For what seems like a lifetime (in insect years), I have been on the hunt for the perfect white summer blouse. When I say perfect, I am not being figurative. My fantasy blouse features a number of criteria:
a) Airiness. Not to be confused with slutty sheerness. More like an elusive, slightly transparent, soft, gently worn, ethereal kind of quality akin to what I would imagine a cherub's cloth diaper would look/feel like.
b) Delicate crochet or lace detailing. The opposite of I'm-going-to-Coachella-so-I-went-shopping-at-Urban-Outfitters. Think baby's breath flowers in lace insert form that resembles something your ancestor might have passed down to you from the 19th century. I know it's out there.
c) A loose, a-line shape. The kind of silhouette that would prompt onlookers to stop and wonder at the magnitude of my aggressive daintiness.
d) Nice sleeves. I don't have something particular in mind, they just have to make my arms look like God's summertime gift to humanity.
e) Pin tucks. Ideally a
f) An unnamable essence that says "I'll take my femininity with a side of waifish edgniess and I probably just threw on what I'm wearing impulsively this morning after a really cool yet offbeat night before and yeah sometimes my hair has the soft, natural waves of a character from Lord of the Rings even though right now it's chemically straightened and you can most likely tell that I'm from New York City but I also look good in the middle of a meadow, floating."
So, like, totally achievable, right?
WELL, skeptics (no doubt fueled by the mysteriously cropped photos above), before you begin your spiel about fairytales not being real and frozen yogurt having calories and math being vital to my education, I'm going to go ahead and cut you off: I foundit.
In a little townhouse boutique on Lexington Avenue called Edit, I discovered the perfect white summer blouse. Not only was the Laurence Dolige creation airy, inset with subtle crocheted detailing, and a-line, but it also had very nice, flouncy sleeves and neat little pin tucks. Most importantly, it totally nailed the unnamable essence of my ideal specimen (give or take a few highly specific adjectives).
When I tried it on in the dressing room, I knew I was done looking.
I also realized my white blouse idealism perhaps speaks to a greater, more universal summertime quest. There's just something about longer days and warmer nights, toddlers eating popsicles and seniors graduating, exposed shoulders and swipes of sunscreen, that makes us all a little more attuned to the ebb and flow of our inner ingenue. The perfect, gauzy white blouse is my answer to that particular ache.
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