Undressing my most complimented outfit

What made it work, and getting to the better question

The woman was wearing a black shift dress, cerulean blue frames on her nose, her left arm loaded with gold bracelets.

They reminded me of the silver bangles worn by a woman I once worked for, at a restaurant in New Orleans at the end of Oak Street, that made delicious hamburgers, both the cow and black bean kind, in what was once a gas station, right across from the levy, a woman I remembered for her style (bracelets stacked wrist to elbow, her long, burgundy “white girl weave” pulled back in a ponytail and braided, her hair swooshing behind), the way she ate her steak (praying mantis-like, elbows out, dissecting her meat with a knife the size of her head ), and her opinion on rosé (“yuck, gross”). Someone I knew for a brief period of time, but a woman who’s stayed with me, because of her originality.

The woman in the shift dress admired my outfit, a red knit tank top that hung languidly on my shoulders, navy running shorts, the black oiled Dansko clogs I’d begrudgingly bought this winter, causing me to chuckle whenever someone tells me they like them, and then my grandma’s gold pendant, a piece she and my grandpa bought on Royal Street in New Orleans, and the red, white, and blue scarf from Pawz for Cauz wrapped around my hair.