Maybe it's a bit of a generalisation, but when it comes to landmark occasions, most females will always remember what clothes they wore at that time. Anyway, this one certainly does. Every time particular dresses emerge from the wardrobe, the memories of other occasions get put on with the dress. Some dresses, I've gradually realised, I'm fonder of than others, not because of the sartorial merits of the gunas themselves, but because of the wonderful times I've had in them.
Like it or not, folks, the new millennium is a-coming. And I'm really looking forward to it: to being with great friends in Galway town, where we'll be roaming between big fires and champagne at various homes along the narrow streets, and partying somewhere at midnight still to be decided (I don't like being too organised in advance). And wherever I am when midnight strikes, you can bet I'll always remember afterwards what I was wearing on that night.
For this occasion, I decided that nothing will do but a new dress, which comes with a clean slate of memories. I didn't have an exact budget in mind when I went looking, although I was prepared to pay up to about £100, with a degree of flexibility beyond that in proportion to how gorgeous the dress was and how badly I wanted it. My only other criteria was that I was determined not to buy something black. There's enough of those already in the wardrobe.
In the beginning, I vaguely thought of going full-length, having received the open instructions from my Galway friends to "dress up as much as you want". Hence I found myself in the changing room of Pamela Scott's with a dress that was so long for me half of it was still outside the curtain.
It was embroidered black net over a shiny lilac fabric, with shoestring straps, fitted bodice and full skirts (£159.95). Frenchmade, by Orna Farho, it looked lovely, but as I rustled round the changing room, I couldn't help feeling like some creature snapped in the background of a Hello! party. Or should that be VIP? Extremely overdressed, in other words. Definitely out of my habitat in this ball dress of the old school.
Still in the Posh Frock frame of mind, I went on to Brown Thomas. Attracted by the colours, I tried on a too-long velvet sleeveless bias-cut dress by Helen David of English Eccentrics, in strong reds and pinks with devore flowers. It looked dramatic enough, but it didn't feel right for me at all. Just as well. There wasn't a price tag on it, and when I asked, it turned out to be a jaw-dropping £665.
There was one stunning mermaid-cum-colleen green sheath with a copper-coloured slip knotted crochet overdress from Lainey Keogh that will make anyone's night - anyone who wants to pay the £650 it costs. Anyway, maybe I'll buy that for the next millennium, but meanwhile I decided staying in BT's would be a waste of time.
I was still hankering after a gorgeous long dress - how often do we get the opportunity to wear one nowadays without feeling completely ridiculous? - and went into Principles on a whim, where they had long dresses on models in the window. There was a long silvery velvet column dress, with a net and sequin detail at the throat in the Collection label (£150).
When I went to try this on, however, I couldn't work out the lattice of straps at the back and gave up in bad-tempered frustration, after ending up with my head sticking out of the armholes about five times. Something you've got to work that hard at putting on isn't worth it for any price.
Dorothy Perkins now does a small (and much cheaper) Whistles line, Whistles Express. This company does some very pretty and well-cut clothes, using lots of top-quality fabric and wool, trimmed with beading and velvet. However, I haven't found anything here yet that I actually want to buy, and this visit wasn't an exception. The only possible millennium option here for me was a long raspberry-pink velvet sheath (£100). But they didn't have my size, and I realised I didn't love it all that much anyway.
At that point, I gave up on the full-length look with a sense of relief; it was beginning to feel far too formal and fussy an option. And I was already worrying that I would never wear a long dress again, which was leading the search down some sort of monetary and sartorial cul-de-sac rather than a happy hunt for a killer party dress.
After that I went for dresses that were calf-length and which felt much more comfortable and realistic as an option. Christopher's in Temple Bar is a shop that always has interesting flimsy dresses, some with net overdresses, and others with strange bold patterns that you tend not to see elsewhere. I tried on an aquamarine dress with assymetrical ruffles (£50), but although it looked promising on the hanger, when on, it just looked plain silly, and well, plain.
There is, of course, a limit to the number of dresses you can try on without feeling your search going stale and your eye becoming less trustworthy. I looked in a few shops every morning for a few days while walking in and out to the office, so I never got fed up with it. Anyway, half the fun is the looking. It's like divining. You know the dress is hidden there somewhere, ready to spring to the surface when you're in the right place.
I was prepared to keep looking, on and off, for weeks if need be, but I found my dress after only a few days, in Warehouse; a shop where I'd never bought anything before. At first, I wasn't even going to try it on, because (being a redhead) it was in a colour I've never worn - deep purple.
But the material, gleaming silk velvet, felt so fabulous under my fingers that I just had to experiment. And although a highstreet line, the dress was well cut and fully lined with silk, in an empire line style with a bias-cut calf-length skirt (£61). When I put it on, I knew this was the perfect dress to dance in the New Year, New Millennium, and New Phase of Life too. I could practically taste the champagne when I emerged triumphant from the changing room.
