Day 7: Hoi An

I do not want to leave my gem of a hotel, nor the beach. And I did not want to yesterday, either, but I had an eleven o’clock fitting at Tuong Tailor in the heart of Hoi An’s Old Town. 

During my first visit to Hoi An the day before, I strolled down the pedestrian-only streets to the riverside, where bright paper lanterns hung alongside boats that women kept offering to take me out on. It was a pretty scene: the sun shining on dandelion-colored buildings, green and pink plants all around, people sipping iced coconut coffee outside cafes. 

Inside the maze of little streets, tailor after tailor with rows of mannequins out front stood waiting to lure tourists in and take their measurements. I wasted no time assessing various shops—my hotel told me Tuong was the place to go, and so I went. As soon as I stepped inside the open-air establishment, a woman wearing a long-sleeved, high-collared blue and white dress approached. 

I showed her a picture of the dress I had in mind, a simple Reformation satin silk piece with a long straight skirt, square neck, and thin, wide-set straps. It seemed easy enough to recreate. She thought so anyhow. Immediately, she took me to a stack of silk-blend fabrics in an array of colors.

Here’s where I first went wrong: I should have asked to see more than what was in the stack. She offered to show me shinier silks, but I didn’t want shiny—too bridesmaid-y. I had spotted a pretty green shade in the mix and though it wasn’t what I’d had in mind, it was nice. We went with that. 

She sat me down at a wide wooden table and had me Airdrop her photos. I asked if she could make the straps cross in the back so they wouldn’t fall down and she nodded. Not a problem. Then she sketched a quick reference before calling over another woman who wrote down my measurements as she called them out. It all took mere minutes. 

Soon, I was paying and being sent on my way with a receipt. It felt like a blur. When in my life had I ever made decisions so quickly?

Before I returned the next morning for my fitting, I stopped in town for a coffee. The trick, I’ve learned, is to always ask to sit upstairs. There on a stool, I sat next to the breezy window overlooking the quiet street below and soaking in the quiet and calm before heading back into the sightseeing fray.

The shop was already bustling with other tourists. A woman looked at my receipt and sent me upstairs where Lisa, the one who’d helped me before, met me with the dress and ushered me into a fitting room.  

I struggled with the straps, a trap of my own making. But eventually, I figured it out and the dress was on. It was a bit tight up top, and it didn’t exactly match the photos. She had made it more empire-waisted than it was meant to be, and the straps weren’t set wide enough which made the intended square neck a bit rounded. She had also added darts and seams to the front that weren’t in the original design. 

Sneak peek

Alas, I am a perfectionist, but also a people pleaser. Maybe if I’d had more than a handful of hours before needing to scoop up the final dress, I would have demanded revisions. But likely, I still would have been too afraid of offending or being seen as annoying. This is my curse, to always worry more about the wellbeing of the service providers than my own. So I settled for asking her to let out the top a bit to make it easier to zip up, and called it good.

Lisa told me to come back at four, and in the meantime, I headed for my favorite spot on the beach for a few hours of book-and-sun-filled bliss. I overtipped the kind women behind the bar when I left—it was heartbreaking to say goodbye to this idyllic patch of sand and surf.

At four, I returned to town to pick up the finished dress which, under the yellow fluorescents looked a bit too green for my skin tone and with the straps loosened to the appropriate length, the fabric awkwardly bunches at the waist, but I said it was perfect and thanked the women profusely and returned to my hotel for one last night in paradise, including a messy “mixed” banh mi in my room.

Will I ever wear this dress? Unclear. Will I give it to a sister? Maybe. But regardless, I’m glad I had the experience—my great-grandmother on my mom’s side was a seamstress, and I’ve always been curious about what her world was like—and I’ve learned some valuable lessons for my next trip to the tailor. I’ve also learned, for the millionth time, that I’m much too particular to do anything in a rush or on the cheap. Refined longevity, that’s me.

Never not awkward