I stopped at a traffic light and looked to my left, and there it was again. Calling out to me. Telling me that I should come and take a closer look.

You should come to the dance. . . . His words echoed in my head.

I parked my car and walked inside the shop. There was no one in sight. A staircase at the back of the shop caught my attention and I could vaguely hear someone upstairs. I moved straight over to the dress, the gold one, and when I was close enough, I ran my hand over it. The fabric was soft and luxurious. Cool to the touch. I reached for the hanger and pulled it off, and then, without thinking, walked over to the full-length mirror and held it in front of me. It was so beautiful, the way the light caught the material as it fell to the ground like melted, liquid gold being poured. It was so delicate-looking, like something special and fragile and rare. I wanted to buy it and hang it in my cupboard so I had something gold and shimmery to look at in the morning. This dress reminded me of Joburg at sunset, Maggie’s jazz café, and my favorite contemporary artist, Lina Iris Viktor, who used 24-karat gold leaf in her paintings. I tried to imagine what I would look like wearing it. I imagined myself inside one of Lina’s paintings—a goddess draped in real gold, staring back from the canvas with confidence and intensity, like she does. I looked over my shoulder at the staircase; the voice had stopped. I looked around the shop, still empty. On the street, no one was walking past. I bit my lip and looked over at the changing room behind me.

It probably wouldn’t fit me, though. I pulled at the material; it was stretchy. I glanced over my shoulder at the staircase one last time and then quickly made a beeline for the change room. I closed the curtain, pulled my clothes off as quickly as possible, lest I change my mind, and slipped the dress on. And then I turned and gasped.

I stared at myself and my heart started to break, piece by piece by piece. I looked terrible. I looked nothing like the imagined work of art I thought I would be. On me, the dress looked totally transformed. How had I taken something so beautiful and turned it into something so hideous? My throat tightened and I could feel the salty sting of tears creeping up into the back of it. My body had ruined this dress. I had ruined it.

“It’s not the right cut for your body type,” a voice said, and I swung around. There was a large crack in the curtain of the changing room and she was standing right there.

“Thembi!” I looked around to see if the other Ts were there, or worse, Amber.