The Last

Rosa looked at herself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman she saw staring back at her. When had she last gotten so farpitzed? She felt the collar of her dress choking her, and the rest of the garment wasn’t much more comfortable: a tight-fitting black satin number made of layered black triangles trimmed in yellow plastic caution tape, designed by Simon Aagst, that season’s winner of Project Runway. Instead of the word “Caution,” Aagst had the words “Never Forget” printed on the tape, “because fashion is political,” he had said to Rosa at her fitting.

When Daniel at the Foundation for Holocaust Remembrance first told her she would need to wear something nice, Rosa imagined herself wearing her simple flowered blouse with the embroidered daisies on the cuffs from Kohl’s—a steal bought on clearance for $18.99—a pair of tan slacks, and her favorite light blue cardigan, despite its having a small hole in one of the armpits that she told herself she would get around to sewing one day. All that was quickly vetoed by Rich, the event’s costume coordinator, who paid Rosa a visit just a few weeks earlier to see what she had chosen. “Oh, no! No, no, no!” he had exclaimed in horror as he took in Rosa’s “ensemble.” Shoah chic. That was the mandate that Helen, the Foundation’s head honcho, had charged everyone with, and Rosa’s thrown together dowdy outfit definitely was not it.

“The theme of the evening isn’t sad old homeless lady. You’re not homeless, are you?” Rich asked. Rosa shook her head. Rich began rummaging through the rack of dresses he had brought with him, all from the latest designers. A pink satin dress with a large bow at the hip (“Too prom girl!”). A gown of chartreuse organza that overpowered Rosa’s tiny frame (“Too Academy Awards!”). Finally, they landed on the Aagst number. “Ooh, I like this. It’s very now. Very trendy. Very Fuck You...