On my first date with the man I would later marry, I wore a bright red and blue granny dress and brown sandals. (After all, we were barely out of the sixties). I still have the dress even though I no longer wear it. I don’t need a visual reminder, however, to recall the many other outfits I have worn on special occasions over the years. Women tend to remember these details, one of the reasons we are flocking to see Nora and Delia Ephron’s Love, Loss, and What I Wore. And make no mistake—this is a chick play. On the night we attended—a group of seven women—we counted two men in the audience. Two men who looked slightly bored and confused. How many men, after all, could remember what they were wearing on a special day? (To test my theory, I asked my husband what he wore on our first date. You know his answer).

Based on the book by Ilene Beckerman, this play proves you don’t need elaborate costumes or scenery to produce great theater, just good writing and acting. The five chairs on the stage are filled each night with a rotating cast of actresses. The evening we saw it, the cast included Rhea Perlman and her daughter Lucy DeVito, Katie Finneran, Tracie Ellis Ross, and Rita Wilson. The props were limited to delightful sketches of dresses hung on small wire hangers. Perlman, sitting next to the clothes rack, was the one who used these drawings to illustrate her monologue.

There was no interaction among the actresses, rather, each one spoke with emotion about the clothes she wore and how these garments echoed what was happening in her life. Often an item of clothing accentuated a life event—a wedding, divorce, illness, or death. If it seems strange that someone would remember what she was wearing at such a time, well, we’ve all been there. Oftentimes focusing on the material helps us survive the emotional.

While the play has its dark moments, mostly it is a laugh fest at our expense. When Finneran talks about wearing black, and why, given the choice, she would buy yet another black sweater, we think, what’s wrong with that? When Wilson talks about dressing like Madonna, we understand the urge to imitate our idols. (Although Baby Boomers were more likely to dress like Sandra Dee).

There were other funny moments—dressing room experiences, the torture of buying a bra—that hit home. But what will remain with us is the thought that remembering what we wore is a way of preserving our life experiences long after those clothes have been packed or given away. Except for certain items. Like a red and blue dress.

Love, Loss, and What I Wore
By Nora and Delia Ephron
Westside Theatre
407 West 43rd Street