Even before I moved here, I heard that it’s simple and very affordable to have clothing made in many countries in Africa. If you have a dress that you love, buy some beautiful African fabric and have a replica made. Although my clothing is casual, the idea of having some custom dresses made was so enticing.

Almost from day one, I was on a mission to find beautiful fabric and a tailor. As a White lady, I was trying to find fabrics that were appealing but also did not make me look like a White lady wearing tribal prints. The margin of error is slim, but I believed I could pull off some version of African fabric without feeling like an appropriating fraud. Luckily, Côte d’Ivoire, like multiple African countries, is known for its beautiful range of textiles.

After searching, I finally found the place with the most beautiful fabric in Abidjan. The saleswomen were not super happy to assist me on the day I visited, so I planned to return to the store when I felt braver. As I’ve mentioned, customer service is in its infancy here. Baby steps, people.

On a different day, I stumbled out of the heat into a store like an African Target. I’m so familiar with stumbling out of the cold, but stumbling out of the heat is a new experience. At this store, I found a less ornate version of the same brand of fabric that I loved, and I bought it without hesitation. When I got home, I realized two different fabrics were in the precut package I purchased, which was even better.

Now that I had the fabric, my next step was to find a tailor/seamstress. What is the difference? I have no idea, but I just wanted someone who could sew. An American had warned me at some point, that I might not want to spend a lot of money on fancy fabric until I saw the skill level of the tailor. The advice was good, but where is the fun in following good advice? My fabric was not that expensive, so I was willing to take a chance.

I started asking around for a tailor, hoping that someone in my orbit would have a competent person. Of course, everyone knows someone, but I didn’t need a second-hand connection; I needed a first-hand person. All I really wanted was to have my favorite uncomplicated dress copied.

Finally, one night, I got a message from one of the women who works where I live. She had a friend who was a seamstress and wanted to make a house call to see what I wanted made. Fantastic! When she arrived, I was ready with my dress, my new fabric, and a plan. I showed her my favorite dress, and then I showed her the new fabric and asked if it would work to just copy the dress. “No problem,” she told me.

Since I had two pieces of fabric, she asked if I wanted to have something else made with the other one. Ok, great! I brought out another dress I owned and asked her to copy it and make it longer. Also not a problem. She told me the two dresses would be ready the next night. I was impressed by her speed, but I now realize that there are two ways to look at this: 1) these were not complicated projects, so they would be easy to sew, or 2) she had so few clients that she had plenty of time to sew for me.

The next night came, and she arrived at my house with my two original dresses and the two copies. All the women from the house gathered in the room to see the new dresses and my impressions of them. At first glance, things looked fine. I looked at the two new dresses, which seemed intact. I wanted to slink back into my room with them, but all the women insisted that I try them on and show everyone. Things took a turn at this moment.

I slipped on the first dress, and although the style seemed correct, it seemed much larger than my original dress. When I returned to the main room wearing the first dress, I heard oohs and aahs about how beautiful it was. I am happy to take a compliment at face value, but to clarify, I had yet to look in the mirror because of the spontaneous fashion show. So I smiled and may have even bowed, although my memory of those moments is clouded by what came next.

The crowd then demanded that I try on the second dress. The immediate reaction was the same: smiles all around. So I surmised that this first attempt at the dresses was a success. I paid the seamstress and headed back to my room. She told me on my way out that she would be more than happy to make any other clothing items for me. Great!

Upon entering my room, I finally looked at myself in the mirror. Oof. The mental image of what I thought I looked like compared to the Steph staring back at me in the mirror was stark. It reminded me of the time when I signed up for ballet lessons as an adult. I had a vision of what I looked like soaring through the sky in my leotard on my graceful jumps, only to see my reflection in the floor-length glass.* Regret often lives in a full-length mirror. I know this now.

That night my mirror/ego uttered two words to me: oompa loompa.

Evidence:

I took off the dress and compared it to the original for size. See below.

There is a good 12-14″ difference between these two dresses, in case that is not clear by the photo above. I should also mention that the reason I like my original dress is that it fits me with plenty of room to spare, making it cool and comfortable to wear in the heat. More room in the dress was not necessary.

Admittedly, the clothing styles in Côte d’Ivoire differ significantly from the styles in the US. The heat here makes people gravitate toward clothing that is loose and unstructured, however this dress replica was a deviation from what I was hoping to see. Artistic license coupled with African influence, perhaps?

I don’t want to talk about the other dress, because it’s more of the same, but let’s say I’ve learned a few lessons: no more ballet and no more spontaneous dress commissions.

The dresses may not make great streetwear, but they work well by the pool…..

*The ballet story is dedicated to Hillary Schmid. May she forever remember the stories of mine that she tries hard to forget…….