A floor-length gown, softly A-line, made with sheer crinkled organza that holds air. The dress moves the way water moves — sheer, tiered, catching light at the hem and letting it go. A high collar gathers into an oversized bow at the collarbone, its ribbons falling long and loose down the front. Short sleeves, soft at the shoulder. No waist, no seam pulling you into a shape you did not choose.
It is a dress that does not ask you to be smaller. It asks you to walk in, and let the room notice.
Ejiro made it to be worn, not preserved. Wear it to the next thing, and the thing after that.
