I love skirts. I loved this skirt. I still love this skirt.
I bought it for Derby one year. I was going to be sitting in the Jockey Club and thought it would was cute and punchy and would work if the weather was warm or cold: high-heeled sandals and a white blouse if warm and white wool tights, a white cashmere turtleneck and black Gucci boots if it was cold. But I've never figured out Louisville fashion don't's. My cousin shook her head sadly when I showed it to her. You just don't wear black to Derby. And you NEVER wear wool tights and boots. It could be 30 degrees and snowing and that's just too darn bad: it's little spring sandals or spring shoes; seersucker and floaty florals and little tailored polkadot whatnot. So, I wore a little halter dress and red sandals and the outrageous hat and fit in. But it was pretty cold that Derby. So the lack of support I didn't get from the halter dress didn't matter.
The skirt made its own events. I wore it to an opening of Marilyn Manson's paintings in Sao Paulo. Daisy Berkowitz grabbed my ass in that skirt. And again to Art Basel in Miami Beach. It was in a photo with Tony Bennett, though I've lost the photo. A woman kissed my boots while I was wearing this skirt while dancing on a speaker at a drag show. The lipstick was watermelon pink.
I had it drycleaned. I turned 43. And now it's for sale. And I still love this skirt.