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| My little sister, Gail, and me in our Easter finery. |
Here we see the sad lingering influence of Dior’s post-war New Look. The dress was chartreuse cotton pique, ugly enough in itself but atrocious when its flared skirt was paired with a straight-line tan wool topper and a sporty leather bag. Not to mention the round hat enhancing the round face’s roundness. Also note the white gloves, which were de rigueur for dress-up. In honor of my incipient adolescence I’m wearing two-inch heels, stockings—probably cotton, certainly seamed—a garter belt to hold up the stockings, and my first bra.
This was the first year I was allowed to choose my Easter outfit by myself. I selected each item with exquisite care. But on Easter morning, when I donned the complete ensemble for the first time, I sensed that the whole was considerably less than the sum of its parts. But what could I do? I decided to put a good face on it and soldier on.
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