Certain robes carry certain magic, in the same way that certain colors carry specific connotations. The velvet fuchsia seen here encompasses both, which is fitting as this particular robe straddles memories old and new. A relatively recent acquisition, it reminds me of an old favorite, but it comes with the changed space in which my friends and I find ourselves at this 44-year-old crux in our lives. So many things have changed in the last few years, but a constant has been my love for robes. I may not purchase many anymore, but every once in a while I’ll find one that strikes my fancy just enough to get me to splurge, and retail therapy is sometimes the best kind of therapy to be found.
This was a steal at Nordstrom Rack, which Kira and I stumbled upon while browsing there a year or two ago. I was on the fence about buying it – there is no real need for another robe at this, or any future, time in my life. Still, something called out to me and nudged me in its direction. Maybe it was the detailed in the sleeves and the ruched texture and tiny tassels that lent it distinction, setting it apart from all the other robes I’ve owned. Maybe it was the ornate fabric of the lining – a subtly iridescent blue that contrasted gorgeously with the fuchsia hue of velvet. Maybe it was just a day that felt gray and dowdy, and the only way out was to put this robe on and pretend I was someone and somewhere else. Whatever the cosmic reason or purpose for the purchase, the robe hung in my closet for a long time without being touched or used. This fall I brought it out and back to Boston for a couple of weekends, where I waited for Kira and JoAnn while lounging in its sumptuous excess.
Beauty is still a comfort. Beauty is still a balm. Beauty is still a method of dealing with all the madness that has become of the world. Pulling the velvet close to me, with nothing to separate us save for a pair of underwear, I sink into its luxurious shell. It’s the closest I can get to decadence these days, and it will have to do.
