A letter from a reader

At 63, I had quietly decided white was not for me any more, and then one dress changed my mind in an afternoon

I have never written anything like this before, and I want to say at the start that I am not a writer and I am not in the habit of telling other women what to wear.

But three different women asked me about this dress at a garden party two weekends ago, and I have now explained it enough times that it seemed easier to write it down properly.

It started years ago, really. Somewhere along the way I crossed white off my list. Too clingy, too see-through, too easy to get wrong, and always, it seemed, cut for somebody thirty years younger.

White, I had decided, was for other women. Younger ones, mostly.

So every summer I reached for the same safe navy and the same forgiving black, and watched other women wear the lovely white things.

I did not choose that. Nobody decides to give up on a whole color. It happens quietly, one clingy changing-room disappointment at a time.

How it happens

The trouble with white is that most of it is made badly. Thin fabric that shows everything, cuts that cling exactly where you would rather they did not, and nothing to look at unless you add half your jewelry box.

So you try one, feel exposed in the mirror, and put it back. And after enough summers of that, you stop trying them on at all.

You tell yourself dark colors are slimming, and you quietly stop feeling fresh in the heat.

What I had wrong

Here is the bit I got most wrong. I thought white itself was the problem, when the problem was always the fabric and the cut.

This dress is soft cotton with real weight to it, so nothing shows through and nothing clings. It falls from a little ruffled neckline in one easy line to the ankle, skimming everything on the way down. And instead of color, it has the prettiest tonal flowers embroidered all over it, so it is interesting without shouting.

White that forgives instead of exposing. That is the thing I had assumed did not exist, and it took me until 63 to find it.

The dress is called the Odalys

It is from Iris & Nora, a little boutique here in Austin that has been quietly dressing women our age for a few years now.

The dress is called the Odalys. A flowing white maxi with tonal floral embroidery worked all over the cotton, a small ruffled V-neck, and sleeves you can roll and button at the elbow. It comes in a soft blue and a navy as well, which I will come back to.

It is light and it breathes, which in an Austin August is not a small thing. The cotton drapes rather than clings, the embroidery gives it that hand-made feel, and it does not go see-through in the sun, which I checked twice before I trusted it.

That is really all there is to it. It is not complicated. It is just a white dress that somebody actually thought about.

What happened at the garden party

I wore it for the first time to the garden party, with flat sandals and my good earrings.

Three women asked me where it was from. Three. One of them was Sue, who I have known for forty years and who has never once commented on anything I have worn.

She said I looked wonderful in white. I had not heard that in about twenty years, and I have decided to take it entirely as a compliment.

What I noticed more than the compliments, though, was that I forgot about it. I did not check my reflection in windows or hold my purse in front of myself in the photographs. I sat, I ate, I stood in full sun, and I did not think about what I had on once.

The next morning I put it straight back on for coffee on the porch, and felt completely myself. That is the rarest kind of dress. The one you can wear to a party and then wear for the paper and coffee, and feel right either way.

Three things I have learned since

One. The weight of the cotton is everything. Because it has proper body, it drapes and skims instead of clinging, and nothing shows through. That is the whole difference between this and every white dress I ever put back.

Two. Embroidery does the work of jewelry. The tonal flowers give it texture and interest, so you can wear it with nothing but earrings and it still looks finished.

Three. The sizing is honest. It runs from a small to a 3XL, the same easy cut the whole way, not a different shape once you pass a certain number. I wish more places would bother with that.

About the price

I want to be straightforward about this, because it was the thing that made me suspicious.

The Odalys is $49.95. It was $100.00.

My first thought, honestly, was that there had to be a catch, because embroidered cotton dresses in the nice boutiques here start at twice that.

There is no catch that I have found. They are a small boutique selling directly, so there is no department store taking a cut in the middle, and they run a summer sale to move the season's stock before it turns.

I did what I imagine you are doing now and went and read the reviews before I ordered. Just over three hundred of them, sitting at 4.2 stars. Not the suspiciously perfect five you see on some websites, which if I am honest made me trust it rather more. Real people, mixed opinions, mostly very good.

Then I ordered the blue one as well.

What I would tell you if we were friends

If you and I were sitting out on the porch with a glass of iced tea and you asked me, this is what I would say.

If you have quietly crossed white, or color, or dresses altogether off your list because nothing ever felt forgiving enough, then it is worth ten minutes of your evening to go and look.

Not because a dress will change your life. It will not. But there is something in catching your reflection and feeling fresh instead of hidden that I had quietly given up on, and I would rather you did not give up on it too.

Two practical things. The sale is on now, and the middle sizes are the ones that go first. And once the summer stock has sold through, that is it.

I am wearing white again, and I had forgotten how good it feels.

Peggy