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I stared at the dress. It was gorgeous. Elegant but not over the top. The kind of thing I would have dismissed as impractical with the slit in the skirt. She tilted her head, studied the dress, and put it back.

We moved to another section. She pulled a black cocktail dress, held it out, and scrutinized.

“This is ridiculous,” I said, the frustration bubbling up before I could stop it. “My father never had to deal with any of this. No one ever told him to soften his image or wear something more approachable. He could show up to events in the same three suits and no one said a word. He didn’t have to think about whether he was showing too much skin or not enough.”

Cleo’s expression shifted to something sympathetic. “You’re right. It’s completely unfair.”

“But I still have to do it.” I sighed.

“Unfortunately, yes.” She put the black dress back on the rack and pulled out another navy one instead. “Men have like three speeds. Suit, khakis and a collared shirt, and living in their own filth. No one expects anything more from them. But women? We’re supposed to be put together at all times. Hair done, makeup perfect, outfit carefully curated to send exactly the right message without looking like we tried too hard.” She shrugged. “It’s bullshit. But it’s also reality.”

I hated that she was right. It was bullshit I was standing in a designer boutique trying to find something that would make people see me as warm and approachable when my qualifications should have been enough.

“Fine,” I said. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Cleo’s smile was triumphant. “That’s the spirit.”

Cleo led me to a fitting room with floor-to-ceiling mirrors on two sides. Plush seating. Soft lighting that somehow made everything look better. A button on a touch pad gave you lighting options. Damn. I never considered purchasing anything with lighting options in mind.

A fashionista, I was not.

She hung up the dresses we’d selected. There were five in total. Each one made me want to break out in hives.

“I’ll be right outside,” she said. “Come out when you’re ready and we’ll see what works.”

I stared at the dresses after she left. A purple one with long sleeves and a deep V-neck that I did not like, but she told me it would look amazing on me. A boring champagne-colored one I chose but she’d already vetoed.

I reached for the black one first. Black was safe. Professional. Black was what I always wore when I had to wear something formal.

I slipped it on and immediately knew it wasn’t right. It was beautiful, but it was severe. Exactly the kind of thing that would reinforce every ice-queen comment floating around the internet.

I stepped out of the fitting room anyway. Cleo’s face told me everything I needed to know before she even opened her mouth.

“It’s stunning,” she said carefully. “But it’s not what we’re going for.”

I almost laughed. “Fair enough.”

I went back in and tried the purple next. The color was rich and deep, and the long sleeves meant I wouldn’t feel exposed. I zipped it up and turned to look at myself in the mirror.

It was better. But something still felt off. I walked out and Cleo tilted her head, considering.

“The color is gorgeous on you. But I think we can do even better.”

The next one had an open back that had me very concerned I’d be flashing ass crack.

“Nope,” I said, walking out. “Absolutely not.”

Cleo laughed. “Not a fan of the open back?”

“I feel like I forgot to put on half the dress.”

“Fair. Next.”

The royal blue was the last one. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. It was so feminine. So not like anything I ever wore. I slid my hand over the silk chiffon before slipping it on. The bold color made my pale skin look almost luminous.

It was strapless, with a bodice that gathered and folded across my waist before twisting into a series of elegant pleats. The fabric didn’t cling so much as skim, following the curves of my body instead of highlighting those areas I was a little self-conscious about. The long A-line skirt fell all the way to the floor.

There was nothing fussy about it. No beading. No lace. No unnecessary embellishment. It didn’t need it. When I turned in front of the mirror, the skirt shifted around my legs. It made me look exactly like the woman everyone seemed to think I was supposed to be.