Blessed are the Dressmakers

What is fashion, exactly? One could describe it in many ways, but in essence, fashion is an art form. The thing about art, however, is that all art is innately political. And where there is politics there is manoeuvring. Unfortunately, that was manifesting quite painfully on this day as I stood outside a changing room with a pile of clothes reaching my eye line in front of me. I had been there for three hours. For three hours, the Prophet of the Lord had to play as a dress-up doll for a rich girl. Currently, I was wearing a fairly impressive suit. I would have probably quite liked it if it didn’t remind me to an unfortunate extent of Michael’s outfit.

“Ellie! Pay attention!”

“… I was listening.”

“As I was saying, I’ve decided that you can’t wear that tie.”

“Because the company that manufactured the fabric isn’t connected to the Bellon Corporation?”

“Exactly. It would be sending the wrong statement to our current and potential partners to not choose from among them.”

“But you said I couldn’t wear the other tie because the company that made it had an endorser come under fire for some comments they made.”

“Exactly. So, no suits.”

From there, I gave up thinking about the matter and allowed myself to be placed in the revolving door of the dressing room for another hour. Finally, at the latest outfit, Lillia was nodding enthusiastically.

“Yes, this is perfect!”
“Lillia, you aren’t going to decide that the metal used in the needles used to embroider the patterns in the dress is wrong, right?”

“It’s Lily. And no, this one is fine. Also, I only complained about the needles once!”

I sighed deeply as Lillia carted me over to the mirror to spin around and check the dress out myself. Truthfully, it didn’t make much of an impression on me as compared to the other ones I had tried, but Lillia seemed to be satisfied as her eyes sparkled while she posed me. It was a fairly plain white ankle-length dress with blue bird patterns embroidered on the translucent sleeves. Of course, it was so expensive that I would’ve felt bad spending even the number of zeroes in its price. I feel like even wearing this would qualify me for the Fourth Circle in Inferno.

“If I was a man, would I still have to put up with this…?”

Lillia suddenly began to laugh violently, and didn’t calm down for a full half minute.

“Ellie, you need to make a blood sacrifice to even get an appointment to handle men’s tailoring.”

… She’s joking, right?

Before I could think too deeply about that matter, I was suddenly wheeled over to have my sizes measured.

“I thought you already chose a dress, Lily?”

“Did you really think that it would be over with just that?”

“… Fair point.”

And so, another hour passed and an order for the refitted dress was placed.

“I do wonder why they don’t just automate it.”

Lillia rolled her eyes at me.

“It can be a little annoying when you keep complaining about things indirectly via question when you’re fully aware of the reason that it happens.”

“Well, it felt more polite than just saying ‘you people are snobs’.”

“But it’s infinitely more satisfying to be direct about it, right?”

Lillia gave me a lovely grin, before moving on to the next topic.

“Anyway, we’re going back to the Bellon estate now.”

“We are going?”

“Yep! Come on!”

I really couldn’t find a way to break this woman’s tempo.

===

And so, that evening, I was at the Bellon residence. Apparently, Mark was still busy with his internship, so he would be staying out too late for us to meet. Well, that didn’t particularly affect anything. The mansion itself might be described as a testament to wealth itself. Enormously tall and wide, it was constructed in a manner to emulate the aesthetic of the ancient Remans. I could only shake my head in disbelief at the sight. Do these people even render unto Caesar in the first place?

Irrespective of that, I was now sitting on a couch across from Lillia in an immense office while being served tea by an attendant. The paintings covering the walls all seemed to depict different family heads. My eyes in particular were drawn to one showing a blonde woman – Lillia’s grandmother, Ella Bellon. Lillia, noticing my interest, gave a cynical look.

“Grandmother will actually be at the party.”

If she’s attending, then….

“So, she’s there to monitor how you do?”

“Bingo.”

While she seemed a little exhausted over the matter of the party, there was a certain degree of pride in the look she gave as she looked at the portrait. I couldn’t help but wonder how much work she was putting to this single event – let alone. I felt a pang of guilt over how I had been treating her while we were trying dresses. Lillia, somehow picking up on my feelings, quickly reassured me.

“Don’t worry about it, Ellie. I’m doing all of this because I want to.”

She smirked before continuing.

“If you ever get too sympathetic towards me, you’ll regret it.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m a businesswoman, Ellie. Everything and everyone else are tools.”

There was an internal conflict in her logic there.

“If that’s the case, why warn me?”

Lillia’s expression didn’t waver for even a second.

“Because it doesn’t matter to you either way, right?”

I looked her straight in the eyes. I could see something that I hadn’t been able to perceive before. You aren’t the only one who can read people, Lillia Bellon.

“Then I should warn you too, Lily.”

Her smirk faded as she tilted her head in response.

“What?”

“You will never be able to use me with that half-hearted of an attitude.”

“Oh, so you’re willing to be used now? I didn’t get the impression that you were that sort, Ellie.”

I stared at her for a moment, before deciding that I wouldn’t get anywhere with this.

“Let’s get to the point. You brought me here to explain what you expect from me at the party, correct?”

A slight smile returned to her face.

“Yep! I’m going to need you to come here every day for a few weeks, actually.”

“… Why?”

Lillia gave me that look of hers that implied that she wasn’t going to let me lazily get her to clarify something that I already knew.

“Is it really necessary to do daily work for weeks to sort out etiquette?”

Lillia put a finger to her lip as if pondering something.

“Uh, Ellie… how do I put this…? Ah, I know! You come across as an asshole whenever you aren’t interested in something.”

“It’s not that bad….”

“….”

I couldn’t deny the value of etiquette. Going into a party of upper-class elites without understanding their means of communication would be, in 21st century terms, like going to a foreign country and demanding that the people there speak your language, and obviously no sane person would do that. Granted, of course, that the language of these ‘elites’ is mostly superfluous.

“… Fine, I’ll review etiquette. But, if your attendants approve, then you’ll let me finish early, right?”

“If they do, sure. I doubt they will though.”

“No, I’ll be able to do something like this.”

“… Good luck.”

At that time, I didn’t know quite what I had agreed to. If I had known, things might not have turned out like they did.

===

“Try again.”

My lips twitched as I gradually manipulated my facial muscles into a stunning smile. Or at least, that’s what I would have liked to say. In reality, the face looking back at me from the mirror could at best be described as grimacing. I exhaled as my face returned to normal. There were only a few days left to the party.

“We can surely do without the smiling, right, Lucy? I can do everything else perfectly fine.”

Lucy, Lillia’s secretary, gave me a blank stare.

“Please, Lucy….”

The stare didn’t change, and I ended up continuing to attempt it for another hour. Lillia came in at some point and made various mocking comments in the vein of “I told you so”. Frankly, I found Lucy’s patience more impressive than anything else. Suddenly, on what was something well over my combined twenty thousandth attempt, Lucy stopped me.

“That’s good enough, Miss Elysia.”

Staring back at me in the mirror was someone who had a smile. Well, a smile in the loosest sense of the word, anyway. It was faint, but barely detectable. Indeed, one only needs ten thousand repetitions to master a task… probably. I felt like an irritating hint of sympathy was seeping into Lucy’s otherwise straight face.

I feel like I lowered her standards too far there. Is this the tyranny of low expectations?