This is probably not what you think.

It has nothing to do with the new Sofia Coppola movie. It has nothing to do with a latent Freudian-style desire for a public castigation and subsequent death. It has little to do with a sense of connection with a beautiful, powerful woman who longed for a life of simplicity and peace. It has everything to do with a poorly-hidden obsession with shiny, soft, crinkly things in which to drape myself. In short, I am going to make myself a dress. Not just any dress. A full 1780 French court dress, with hoops and four layers of ruffles. I feel you asking, "Why? Why in the name of Dolce and Gabbana would you do such a thing?" Well, because winters in Alaska are long, and besides, I think I can. This is the first in a series documenting the drama that will be the construction of said garment, and the paraphenalia that accompanies it. The deadline is the 28th of October, the day after my birthday, and the night of the Stardust Ball, where I will compete against several professional fishermen in drag for the top prize: the adoration of the population of a town with nearly nine thousand citizens. Wish me bon chance.