Vivien found the dress at Vince, across from her hotel at Madison and Seventy-Sixth. It was a simple shift, deliriously soft and just the right length, as in a bit too short but seemingly accidentally so, as if she were a touch taller and thinner than the intended model. It was effortless without being sloppy, editorial but in no way dressed up. With her low-tops and denim jacket, it would hit the right note, showing her off without her showing off. If the dress had come only in black, or only in navy, she wouold have gladly, almost thoughtlessly, purchased either. But unfortunately it came in both. She spent over half an hour in the dressing room switching between them, examining herself, posing, evaluating the implications, agonizing over the decision. It was amazing how the same dress in only slightly different colors could seem so different. But then again, nothing highlights difference quite like homogeneity. The black was so stark, so purely minimal. Very now, very New York. The navy would have seemed the same in isolation, but by contrast it almost felt like a grown-up version of something she might have worn at Penn or even Sill. Comparatively, it paid homage to prep without being preppy, developing a latent infusion of nostalgia and youth. She wanted to prefer the black. Reason told her to go for the black. In a movie, she'd definitely wear a black dress. But viscerally, physically, she felt lighter, looked younger in the navy. It made her feel how she wanted to feel in the black. Even if she bought both, she could wear only one. Vivien had to choose.

—A. Natasha Joukovsky, The Portrait of a Mirror