The following is a letter that was sent to Elizabeth Hawes in the 1930's. Hawes was one of the first American couturières — in fact, to hear her tell it, she wrenched dressmaking from the French singlehanded. This letter documents exactly what I feel great design should look and feel like.

About four years ago I went into your establishment to buy a hat. That's all I wanted and if I had minded my own business, that's all I would have got. But I had to go snooping and what happened? Blue Mazurka, that's what happened. It was the loveliest dress I ever saw in my life and it still is, Elizabeth, and that is what seems to be the trouble. Because after all, that was four years ago, and I ought to be through with it by now, oughtn't I? But it hangs together, darling. It definitely stays put, and it's wearing me down. It's wearing me and I'm wearing it, and there you are. And don't give me any back talk about giving it away because you just don't know. You see, my husband likes it. So I needn't go on with that. I like it, too. But not all the time.

The first two years were fine. I loved the dress. I used to think up places to go where I wasn't even invited just so I could wear it. And the third year wasn't so bad, though the reason I was late for so many dinner parties, if anyone cares, was because Jim would catch me in some little number I had bought for relief and I would have to take it off at the last moment and put on Blue Mazurka. He said I looked right in it. And I felt right in it, too. A little nauseated maybe, but right. And then I had my tonsils out, and that gave me a rest.

But the fourth year got me. It wasn't that I didn't try. I would buy something else and put it on and Jim would say, "Aren't you going to wear Blue Mazurka?" and I would scream. Then it got so I couldn't buy anything else. I would go into simple, defenseless shops and try on dress after dress and Blue Mazurka would materialize in the mirror and I would say thank you very much but I have a dress and walk out. Then I thought of setting fire to Blue Mazurka, and then I would think of what Jim would say and then I would think of setting fire to Jim. Then I tried not wearing evening dress at all but that only got me pointed at, and then I tried staying home, but I would find myself in the closet staring at Blue Mazurka and muttering, and I knew no good would come of that.

Then I tried going to Europe and leaving Blue Mazurka behind, but at the last minute Jim walked in and looked in my closet and said, "You're not going without that are you?" So I took it to Europe.

And now I'm back and so is Blue Mazurka, and even the sea fogs haven't hurt it. Just freshened it up, really. It's as bright as a dollar, and I can't stand it. I'm not the woman I was, and four years is enough.

So will you do something for me? Will you take it back and keep it somewhere and will you look at it sometimes and think of me and see if you can't do something about making clothes that won't wear quite so passionately and will go just a little out of style. Because there can be reason in everything and even the War lasted only four years.

But at least don't make any more clothes like Blue Mazurka, and if you do, don't let me buy them. Because I know what's going to happen: I'll be coming back for more. Because don't misunderstand, I like them. I like them very, very much. Hawes clothes, forever in fact, and believe me, Elizabeth, forever is right.

Lovingly,
PAT COLLINGE