The Magical Effect of Dressing Up for a Day
One lazy Sunday last summer I woke up with a desire to swan. A friend had told me about Windsor Court, a hotel so elegant it refers to its staff as "the Royal Family." I put on a vintage flowered sundress and paired it with turquoise sandals I'd had no occasion to wear until then. I (carefully) got on my bike and headed downtown to immerse myself in the pomp and gentility, and perhaps even to flirt. I clicked across the marble floor and sank into a leather couch. Nearby, a harpist strummed. For the next languorous hour, amid the swirl of out-of-town visitors, I simply sat—intriguingly, even mysteriously, I hoped. I opened a book. I crossed my legs, ladylike. Alas, I found no one to flirt with. And yet, in that sumptuous space, with the help of that printed dress, I filled the tiny New York–shaped hole in my heart.
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