Original Version:

The dress is not fashionable, but I imagine that in a few years, it could be again if a wave of clothing nostalgia were to sweep the country. The pattern is mottled dark blue, somewhere between paisley and cheetah prin. It has large, shiny buttons and a thick collar. The dress is anachronistic in 2020, a relic of a time that doesn’t seem so far away until you think about it. It reminds me of the dresses I used to put on my dolls, particularly my Groovy Girls, in the early 2000’s but I guess that makes sense. I imagine someone named Jan wearing it. The dress looks like it could hang a little short on a woman’s body, especially for someone with a long torso; I would solve this potential dilemma by wearing it with tights. It is not sheer. Even against the flashing of an investigator’s camera, the dress is opaque. It is casual, not at all like I expected; it is an outfit for attending a seminar or walking through a museum on a Sunday. It must be a modern convention that everyone wears a suit in the White House.

A surprising amount of the existing photographs of the dress are in black and white. It’s almost as if knowing that the dress is blue is information too sensitive for public consumption. The black and white photos are funny: the dress looks like a convict, rather than a simply garment, likely a polyester blend.

The dress isn’t really the point, however: it’s the stain. The stain, which is hidden amongst the gaudy pattern, the stain that the dress’s owner wasn’t even aware of until she needed to be. The stain is not visible on camera. But it’s there and thank god it was because, as in so many cases, no one would have believed Monica if it weren’t.

First Revision:

The dress is not currently en vogue, but I imagine that in a few decades, it potentially could be again. The pattern is mottled, medium-dark blue, somewhere between paisley and cheetah print. It has sizable, gleaming buttons and a flat, broad collar. The dress is anachronistic in 2020; it looks like a strange fossil. It reminds me of the dresses I used to put on my Groovy Girls as a little girl. I imagine someone named Jan wearing this dress. It looks like it would hang short on a woman’s body, especially when paired with a long torso; I would probably wear it with tights. The fabric is not flimsy or translucent. Even against the flashing of an investigator’s camera, the dress is opaque. It is easygoing, almost folksy, not at all like I expected; it is an outfit for attending a seminar or walking through a museum on a Sunday. It must be a modern convention that everyone wears a suit in the White House.

A surprising amount of the existing photographs of the dress are in black and white. It’s almost as if knowing that the dress is blue is information too sensitive for public consumption. The black and white photos are hysterical: the dress looks like a convict, rather than an unassuming, poly-blend frock.

The dress isn’t really the point, however: it’s the stain. The stain, which is hidden amongst the gaudy pattern, the stain that the dress’s owner wasn’t even aware of until she needed to be. The stain is invisible on camera. But it’s there and thank god it was because, as in so many cases, no one would have believed Monica if it weren’t.

Second Revision:

The dress is a strange culprit; it does not look like an entity that changed American politics. That could be because the dress is a little ugly. Or, at least, the dress is not currently en vogue, but I imagine that in a few decades, it potentially could be again. The color is a medium-dark blue, the pattern a blurry mélange between paisley and cheetah print. The collar is flat and broad, and the buttons are sizable and gleaming. The dress looks like a bizarre fossil, completely anachronistic in 2020 despite only being 20 years old. I used to dress my Groovy Girls in a dress like this one. I can imagine someone named Jan wearing it.

The dress looks like it would hang short, somewhere like upper thigh, especially on a tall woman. As a medium-ish woman, I would probably pair it with tights. The fabric is not flimsy or translucent. Even against the flashing of an investigator’s camera, the dress is opaque. It is easygoing, almost folksy, not at all like I expected. It is a dress for attending a Socratic seminar or walking through a museum on a Sunday. It must be a modern convention that everyone wears a suit in the White House.

A surprising quantity of the photographs of the dress are black and white. In those cases, it’s a black dress, almost as if knowing that the dress is blue is information too sensitive for public consumption. The black and white photos are hysterical: the dress looks like a convict, rather than an unassuming, poly-blend frock.

The dress isn’t really the point, however: it’s the stain. The stain, which is hidden amongst the kitschy pattern, the stain that the dress’s owner wasn’t even aware of until she needed to be. The stain is invisible on camera. But it’s there and thank god it was because, as in so many cases, no one would have believed Monica if it weren’t.