A few weeks back, I clicked my Dorothy heels twice and hit the town for a Girl’s Night at Soda Sun Lounge. One of our friends is moving to the East Coast and it would potentially be the last time we could all get together before the move. Let me tell you, my friends are Very. Busy. Women. It took us three months to find a night when we were all in the country or not otherwise engaged. Luckily, my friends are also very organized and the night was locked into the diary back in April. We are nothing if not efficient.
I consider myself to be a “2-crinoline minimum” sort of gal, and skipped off on clouds of poofy delight to the restaurant. We enjoyed a perfect night of revelry, stories, toasts and waaaaay too much delicious food (umm caramelized duck tacos? Yes please!). There’s something about a table full of friends, where you never run out of things to say. When even though you see some of them every day, there’s always something new – a new haircut, a new ding on someone’s car, a newly painted wall color following a newly signed mortgage. I feel so lucky, despite having only lived in Perth for four years, to have met such an incredible group of women with whom I never run out of things to say.
Somehow, at the end of most group gatherings, I always manage to be She Who Sorts Out the Cheque. I’m sure you’ve noticed that when large groups of people get together, organizing who owes what can be a bit of a headache. There’s never enough cash, the server has to come by 3 times, it’s usually a disaster. No one likes the cheque. I have a secret: I LOVE the cheque. I pull out my trusty calculator (on my phone. No, I don’t carry a calculator with me everywhere. I’m not beyond saving). One quick round, I ask everyone what they had, gather the cash, calculate shared items, my fingers flying over the keys. There’s something so ordered and precise about math. Like a trusted friend, those numbers never let you down (unless of course they are the numbers on your visa bill. But that’s another story).
As I sorted the stack of bills and left the girls giggling over the last few bites of cake, I went up to the bar to cheque out. The server smiled as she queried what we were celebrating. Then she cast an eye over my happily tipsy friends and brought them back to me, “I’ve been admiring your dress all night. You just look like a living doll.” I smiled and merrily made my way back to the group, wondering what a doll version of myself would be like…
Now, I know the very concept of a doll in certain contexts can conjure all sorts of negative connotations associated with unrealistic body expectations. But, it doesn’t always have to be so. Personally, I would love if the many women I admire and find inspiration in could be personified in their very own action figure. I’m sure mine would come complete with her own passport, wetsuit, and evening gown (crinoline sold separately). If you squeeze her hand she’ll tell you some random fact about sharks. And on the back of the packaging would have to be the warning label, “Subject to sassiness without notice.” She’d fly off the shelves, don’t you think??
What would your action figure be like?
Dress: Nishe via ASOS (similar here & here or vintage here, here & here)
Belt: Alannah Hill (similar)
Necklace: Sora Designs (similar here & here)
Bag: Gift from the Mr, from BlueBird Vintage (similar here, here & here)
Shoes: Betsey Johnson (similar here, here & here)