 It was about 10:45 pm on December 31st. The temperature in the Diamond District was a blustery 32 degrees. I was walking briskly towards Barracks Row and clucking to myself. I could hear my friend, Kristopher in my head.
“Em-me," I remember him saying as he peered over his navy blue wire framed spectacles, "You're barely 5'2". Not even flat Manolos work with mid calf skirts!" He was right, I thought as I hiked up my skirt to enable longer strides. I should have worn the mini Moschino instead. “At least you have a decent coat,” I countered aloud to myself while stroking the vintage ivory faux fur purchased from Desiree (NomadYardCollectiv.com) earlier that day. Desiree’s unique approach to all things vintage makes her showroom a destination for fashion innovators throughout the DMV. Another kindred spirit alive and thriving in the Nation’s Capital. Just as my thoughts started to whirl they were disrupted by the theme song to Charlie’s Angels. “Hello, this is Mariessa,” I said breathlessly as I reached the corner of 8th and E, Streets, SE. I looked to my right and was surprised to see a doe eyed Diana Ross doppelgänger in the window of the TheChesapeakeRoom.com. At 5’1”, my Miss Ross was clutching a microphone bedazzled with multi-colored rhinestones and belting out what sounded like "Compared to What" by Roberta Flack. From where I stood on the sidewalk, I was unable to see her face clearly. But there was no doubt about it, she had a Twiggy meets Naomi Campbell kind of style. She wore a micro mini white dress with mirrored bits that twinkled like a Studio 54 disco ball as she twirled. She wasn't wearing stilettos either, I noticed. But her ankle boots were suede, the color of uncorked champagne with fluffy lambs wool cascading down along the sides. A pair of gold kitty cat ears perched at an angle on her head and enormous chandelier earrings seemed to tickle her shoulders every time she moved her head. When she turned to look out the window, brown eyes flashing beneath heavy cobalt lashes, our eyes met briefly and we both gasped. It was SIMONE, singing Rhythm and Blues on New Year’s Eve. “Can I call you back, love?” I said to Q who by now was starting to raise his voice. “Where are you,” he said, sounding irritated. “Did you hear anything I just said?” “I’m sorry. Of course I heard you,” I stammered. “I just saw a friend of mine. I’m walking towards you now. 8 minutes. Okay?” I hung up the phone and made a bee line towards the restaurant instead. The sign on the door read: Closed for a Private Party. But, Simone true to form, motioned me in through the glass. "Yoo Hoo Darling," she gushed and grabbed both my hands. I haven’t seen you since the Alpha's Founder's Day party at Malmaison, I said. Simone rolled her eyes. "What happened? Did you run into the Vulcan?," I inquired excitedly. “Yes and No, darling,” she said with a sly smile. "His shadow was there." "His shadow?", I echoed. "Yes, girl! He was there at about 50% capacity- deflecting so much that I got dizzy just trying to hold a conversation with him." "Really? So no reconciliation?," I asked. "Half measures never add up to a whole, luv." Simone said with a knowing look. "But I just may have run into the “MONEY” for the Simone Butterfly TV project at the coat check. She was wearing Derek Lam and appears poised to sponsor us." "So there is a silver lining?," I added. "PLATINUM, darling," Simone said beaming! On, Up, OVER....repeat!
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 Simone's 2016 manifesto
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October 2019
AuthorSimone Butterfly has been investigating fashion with a twinkle & a twirl since 2003. Categories |
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