Besides being an incredible friend, Jill is an incredibly talented designer and the founder of The Irish Twin. So, it felt natural—and perhaps slightly ambitious—to ask her to create all five of my wedding dresses with three months’ notice.

The entire process took place virtually—I did not travel to Paris for a single fitting. I was entering my seventh month of pregnancy, so between the different time zones, my ever-growing belly, and, of course, my hormonal shifts, the operation was obviously very practical

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Fast-forward to Thursday evening, just before the festivities began. The box containing my five dresses had made it to Miami. God bless DHL. We had done it. Well… she had done it.

They were divine, and each had been designed for a specific moment. But one dress felt different. She had so much personality that I wasn’t entirely sure whether I would wear her or she would wear me.

The dress was made from mousseline and silk, with delicate French lace tracing the off-the-shoulder neckline. The empire waist allowed the fabric to fall almost weightlessly. The white was perfect—not too stark, not quite cream. Romantic without being precious. A true masterpiece.

I had planned to wear it to the rehearsal dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant by the river. But when the moment came, its aura got the better of me. I was intimidated by my own purchase. That was a first. I placed it back inside its garment bag.

Instead, I went for a dramatic black dress with red flowers that I already owned from the same brand. I looked like a very pregnant extra straight out of a Dolce & Gabbana summer campaign in Rome. The look worked. It was also Plan B.

As we speak, the white dress is still in its garment bag, waiting to make its grand debut.

So why choose a dress I already owned when this one had been made for that exact evening? The dress was ready. I was not. It simply felt too special to wear.

It was custom-made for me, yet I felt so far from myself that it no longer belonged to me. I convinced myself it deserved to be worn when I had the body for it. I know it sounds ridiculous. It is also true, and it sucks.

The problem was that it did not stop with the dress. It became a pattern.

Truth be told, I never bought a single maternity outfit. If being pregnant already has you feeling dreadful, maternity clothes simply finish the job.

I lived in sweats while continuing to buy clothes online in a size 0. I wasn’t dressing myself. I was dressing future me.

She would be back soon. She would attend another black-tie gala—when and how that is going to happen remains unclear. She would attend her children’s birthdays.

The closet kept filling with clothes for later. The white dress stayed in its garment bag, waiting for the woman I kept shopping for.

I had an entirely different life in mind for the dress: dinner with my husband in Italy or an evening at home surrounded by friends. I love to host. I hate to cook. I kept telling myself I was on my way to becoming the woman who would wear it.

At some point, I had to admit that Italy, the perfect dinner, and the woman I planned to become were all excuses. The dress is not waiting for any of them. It is waiting for me.

Life, rather inconveniently, continues before I lose the weight, plan the dinner, or feel ready. To be clear, I am not wearing silk and French lace to school drop-off—I have not completely lost the plot. But dressing like me should not require a private chef, a table in Europe, or the body my GLP-1 is still working on.

Most of life happens on a Tuesday. So, I hereby declare Tuesday an occasion. Every Tuesday, I’ll share an outfit worth wearing—when I’m in the mood, but that’s another story.

Bisous,

#TheTuesdayTheory

I said I would think about it. I liked the sound of it. However, each time I tried to put that thought into action, a tide of uncertainty took possession of me, bringing my potential social media career to an immediate stop. Why would I do that? Who needs another rich girl online posting about her outfits? Who the hell cares about a bag rotation?

I, on the other hand, had stopped caring for myself altogether during pregnancy. The weight of watching myself disappear was far heavier than the weight of the baby I actually carried. Finding a reason not to do it felt reassuring, and yet I kept circling back to it. Fashion never stopped inspiring me, but if you were to judge by my pregnancy photos alone, you’d think otherwise.

I am a mother of two, and before that, I was a party girl—a party of one, if you will. Fashion was an extension of who I was, a way to leave a lasting impression in a world of fleeting, vapid parties. More than that, it became a means of turning meaningless nights into moments of purpose. I didn’t remember much, but I always remembered what I wore.

This brings me to today. And why now?

Now that my life is full of love, full of purpose, why not fill it with fashion?

It took me a while, but I finally understood.

Because I can, but most importantly, because I get to do it for myself.

Because it lights me up in a way I can’t explain.

It gives me a sense of joy that is mine and only mine—minus the awful hangover.

Well, isn’t that what fashion’s all about?

So, to answer my friend Dara…

Le Closet Theory—or therapy, if I may say—is for anyone whose life has changed, who may have lost a part of themselves, but who keeps coming back to fashion to reconnect, feel good, and have fun. Life is full of ups and downs, yet a good outfit always remains, and I get to share that with you today.

Bisous,

Olympia