
It is a crisp shirt dress in white and blue stripes — the kind of cotton that crackles faintly when you sit, which is the sound of money behaving itself. Collar, button placket, the implication of a belt: nautical without committing to the yacht. Jo-Ellen wore this register all over Atlanta’s quieter scenes, the ones where the Porsha-era theatrics weren’t invited, and frankly that’s where the real wives live anyway (three husbands, two foundations, one very tired pool boy).
You may acquire it. Wear it to a lunch where someone else is paying, which is the only lunch worth taking. Into the Vault →
