Photo credit: Damien Foxe
In a Céline dress, I am within myself. It is my maternity photoshoot, and I don a flowing gown that cocoons me into pink silk. I could not wait to put it on.
It was a tough choice between this and a white dress painted with fertility symbols in Matisse blue lines. I chose the one that loved my body best. In this dress, I am beautiful. I am female, feminine, and for myself. It is a femininity so deep, no man can reach.
In a Céline dress, I am Orlando.
In a Celine dress, I am on display. It is New Year’s Eve, the one occasion I would wear something that chafes my body in all the wrong places. I cannot wait to go home and take it off, along with my own skin.
It was the only thing from the collection that fit. I am never good enough. My skin is wrong. No black dress can make me white enough. I am chastised; every day that passes makes me less beautiful. I am curves to be erased. It is a femininity that hates itself for being post-pubescent.
In a Celine dress, I am wrong.