Beehive in Your Soul

English is a wonderful language because it's so easygoing about taking in new words. Like "skosh," for instance — I just learned that it's on loan from Japanese, sukoshi meaning "a little bit." We also make up new words constantly (though I am definitely not a fan of either "awesomesauce" nor "amazeballs," I recognize the function they serve for those who want to express extreme enthusiasm while sounding like idiots). The shuffling and re-shuffling of various prefixes and suffixes can lead to words that don't really make much linguistic sense — if you picked apart "homophobia," you would think it meant "fear of people who are the same as you," which... is pretty accurate really.

When I make up words, I want them to make sense when you first hear them, and then more sense the more you think about them.

Which is why, a couple of months ago, I was so delighted when I realized the true meaning of "Dressopotamia." Sure, I had to mix ingredients from English (via Old French) and Greek, but the end result is: "River of Dresses."

Did I just blow your mind?

Every river has a source, and Beehive in Your Soul is the origin from which all Dressopotamia flows.

That's right, dear readers: Beehive in Your Soul is the first vintage dress I ever bought. I was 16 years old, and it cost $15, or I was 15 years old and it cost $16, but either way, in the mid-nineties these dresses were still going for a song. If memory serves, I bought it at the dearly departed Love Saves the Day, which used to be across the street from where Kiev Restaurant used to be, and I forget what was on the other two corners of Seventh Street and Second Avenue, but I'm pretty sure they're gone as well.

Memories! Try finding anything this cute for $15 (or $16) in a vintage store these days. If I had had a bigger allowance, and a skosh more foresight, I would have vacuumed up all the polyester in New York City while it was still totally unfashionable.

In sharp contrast to the disposable clothes you find at Forever 21, Beehive in Your Soul was clearly made to last. It basically looks the same as it did on that fateful day so many years ago, when I took the first step on a path that would lead to the lovably overstuffed closet my cat uses as a bedroom to this very day.

I look a little different.

This is the first dress I ever got hemmed, and I'll tell you something else: whoever owned Beehive in Your Soul loved it as well.

See that eponymous beehive?

It was sewn on by someone who wanted to cover up a tiny hole in the polyester.

Reason #47 why I love vintage: every dress has a little story to tell.

All photos by Claire Loeb!