple of feet of floral, stretchy fabric caught Katie’s eyes. Instead of glamorous Marilyn revisiting her Norma Jean Dougherty days when she was 20, married, and working in an airline plant, let’s jump ahead. With the Dougherty reverting back to Baker, Norma Jean saw her first hints of stardom when she wore what was the birth of the bikini. (Albeit not exactly Cannes appropriate)

Who are You Wearing?: Text

Katie says nothing as she holds up the extremely high waisted number, looking at both the front and the back. “How can anyone even tell which side is which”?

“May I,” and just like that, the semi transparent woman sheds her clothes and slips into the unforgiving swimsuit. Marilyn’s mood slowly began shifting back to happy nostalgia as she began posing for an imaginary photographer. Although, Katie was beginning to wonder if maybe there might actually be a few more people secretly floating around.

“This is the end of Norma Jean, and the beginning of Marilyn, and it is all due to war time rationing.” Once again, she begins shedding her clothing, what little there was, and placed it down on the table. There is a moment that will forever stand still in Katie’s mind as Marilyn hands her the thin tissue paper for wrapping while simultaneously giving it a memorable kiss. Katie looks down and notices the Revlon Bachelor Carnation lipstick imprint which is sealing the package as if it were a wax seal stamp from an ornate party invite. Katie can’t help but be impressed by the thriftiness of her using Revlon.

OK. It is a perfect time to keep it moving, and secretly, our little try hard wants to have another time machine moment. Thank God, the rationing (and awful Spam products) are now a thing of the past. The good times of the 1950’s were all about having fun. Of course, it goes without saying; the best memories are always those in which one is adorned with fabulousness. As Katie begins to showcase the possibilities to Marilyn, she remembers that this decade was the pinnacle of the pinup. As Katie pulls out the confining saddle shoes, which were actually worn by both sexes, both began laughing and shaking their heads. Those wannabe Yeezys were not going to ever be the footwear of choice for the vintage beauty or the elegant ingénue.

Realizing that the accessory box had been horribly overlooked, Marilyn began rummaging through it as if she was a toddler on Christmas morning. “Bullet bras”! The painfully looking, but yet, functional piece was being spread out on the table in all its glory. “I can’t tell you how much these awful contraptions hurt!”

This last statement has aroused such curiosity in Katie that she immediately picks it up and begins pulling and prying while looking for some hidden meaning into just, why. “This had to have been a man who concocted up such torture. Despite it not having wire or padding, Katie was convinced that Victoria would truly have been horrified!

As Katie was still trying to understand the reasoning behind needing to create a tiny pocket of air above the tip of the bra, Marilyn had become so overcome with emotion that she fell to her knees while holding a small pair of sunglasses in her hands. “This was all me. These cat eyes! “How to Marry a Millionaire”.” Katie began to question her last EBay purchase of gold Aviator Ray bans while watching Marilyn place the plastic, although high quality, glasses on and practice her pout. Truthfully, she could fit in effortlessly with the newest generation.

“Here we go. The Poodle skirt.” Katie looks at a couple of options before settling on a circle Blackwatch Tartan, which, truthfully, could have been replicated, using a vintage McCall’s sewing pattern. Frustrated, Katie tosses the item back into the box.

“Don’t be so quick to do that,” MM says and reaches for the forgiving Rock-N-Roll staple. “You didn’t have to really wear pearls and vacuum,” she says. “Put it on”. Katie shrugs and does what she was told, almost irritated that this diva has become a bit too demanding. The craziest thing about it was that when Katie closed her eyes really tight, she heard her alter ego being called on set.

“Barbara, just one more thing.” Katie soon felt herself being spun around by what had to be assumed was a Director. Trying his darndest to keep his voice down, he began to do what directors do so well, boss everyone around. “When you say your line, please try to sound a tiny bit more maternal. Don’t come off like you really don’t believe Eddie when he tells you that they’re just going off to finish homework.”

Katie looks at the rolled up script she has been holding and catches a glimpse of the working title. “S06E37. The All Night Party”. “Well, they’ve got that right,” Katie thinks to herself. As the man in charge has already found his next victim, Barbara, or Katie, begins to fidget with her black Deliso Debs which were certainly two sizes too small. “Does anyone actually believe that I’m doing housework in 4 inch pumps?”

Katie instinctively attempts to remove the shoes which definitely don’t suit the occasion, while she feels someone gently shaking her from behind. “Katie….” The young lady stands up straight to the now all too familiar set of eyes with perfectly drawn on black liquid liner. One must always be Technicolor-worthy. “I’m restless. I’ve been there, done that. Let’s move on to something totally new and different for me,” Marilyn purrs, as she throws up both of her arms over her head. Katie is instantly struck by the woman’s childlike side coming to the forefront.

The full frock that Katie just wore was being placed

back in storage with just a hint of the Poodle’s tufted head peaking through. The real irony here isn’t the precursor to the Stepford Wives, but instead just how the little canine scored such an iconic gig in history. If this high maintenance dog hadn’t been sewn onto the hem of the first batch of these things, it could have so easily been a Husky.

“What about these,” Katie says as a shiny pair of white Go-Go boots are plucked out of decades long obscurity? The blond jumps to her feet and instantly reaches out for the block heeled beauties which pretty much put Twiggy on the map.

Struggling to get her size 5 ½ foot to stay put in the size 8 Beth Levine’s, it was no wonder that this style of boot was the catalyst for pushing this type of footwear into the world of designers, not just boring “function”. Katie jotted down a couple of take-aways on her spiral and motioned for the addition of a higher hemline. Happy to oblige and always eager to get undressed, a second later, a tangerine colored mod space age mini was barely able to conceal all of Marilyn. Right on cue, the swishing around had begun alongside a few attempted high kicks. Finally, the dance was growing stale and the subtle sounds of patent leather being unzipped were the only noises that could be heard.

“That was fun, but I think I prefer showing some cleavage,” is all she mustered up.

Katie wasn’t quite ready to leave the “Swinging Sixties” and felt she needed one more piece of memorabilia. The pearls! After all, who could resist a dose of Audrey? It would be too cliché to focus on the black sheath made so famous before firmly putting the classic blue box into foreverdom. (Katie began daydreaming about the flawless, colorless round diamond solitaire that her future out there husband would someday give her. Granted, no introductions had been made as of yet, but….Two to three carats, max. Anything over that is considered gauche and besides all of that, bigger isn’t always better).

As Katie continued on her journey toward future domestic bliss, MM wanted her turn. “May I”? She continued wrapping the extremely lengthy strand of pearls around her neck as she puffed on her imaginary long, black cigarette holder. There was one split second that Katie actually thought she might have seen a tiny circle of smoke float upwards toward the ceiling. After centuries of the real deal, how odd it seemed that it took one elegant lady wearing faux, to finally get the staid staple into everyone’s jewelry boxes. No longer always expensive, these gems were often made of plastic. This truly was the look for less.

Katie soon discovered that just like herself, Marilyn, too, couldn’t quite let go. “Did you know that Capote wrote Holly Golightly with me in mind for the part?” Awkward! Truthfully, Katie hadn’t had this much fun in quite some time, and no offense, but, brunching with anyone other than Audrey just didn’t make sense. Next.

Before another page in this epic would be dog eared, the Present silently leaned over to give the Past a comforting hug. Being that it was 3:30 in the morning, whether there was ever any physical touch, didn’t even matter. The empathetic gesture was indeed heartfelt. There seemed to be some semblance of a trend as the years flew by in that the actual fabrics used were diminishing. While the freedom of the hemlines left their mark with legs finally getting their fair share of sexy, the 70’s alerted us all to the midsection. As the curator notes began spilling onto the floor, it was apparent that Cher’s Bob Mackie and the arrival of the still iconic Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress, helped make this decade’s individual style take one more giant leap forward. From Gucci to Halston, Laura Ashley to Biba, there was plenty of glam rock and hippie chic to go ‘round.

Still, Katie was mesmerized by the mere sight of the ahead of her time, Cher. There are not too many women who can maneuver through life needing just one name. Pic after pic of the little time capsule lying before her, the year soon became 1979. The final grouping may have been late to the party but a campy little TV show became the staple of lunchboxes everywhere, for at least two years. They were just some good old boys, never meaning no harm, but the real scene stealer was Daisy Duke. “What is your take on this little number”? Before Katie received her answer, the cutoff denim was swiped from the adjoining hanger.

“Honey, really? I helped put this look on the map.” With a graceful wave of her hand, the mirror morphed into an old fashioned slide show, and front and center was her proof. MM circa 1945, lounging on an oversized hay bail, all the while still able to throw up the obligatory leg. “Give it a go. You’ll like it. When was the last time you tried dressing a bit…less uptight”?

Katie didn’t know if the sharp poke in her neck was the little stinger that was just thrown her way, or if she should call out the word “Sluttish” under her breath, but she took the bait. She had now thrown modesty completely out the window and couldn’t disrobe fast enough. The latest challenge began bringing out the competitive side in her and she just couldn’t refrain from purposely hiking up the denim edges a wee bit higher. Determined to up the ante, the accompanying crop top was added, as well. As Katie began fumbling around while tying the red plaid knot underneath her bust, the growing sound of a supercharged engine made her cover her ears and squint. She gradually reopened her eyes and discovered the front headlights of a very impressive red muscle car staring back at her in the reflection.

Almost as if it was second nature to her, and aided by many years of running, the intern leaps on top of the vehicle. Katie instinctively reached for her hair tie, letting it loose, and began tossing it every which way. If there had only been an industrial fan near by! The girl is practicing poses that Vogue models wish they could do and hasn’t a care in the world. Wait! “I almost forgot. Am I supposed to warn someone about a guy named Boss Hog”? I guess those words were too much for even the seasoned actress’s ears and she immediately brought Katie back to the here and now.

Katie looks totally spent. “Did I actually hear a word that is indicative of what is often found on buffets escape my lips”?! Katie will forever keep that memory under lock and key. MM silently tells her emotionally drained cohort that she is very sorry and all is soon forgiven.

Perhaps, the ten year block Katie is most excited about had to be the over the top eighties. She loved watching Baby learn how to finally rid herself of all of her inhibitions, while still managing to be lifted overhead with not a single wardrobe malfunction, and dress up for Halloween parties wearing as many plastic bracelets as her thin wrists could support. Don’t even get her started about the mile high hair. Still, the allure of excess in all its glory could only be summed up in one, single word. Dynasty. “I’m so over reading about J.R. in my pop culture history class! Why would anyone even contemplate ruining all of the hard work and costly hair products back then only to stuff it under some hot Cowboy hat? Turquoise is for costume parties, not cocktail.”

The two curious minds can’t wait to live vicariously through the perfectly poised ladies of Wednesday night soapsuds. As Katie began changing into the black and white silk, plunging neckline dress, she simultaneously adjusts the matching broad rim hat, making sure the Mother of Pearls still sparkle as they weigh down her earlobes. Marilyn, on the other hand fixates on a vibrant cobalt number with shoulder pads that extend all the way to New Jersey. Both women begin adjusting themselves and slowly grow agitated with the other stealing mirror space.

“Get out”! This type of behavior was so unlike Katie, who was always careful to keep her emotions under check. As MM spewed back how much she felt sorry for Katie, hands and hair began being pulled. “You (There is that word again!) The two take their scuffle to the ground and seemingly out of nowhere, the women become soaked.

Startled, the two warriors regain their composure and look at one another in disbelief. “What just happened”? Katie began wringing out the now unusable artifact and fills Marilyn in on the storied history of Alexis and Crystal, and the infamous lily pond. This was the height of cat fights, after all. It did appear that two separated worlds were slowly entering into “New Relationship” status.

The drama that just ensued was enough to make both ladies reflect and refocus. It is now almost 5:00AM and the first signs of fatigue began to hit the living. Determined to finish out her part in history, Katie dives into Grunge and Heroin chic. An avid collector of every single Cosmo from the height of the Glamazon Supermodel moment, Katie has never been a huge fan of the 90’s. Still, a job must be done to its completion, or, at least until housekeeping discovers her locked up.

Katie quickly gains a second wind when she remembers that there was a Cher 2.0, maybe not Vegas entertainer worthy, but she is headlining Broadway at the moment. Looking perplexed at her colleague’s newfound energy, Marilyn floats over to the latest discovery. “Clueless”. The cliff note version of Cher’s evolution from entitled, knockout, High School Hottie into evolved, empathetic future Lauder is explained to Monroe. She smiles and touches the finely knit yellow Chanel ensemble that became a cult classic. Despite loving the white knee socks which elevated Cher to a slutty Halloween costume possibility, the mood of the moment was comfort.

Miss M holds up what can only be described as every girl’s favorite coffee house run “go to”. The chestnut colored, suede, lug sole boots with the warm, inviting sheepskin interior. There really was a reason for their price point. The movie star brings up the right shoe and tries reading the letters stitched on the exterior label. “Ugg”? She then turns her head, looking for Katie’s reply.

One word will do it. Ugh! As much as it pained the hopeful stylist to admit, this hairy little shoe has been permanently ingrained into our culture. Thanks L.A. This, in Katie’s mind, was a very real example as to when two coasts don’t always see eye to eye. She motions for Marilyn to give one a try, explaining to her that anyone with a shoe size greater than a 7 must avoid these at all costs, unless you want to look like a Clydesdale. The Star Oohs and Ahs as she begins rolling her ankles around making figure eights in the air. “This is nice,” she says.

Feeling a bit like Cinderella, without the Prince, Katie sees that the clock is close to striking 8:00. She decides to wind things down welcoming the emergence of the new century and Statement Jewelry ringing it all in. Surprisingly, after all of the hours she has spent inside four walls, she is feeling that final rush to get in an exclamation point behind the necklaces that became red carpet staples in an era that began asking, “Who are you wearing”? Her fingers continually tap away on her WordPad, which is probably why she was oblivious to the rattling of the doorknob.

“Katie”? “OMG, Girl! How long have you been down here”? Devon, keys still in hand, lightly sashays over to his exhausted worker bee, and begins to go in for a hug. “Oh, wait, is it alright? You never know nowadays”? Katie quietly mumbles something ineligible and pushes her worn out body away from the table. “I don’t know why, but I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, just feeling something weird inside my core, here.” Devon begins walking over to try and catch a sly glimpse of himself as he continues talking. “Besides all of that, Taylor expected us to go Dutch. Devon does NOT do Dutch.” After being certain that his perfectly cut coif was still perfect, he races out toward the hallway. “Honey, I’m going to grab you a latte, on the house, and send you home.” Then, the former male mannequin stops dead in his tracks, and in a voice that can only be described as authoritative, but proud, relays one final thought. “Katie, I did catch a glimpse at some of your notes. Good job.” With that, the clatter of Devon’s Chelsea boots was slowly fading away.

Katie took a moment and an overdue, long breath before she suddenly realized that she had totally forgotten all about her houseguest. It didn’t take too long before Katie’s edible sighs weren’t the only sounds in the 800 square foot room. However, the escaping breath coming from the hidden corner seemed much more pronounced. During the last 8 hours, Katie was never at a loss for words, but at this moment, she is speechless. The two women take a long look at one another before MM breaks eye contact and scoots over to her muse of the moment. “I think you truly have the innate essence of what is really behind the clothing.”

Whether it was depicted in the hairstyles or the wardrobes, the Century’s most lasting moments were based in something so much deeper. Looking through decades and decades of satin, prints, pillbox hats and berets, as well as wars, social movements, politics, and parties, they all had their unique place inside the looking glass. The real definition of “Who” in the question made so famous by Joan Rivers is the uniqueness of the woman wearing the garment.

Marilyn simply smiles and makes her way for a wall, not the open door. As she tilts her head back only exposing the bareness of her voluminous, white halter dress, an air kiss is blown. With that, the legendary beauty has disappeared, and yes, she was wearing THAT dress!