How about a jacket inspired by a purse? Cursed by its owner, then set free by a Swan?
(Or...clearly a story about an overly-dramatic 80s-born girl who can't let go of an article of denim. What can I say, this attachment to the perfect denim jacket was written in my 1983 stars.)
So it goes like this:
Once upon a time, in a faraway land (Florida) a young lady (Shannon) was on a quest (shopping) with family friend. That family friend acquired a lovely denim jacket, which Shannon liked very much. For you see, this jacket was no ordinary denim jacket. This jacket was lined with silk.
Never before had Shannon seen such a wondrous denim product!
Being a lady, Shannon was not jealous of the toothpick girl and her ability to fit in the tiny article of clothing, nor was she enraged that it was only available in Size Miniscule.
And, years later, when she came across a denim jacket that had a lovely cut and color, she gave thanks to the gods of fashion for making it available in her size. (Heck, she was glad someone was still making denim jackets.) Unlined and imperfect, she bought it.
But the ghost of the lined denim jacket haunted her still. Try as she might, her own piece of clothing never lived up to the lovely one she encountered years prior. Though she did take it on romantic excursions and fun trips, hoping it would somehow grow on her.
Okay, enough fairy-tale verbiage, and fast-forward to that crazy day last fall when I went into Brighton for the first time. And walked out about, ooh, um, $350 later.
Don't worry, they did give me something in exchange for that. A purse. A gorgeous, bronze, leather purse.
Let's get this straight: I never go to Brighton. Ever. The plethora of hearts and swirls and cute overwhelms me. But that day at the mall, The Purse passed me on the shoulder of another woman.
I had to make it mine. I considered wrestling her to the ground for it, but then decided to try to just get one of my own.
She told me where I could find it, and though I was certain she was kidding, she finally convinced me to walk into that fluffy place. It was a little overwhelming, but I managed to find what I was looking for.
In retrospect, I think that buying the purse might have been what ultimately led me to make this decision to abstain from new stuff for 12 months. I still can't believe I dropped the cash for that, and on such a whim.
Of course, I've loved the doggone thing every time I've worn it. Its metallic color speaks to me in a way that touches my '83 heart, in a way that only crimped hair and "Jem & The Holograms" can. Plus it's the perfect size, perfect weight, passes The Elbow Test (I can put it on with one hand without getting my elbow stuck on any part of it), etc, etc.
And for some reason, it inspired me to take matters into my own hands in the matter of the unlined jacket. Recently, while at Swan's (badass tailor who did the leather pants) to get a pair of jeans fixed (People let me walk around ALL DAY with that hole over my right butt cheek. Thanks, world.) I asked Mr. Swan if he could put a lining in a denim jacket.
Like any crazy request I throw him, he looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Oh, sure."
Oh, joy. I knew immediately I wanted it to be the same bronze color as the pricey bag I've been hauling around now these 9 months. I just needed about a yard of fabric, Swan said.
This thrilled Brendon, my boyfriend (though we prefer to call each other Partner In Crime). Because for those of you who don't know my Partner, he has an unabashedly well developed feminine side. And this meant he had the perfect reason to visit the fabric store.
So well done to Brendon for ultimately obtaining the perfect fabric, and well done to Swan for transforming an ordinary jacket into now the perfect article of denim. At this point I'm just going to show you how awesome it is, and say that for this formerly ugly denim duckling, we're going to call this Happily Ever After.