I have spent the past week wearing almost nothing but cotton sundresses. Not because I planned it. And certainly not because I’m trying to cultivate some sort of gracious Southern aesthetic. It’s September in the Low Country, and I’m spending time at my husband’s family’s home in South Carolina, along Bohicket Creek. It’s hotter than a beaver’s backside (I don’t really know that that means but my father used to say it), and a freshly washed, starched cotton sundress may be one of civilization’s great achievements.
The Easiest Decision of the Day
I’ve worn cotton sundresses to lunch, to dinner, to run errands, to sit by the water, and around the house. Add sandals and earrings and somehow I look as if I’ve made an effort… even when the real decision-making process was simply: Which dress will keep me coolest today?
I’ve also remembered how much I love clothes that can be washed, ironed, and worn for years. No complicated care instructions. No mysterious performance fabric. No wondering whether something will survive the dryer.
Just cotton.
I know ironing has fallen out of favor, but I enjoy it. There’s something deeply satisfying about taking a crumpled dress from the laundry basket and pressing it back into order. Maybe it’s the same reason I like repetitive kitchen chores and handwork: sometimes my brain needs something useful to do that doesn’t require it to make another decision.
And yes, I starch them. Apparently I have reached the stage of life where I’m willing to admit publicly that I like a crisp cotton dress. Especially when it’s ninety-plus degrees outside with the kind of humidity that would choke a horse. So this week, while I’ve been surrounded by family, working on book revisions, eating long lunches, and watching the September tides come and go, I’ve rediscovered one of my simplest wardrobe rules: When in doubt, wear the cotton sundress.
