Zandra Rhodes was told she had six months to live, sparking a mission to preserve 6,000 hidden dresses.
Zandra begins with the outfit, naturally. The dress is Celia B, made from her own prints in different colors, chosen because Bella Freud's white couch calls for something vivid. The jewelry has its own little orbit: Andrew Logan's heart brooch, rings, and bracelet beside her usual Indian silver necklace. Nothing feels merely decorative. It all seems to carry someone, somewhere, some past afternoon. Even the shoes have been through things. During lockdown, Zandra taught older people painting lessons, including a sneaker session meant to brighten ordinary life, and now the pair is nearly worn out. Bella spots the tiredness of them with real affection, and suddenly a tiny wardrobe detail tells you plenty about Zandra's habit of making. Her mother comes in early, too. Bella names her as Zandra's greatest influence, right down to the name that made her stand apart from other children. The talk stays loose, which suits it. Fabric, flowers, family, and influence all sit in the same room. Then Divine sweeps in with another blast of color. Bella brings up Zandra's friend Divi, the figure John Waters described as looking like a cross between Godzilla and Elizabeth Taylor. Zandra remembers the warmth first. Put caftans near him and he would be in them instantly, a funny image without any bite. Christmas turns wonderfully theatrical: Divine with chocolates, a wand, and the tree still needing more Christmas. Near the end, Zandra talks about museums in the towns that shaped her prints now holding some of the dresses made from those places. She calls it a wonderful adventure. Bella calls her a ray of color on the white couch. Zandra leaves the best last: she hopes she is a little dream in print.
