Thursday evening is going to be something.

The Event: We’ve been invited to the American Embassy in Paris, where we’ll meet the American ambassador at a cocktail party celebrating a certain program The Frenchman was involved with at its infancy 20 years ago. I’ve seen the embossed, personalized invitations. I’ve squealed. I’ve fretted over what to wear. What to do with my hair. All the usual.

The Outfit: Purchased in Paris, a long-sleeved black gauze Victorian dress with black lace around the bottom, crocheted appliqué at the cleavage, and a soft pink silk slip attached daintily underneath. Purchased at the same boutique, a dark grey waist coat with ruffles all around the bottom and a bow at the base of my back. It fastens at the waist with an onyx broach. I bought shoes yesterday that have solid high heels and that lace up like Victorian granny boots with black silk ribbons. Black stockings are a must. I’ll also wear my Ruby Raven corset, hidden nicely under the waist coat. It looks ravishing over the dress, although it just might do its business in hiding. The overall shape is very pleasing.

The Insane Realization: One can never be certain about these things, but I suspect this will be the first time in almost 100 years that a corset has been worn at the American Embassy in Paris. Might be the last for another 100 years, too.