Corsets and the City

The cobblestones as I stroll down the busy London streets are still moist and wet from the rainfall this afternoon. Now at night, the darkened streets are only visible because of the newly-lit gas lamps surrounding every corner—gobbling up the darkness with murky yellow light. The buzz of talking is prominent, as is the hurried click-clack of my boots. As I look down, I behold an emerald-green gown flowing all the way down to the ground, the green so rich and smooth that running my fingers through the gauzy material feels like heaven. Tonight, it seemed all ladies and gentlemen would surely attend the Opera house. There was to be an opening if I recall correctly, impossible to miss.

The gentleman at my side wore all black, his coat long and of fine material—as is his bowler hat, the click-clack of his shiny shoes also prominent amidst the busy sidewalk. My hand seems to be looped through his arm, the long sleeves of my gown sparkling of deepest emerald in the shine of the night. With a look towards me, the man quickly fixes my slipping silk shawl. Now that he has brought attention to it, I fixate on the little details of its design—the black material offsetting the emerald jewels around my neck and drooping from my ears. The patterns seeming to weave in and out with intricate formations of the letter, "V". Hair curled and pinned up in my own green bonnet, I stare at the beginning of what is to be a splendid night.

As we grow closer to the bright lights—what I can only assume is the Opera house—the gentleman beside me leans in to whisper about the opening performance and the beautiful music that will surely follow. With a radiant smile on my face, I turn towards him and make a show of speaking behind my sparkly black fan, the material glinting in the moonlight. As I turn my attention back to the people, I see ladies are gathered in fancy gowns ranging from ruby reds to palest blues, purples and assortions of flowers—daisies and roses. Everyone looks radiant—powerful. The men all wearing hats and fine black or navy coats.

Finally nearing the entrance of the Opera house, we begin to ascend the steps. I gently lift my gown and watch as the swish of my hips moves the gown from left to right. Content in the movement and momentum it creates, I pear down at myself. The top part of my dress is clearly defined by a corset, the dress itself seeming of deepest emerald—so dark it looks black—the low neckline leaving enough space to hold the emeralds around my neck, all five stones resembling the size of a gold coin. As we near the top, a few ladies and gentlemen recognize us and voice their greetings—smiling at us brighter than even the jewels upon my ears and neck.

The beauty of the Theatre from outside is immaculate—rows of white-stone columns, high ceilings, and the buzz of excitement penetrating the air. The Theatre inside, however, looks unmistakingly regal—red plush curtains remaining closed on the stage, seats aligning the walls and ground-level of the Opera house, specks of gold aligning the walls and seats—chandeliers luminous and shining brighter than constellations. Red seats adorn the room, people sitting so high they seem to caress the circular ceiling.

After minutes, an hour, the lights begin to dim and my dress begins to prominently shine—the jewels bringing light to my kohl-rimmed eyes. The gentleman beside me takes my hand in his and presses a kiss to it. We both lean into each other as the night begins. I look around one last time, again noting the beauty and straight-backed posture of all ladies, their rosy cheeks bright and flush with anticipation.

Indeed, let the London-night commence.

A night in London with a beautiful dress listening to the finest music. Who wouldn't want that? I certainly did—unless you couldn't notice from my very detailed dream above.

I know I know, I was born in an era where Victorian gowns and corsets are no more! But, hear me out, I did experience a night out in a beautiful Victorian gown and it felt absolutely amazing. I woke up feeling as if I had actually experienced it all, my stomach seeming to ache from the corset which was not there any longer. I felt strong—like I could indeed saunter about the streets in this beast of a gown and still have a sword strapped to my leg.

I really don't know what it is about these gowns that make you feel like a Queen and an Assassin at the same time. Maybe I've read too many books but I dare you, any one of you, to try on a gown like that and feel anything less than powerful and mighty.

Hear me out—I know it is uncomfortable, but for a few hours at a Theatre, or even an extravagant Halloween party, regal Victorian dresses need to be brought back. The corsets define the waist and give us women a nice and different figure for a few hours. It compliments us in any dress, but especially Victorian gowns.

The classic gloves that are often paired with these gowns are truly the cherry on top. It gives off a classy and sophisticated look, accented with a bonnet hat or intricate jewels and ribbons weaved in the hair.

Imagine this ladies (gents—if you wish):

You are in a simple gown of whites and sapphire blues as a blade glints in your hand. The weight of it is surprisingly light as you angle the blade at the poster across the room, drawing your arm back and squinting to make sure the blade will hit true. You move to a different point in the room, closer to the wooden post to your left. The skirts of your dress swish with your movements, your arms feeling elevated and your steps light—as if walking mid-air. Again, you draw the blade back and mock-throw it at the "WANTED" poster nailed to the wall.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Your hand pulls back and you release the blade in one swift motion—it whizzes through the air and lands true, right on the hand-drawn nose that is unmistakenly yours. Satisfied and with a smirk, you retrieve the blade and poster—former strapped to your boot and the latter tucked and hidden within the folds of your dress.

Smiling, you set out the doors and back into civilization, tugging on white gloves and your favourite bonnet—disguising your steady eyes and swift hands to seem absolutely mundane.

At this point, you can practically hear me screaming! The beauty and class these dresses hold are unlike any other—they even add in a little intrigue and softness that no other dress can truly convey.

When I behold any of these dresses, it takes me back to London and my Opera night. I've since had many dreams like those, all with the regal dresses and jewels and the handsome stranger by my side—a plus, no doubt. The memories that flood through my mind every time I dream of this era—shall I dare say, every time I dream of this past life—settles within me a heavy feeling that leaves me restless when I wake up. I long to spend a night out as I do in my dreams again—to feel that alive and beautiful yet strong and calculating all at once.

Only these dresses—corsets and all—can subdue that sweet, sweet, sweet nostalgia that overtakes me, and no doubt others, in our waking life.