In Narcissa Balenciaga, Promo by Narcissa Balenciaga

  • We have to meet in better circumstances next time was something I always heard from distant relatives at funerals.

We all knew this was exactly where we’d see each other again, the only thing that would change is who we’re mourning over.

Everything else stays the same, the same old songs of death, the photographs of them throughout the years, a dress or a suit that people will comment about, and a dead body looking like a piece of art with how much time was spent on making it look presentable.

Years pass and in a place like this, you become numb to it until it touches the people you care about most.

I still remember the phone call from a stoic doctor telling me to rush to the hospital as soon as I could.

After saying my final goodbye, I rushed to my workshop and designed an outfit meant to make everyone say how good she looked.

Despite all our differences, I knew that would matter more than anything to her.

Madame Balenciaga until the end, my mom always made herself the most beautiful person in the room.

I wasn’t going to let her last appearance change that.

I spent every waking moment between death and funeral crafting that outfit.

I made every stitch perfect, I chose her favorite color, I made it the perfect length, I did everything with painstaking detail. I created the dress I’m most proud of for the woman that was most proud of me.

I wanted it to last as long as possible despite no one else knowing so I made it with spandex and polyester, it was my way of knowing that something from me was always going to be with her.

That was the last funeral I ever went to and there are only two things left from it, the photos of her that are on my walls and the dress buried six feet deep.

The songs devoted to the dead were forgotten as soon as the next one was played, the makeup that made my mom look like an art piece is going to break down before anything else.

Funerals are made for the musician, the artist obsessed with death, the photographer, and the fashion designer yet we’re not equal.

The songs of death will play but they’ll be forgotten as they’re nothing more than background music, simply something to fill the silence.

The art that makes the dead look beautiful will decompose quicker than them and the artist themselves will never be discussed.

People care about the photographs, the moments in time that keep memories alive long after their own memories slip away. They’ll hold onto their photos with an iron grip.

People remember the outfit, it’s the way they’ll remember their loved ones until their own final day.

On a long enough timeline, we will all have that final day, at least our memory will persevere.

Yours will be forgotten the moment another song is played or a new art piece debuts.

Remember, when art is dead, it decomposes quicker than any body.

So take a page out of Colt’s book, take a photo, it lasts longer.