I have nothing to wear to Baryshnikov’s birthday party. We aren’t friends and he doesn’t know I exist but I AM going to an event which is actually not his party but a fundraiser to support art and artists from every corner of the earth. I may need a sedative to get through the day. It’s in a few weeks in June at the magical Kaatsbaan Cultural Park in New York and the clock is ticking on making my wardrobe selection. But it sounds funnier to say I have nothing to wear to his birthday, so that is what I’m telling people.

I have been trying to get myself to Kaatsbaan for four years and this opportunity presented itself and now I may have to go naked because there is nothing out there to wear. I know for sure because I’ve searched and researched and searched again. WHERE are the pretty clothes that fit??? My credit card is on fire from all the swipes and subsequent refund swipes. It’s a needle in the haystack situation and I’m out of hay.

A dazzling mix of itchy and completely sheer

I am a seasoned online shopper. Expert level. I know what I like and I know when to buy and often I have culled together a percentage off with my accrued points so that I feel that I’m getting a deal. I have no such interest in a screaming deal for this occasion. It’s Baryshnikov. It’s Kaatsbaan. It’s once in a lifetime. It’s special and apparently my body is ‘special’ as well.

The dress code is “country chic with good walking shoes.” I don’t know what that means. I’m a Minnesota girl. If you live in Minnesota, you can wear jeans and sequins to a truck and tractor pull in the morning and easily go to the ballet the same evening without even changing your shoe.  I have purchased things for $89. I have purchased things for $289. I have ordered a few items that were so expensive they stretch the limits of my own common sense. You get what you pay for does not seem to apply here. If it looks hideous, it gets shipped back. And it turns out hideous finds every price point.

One would think it would help that retailers now show the items on an actual person. “Model is 5 ft. 11 and wearing a size 4”.  But these designations hold no value for me. I’m 51. I need descriptors like “Model had 3 kids (a while ago) and one had a large square head so she now has diastasis recti and is peculiarly long waisted and wearing a size that doesn’t require wretched shapewear.”  “Model often wears this in lacrosse bleachers but it easily transitions to middle school choir concerts with an added belt.” “Model wore this and ate dinner from a food truck in inclement weather and the fabric held up.” Sold. I mean, based on those parameters I’d buy all of them in three colors.

Ideal for cool temps since it’s like dragging a comforter behind me

I’ve tried dresses that made me look like I was about to serve a Pannekoeken or at least star in their commercials from the late 80’s. Off the shoulder numbers with swishy skirts that go with clogs. I’ve tried several dresses that would be great if I worked at Epcot in any of the various restaurants with weakly veiled attempts to bring European authenticity to central Florida. I’ve tried some that made me look 7 months pregnant. Sadly, those maternity dresses were not even all that tempting when I actually was 7 months pregnant. I bought one that looked and sounded like plastic tablecloth. And they sent the wrong color. It was $400. When my daughter saw it she said, “I actually truly hate that.”

PANNEKOEKEN!

I’ve bought long, bright, maxi dresses meant for people who are 6 ft tall or wear a size 00. Or both. If you’re relatively short, manufacturers sometimes use this opportunity to add unnecessary bows, or fruit, or wild animal prints. This hurts me because I’m already fairly short. I don’t need to look like a vertically challenged giraffe. Nor do I need poorly placed lemon graphics on my boobs.

Unattractive but also makes a weird sound when you walk

And this is when vulnerable people, desperate people, fall victim to social media ads. Late night clicks on voluminous dresses worn by women in fields and on white sand beaches. These models are not going to events in New York and I can tell because none of them are wearing shoes. All of them are alone just staring off into sunsets. How there can be this much available out there and yet so little to truly choose from baffles me. It’s a real style desert out there, unless you are Mrs. Roper. Mrs. Roper would be in hog heaven right now.

Perfect for when I star in Three’s Company Reboot

So I have thrown in the towel for now. I probably will wear something I’ve had for ten years. I’ll be bringing back ups. Maybe I’ll find something at the airport. It won’t matter because it’s a celebration for Misha and his years of being both artist and fervent champion of the arts. It’s not about me.

I do wonder what he will wear.