London again, for my Order an Object appointment. The V&A just started this free program where you can search for up to five items from their collections and reserve a time to see them up close at the V&A East Storehouse. Appointments were booked out about six weeks in advance when I scheduled, and it takes a good whle to get to the facility from the rest of London unless you are already at the V&A East, which is confusingly a whole other thing. The form asks why you want to see the object and I put something like "Personal research", but I never got the feeling from anyone that I didn't belong there because I was just looking out of curiousity instead of a formal project. I rashly tried to squeeze in a pass by the Bermondsey Antique Market and arrived late which ate into my time, but I'd booked two hours which was more than enough to see my five things. The hardest part was deciding what to order. I knew I wanted to focus on textiles. so I decided to search for something from FInland:

Something from Gujarat:

A lace sampler:

A Worth dress:

And a Poiret dress:

I checked in at reception and was given a pair of nitrile gloves and a magnifying glass. My minder explained how to handle everything, then led me through row after row of white steel shelving to a set of wide shallow drawers to see the wedding dress (better picture here). "And should I come get you when I'm done?", I asked. "I will be right here," she said with a gentle smile and sat down on a stool beside me.

I wasn't allowed to pick the dress up out of the drawer because it was too fragile, but I could gently lift and move aside the heavy layers of satin to see the horsehair underling and whalebone on the inside and the tiny stitches of embroidery and pearl beading. When I was leaning in to look closer, a fold of the dress brushed against my lip and I had a horrible moment trying to remember if I was wearing lipgloss, lack of grooming to the rescue!

The Poiret (here) also had to stay in its drawer. The edges of the velvet were hand-overcasted, if that's of interest to you, and there was a tiny metal weight (maybe a coin?) sewn into a little tab so the cowl neck would fall just so.

When I'd seen my fill of the dresses, the woman brought me over to the study area where my sturdier items had been laid out for me. At the next table, a man with five Chinese dishes in front of him was scribbling into a notebook. Nearby, a vintage Bowie t-shirt was folded in waiting for another researcher. The sari looked as rich and bright as if it had just come out of the dye vat.

After I checked out, I wandered through the rest of the Storehouse which felt like a cross between the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark and that part of Ikea where you pick up all your boxes. Even though it's meant to be storage, there are some items on display and a small exhibit on David Bowie.

Seeing and handling those pieces was a tremendous privilege, both from a technical perspective of viewing the construction and craft so much closer than you can when something's behind glass, and the emotional heft of holding something that was made over a hundred years ago and thinking about the unknown person whose hand made those delicate stitches, knowing that they had made something beautiful but likely never imagining that one day it would be in a museum. If I ever do it again, and I hope I will, I would maybe want to see something smocked inspired by Jane Brocket or something that had been extensively mended or remade.

Lunch at an Indian restaurant in the mall food court on top of the Stratford Tube station. Best dosa I've tasted in quite some time. Slightly on the thicker side so more of a tear than a shatter, and buttery to the point of vulgarity. Browsed ribbons and tried on a few hats at VV Roleaux. The Daunt Books in Maryleybone is the pretty one, but it was packed. Spent 45 minutes or so in the Wallace Collection, although now a museum where I wasn't allowed to touch anything felt rather poor sport.

I had dinner with a family friend who had spent some time in the system of tubes which, from the eighties through the mid aughts, channeled every Finnish person passing through New York to my father. She is a lawyer who spent most of her life in London but speaks perfect Finnish, is very poised and accomplished, and always speaks highly of my parents who made clear their desire that I try to resemble her in every possible regard. For all of these reasons I was inclined to resent her deeply until we first met, when on top of everything else she was thoughtful and lovely, so I am in the uncomfortable position of sharing my father's opinion about someone. Spent so much time gabbing that I had to rush for my train, but it was late. Achieved British train nirvana: late enough for me to receive a hefty refund but still made the last train home!