I used to have a mere handful of them hanging in my wardrobe, and brought them out once in a blue moon. Dresses were strictly a special-occasion affair. They were for weddings, and birthdays, and cocktails; times when I wanted to look like a better version of myself: more glamorous, more pulled together, sleeker somehow, like someone starring in the biopic of my life that will surely — surely! — one day be made, rather than just, er, me. And therein lay the clues, and the beginning of my love affair with the dress.

Source: The Times August 16, 2016 16:07 UTC