“Strange. I was so sure it would be hoof… that is, hand-stitched, but it’s definitely not,” I commented.
I finally got Mary all to myself. The fashion encyclopedia heavily implied that human tribes have very stringent and rather different views on when it is permissible to disrobe, so I made it obvious we were not to be disturbed when Twilight showed up, asking us to participate in yet another dangerous expedition. She had Applejack and Rainbow Dash with her already, so I wasn’t particularly worried.
Now, while Mary was lounging on my fainting couch, after enduring what must have been an uncomfortable and exhausting session when I took every measurement of her body I could think of, I was studying her dress, which I finally got to examine in detail. Book knowledge is all well and good, but there is no substitute to turning an outfit inside out and looking at the seams.
Somehow, Mary managed to make me feel embarrassed to stare at her still clothed form openly, so only with a corner of my eye I could see the garments called “underwear,” covering the pale skin. I suppose it’s about time socks made a comeback, but the sheer number of layers of clothing humans wear seems excessive. Mary wears at least one less layer than the time period of this dress mandated, and it still feels excessive to me, and that semi-hard shell piece they call a “corset” looks more like a torture implement than clothing, just like the saddles of our great-grandmothers generation. I could never imagine it were even possible to be overdressed, the very idea boggles the mind, and yet…
“Why would it be?” Mary inquired. “Where it came from, hand stitching is not in that high of a demand.”
“It seems to be an Edwardian period English dress,” I explained. Having assimilated the entire encyclopedia, I’ve become quite the expert, sometimes I surprise myself. “The encyclopedia mentioned that this was the time when hand-stitching became the sign of a quality custom garment, was it wrong? Because it’s clearly one of a kind.” It fits her way too well.
“No, that’s about right,” Mary chuckled, “But it isn’t an authentic period dress. I’m originally from that period. The dress is just a copy of the same dress I wore back when I found my time machine. A tenth generation copy, to be exact, extra pockets and everything.”
“You can’t be serious, darling!” I exclaimed in horror. “It’s like you hardly ever wear anything else!”
“I actually don’t have a big wardrobe, I move around a lot,” Mary grinned at me. “But no, of course not. It’s just the dress I always wear whenever I travel somewhere unfamiliar. This particular look has one decisive advantage.”
“Does it?” I wondered. “Don’t get me wrong, Mary, it might not be the in thing, so to speak, but it suits you, and there is no worry about it being in good taste,” I tried to explain, doing my best not to offend. It might not be a masterpiece, but she cares more for her appearance than half the mares in Ponyville, the least I can do is encourage it. “It makes you look even more exotic than you already are, at least to ponies. And yet, I have no end of ideas that would be… better, to put it simply.”
“There are few times and places in my world where it’s in fashion,” Mary explained, “but there are no times and places I’m likely to end up in where it’s inappropriate.”
“I find it difficult to imagine why would this be such a problem,” I admitted. “Certainly, what’s good for a stage wouldn’t work for a date, but it shouldn’t be very hard to find something suitable for both, if you absolutely have to.”
“Most human clothing would be entirely inappropriate for anything just a hundred years before its manufacture,” Mary said, stretching out on the couch and propping her head with her hand. “It would certainly prevent me from being taken seriously. In my world, people who live fifty years away are merely less alien than ponies. Sometimes, the same people. Everything changes. And it’s never, ever, even remotely like everyone imagines it.”
“Ponies will be ponies,” I said. “I doubt humans won’t be humans.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Mary grinned. “But there’s a lot more to being human… Turns of phrase, the ways you shop, whether you should expect a gentleman to hold the door open for you… It takes years to adjust to all these things. I spent months wondering why pink is supposed to be a ‘girl color,’ while blue is a ‘boy color,’ for me it was always the other way round, if anything at all.”
“Who could even imagine such nonsense?!” I exclaimed. “Everypony has their own colors!”
“Humans usually come in a much smaller color palette than ponies,” Mary replied. “Only a few skin colors, a few natural hair colors, and while you can dye hair, it doesn’t work with skin… There’s a multitude of status and age distinctions which takes a native to fully grasp. If I go back to when this dress was in fashion, I’m not supposed to wear my hair down, for example. I can only get away with it because I’m exceptionally well preserved.”
“Oh come on, darling, you’re talking like an old mare,” I insisted. “You’re never too old to care about your hair, or wear it whichever way suits you best!”
“I’m at least ten years older than you, Rarity,” Mary commented with a wry grin. “Just don’t tell Pinkie, she’s trying to guess my birthday, I really want to know what kind of number she comes up with.”
“A-ha-ha, really. A lady never reveals her age,” I grinned back. “It’s not that I can really tell, but… ten years?” She clearly gives the impression of youth, judging by my limited exposure to the human models and historical figures in the encyclopedias. If anything, I thought she’d be a bit younger.
“Probably fifteen,” Mary confirmed. “Tachyon bursts slow down a lot of processes in soft tissues.”
Those references to concepts we don’t have sometimes make her more difficult to understand than Twilight. “Tachyon bursts?”
“Time machine, advanced physics, remember?” Mary smiled. “So I kind of look a lot younger than I should, even if I don’t have any real teeth anymore,” she added, smiling and for the first time showing off her teeth. Perfectly normal looking, I wonder what she meant. “Even with that, I’ve got nothing on ponies. By all appearances, Twilight’s mother still looks exactly the same as she did on the day you all got your cutie marks.”
“To your eye, maybe,” I conceded. “I’ll be the first to admit I would have trouble telling two griffons apart if they didn’t have color variations, but trust me, darling, years show prominently on a pony’s face if she doesn’t care for herself, and the same applies to you.”
“Never said it didn’t,” Mary replied, “But tracking what people think is appropriate is unfeasible, so I just settled on looking moderately alien wherever I go. What would you wear, if you didn’t know what year will be tomorrow?”
“Well, there are some things that never really go out of style…” I agreed. “But you’re staying with us for long enough, aren’t you?” I grinned. I think I can see where this is going. “Stop fishing for excuses, you’re going to be wearing one of Rarity’s originals, and that’s final!”
Mary giggled. “Sure, if you can convince me I’d look good with a saddle on my back.”
Of course, there’s no way I can just apply pony fashion to her, but I planned to make something really synthetic, anyway. “Don’t you worry about that, darling, and leave everything to me. I’ll make sure you’ll be the most beautiful and memorable human anywhere you go,” I grinned at her, trying not to let my eyes linger for too long. I have so many new ideas!
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she chuckled playfully. “I’m already pretty memorable here, don’t you think?”
“Far better to be memorable for being beautiful than for just being,” I brushed her off gently, “don’t you agree?”
Mary didn’t reply. Time to change the subject.
“Here, I think I’ve seen enough now, thank you,” I said, gently settling the dress next to her and turning my attention to her boots standing next to me on the floor. Leather, by the looks of it. And the smell. Not a material you see very often in Equestria, though I hear it’s all the rage in griffon lands. “You definitely need new boots,” I declared. “Out here in the country, it will do, but should you decide to visit Canterlot, wearing something’s dead skin will certainly cause comments.”
“It’s kind of difficult to replace leather for boots,” Mary said, standing up and starting to slide into the dress.
“Oh, I can imagine,” I replied, applying a tape measure to the heel of the boot. “Boots only really became a thing when synthetic fabrics were invented. But with the sophisticated look you have going on, it would be totally passe. Inappropriate, as you say. I don’t think any ready-made pony boots would fit you, though…” I added, fishing my own winter boot out of the wardrobe and putting it next to hers for comparison.
That can’t be right…
“I was wondering if you would notice,” Mary said with a slight grin, sitting down back onto the couch and studying my expression. “This is almost as bad as the sandwich.”
I always thought the protrusion on the front part of the boot called a “toe” was purely decorative, so that ponies in front of you get a better view of the boot. At least half my shoes don’t even have them, they’re on the way out. And here is a creature from another world, with her anatomy not matching anything on the entire continent, and while the proportions are different… the toe is where the rest of the foot goes. And while nopony knows much of anything about dragon culture, not even Spikey, I’m sure they’re not the type to wear boots.
“Tell me, Mary,” I said, not taking my eyes off the boot. “Am I… a popular character?” If there’s anything that could convince me I’m actually a character in a book, it’s got to be that boot. Someone, something… wrote the boots this way.
Mary replied instantly. “You’re one of the Mane Six, of course you are.” What a silly way to call our little group. I suppose, it feels natural for a human…
“Is our story illustrated?” I asked next.
“Its primary form is an animated serial movie,” Mary stated. “If I were to print every available picture of you, I think the pile would be taller than the town hall.”
Well, there’s no doubt at least some of them do me justice, then. “Are all of them… ahem… decent?” I said, staring into her eyes, and finding nothing, except a disconcerting twitch of the golden dragon eye. I’m still not sure whether to play this quirk up or mask it, this eye is so beautiful, and yet, the way it moves…
“Far from it,” Mary replied in a very flat tone.
“Perfect. I’m pretty sure I won’t end up as an old maid, then,” I grinned. “Not that I ever really doubted, but it’s nice to have such a confidence boost.”
“That’s… an unexpected reaction,” Mary giggled out, breaking into a wide, relieved smile.
“Why?” I smiled back. “If I can inspire even a human to view me in that way, I dare say I’ve got it made. I have no more cause to feel scandalized than Sapphire Shores.” Actually, I’d swoon, but Mary’s taking up the couch. “My only worry should be staying interesting and fabulous for the rest of my years!” I exclaimed, posing for the invisible artist and adjusting my hair. Remember that, humans, whoever you are! I certainly shall not leave you disappointed.
“Imagining themselves at the whim of some invisible author tends to… displease people,” Mary commented. “Twilight, at least, seems to hate the idea.”
“Working on alternative explanations, I expect?” I inquired. The poor girl has been absent-minded for most of the weekend. “That’s so Twilight, it’s like the Pinkie Sense Research all over again. Is that why she wanted us to go to the castle in Everfree?”
“I imagine so,” Mary said, picking up a boot and sliding it on. “Which is one of the reasons I’d rather not get noticed at all, to be honest. I’ve done enough damage already.”
“Oh, Mary, whatever do you mean?!” I exclaimed.
“There’s a peculiar balance between being written and just being, which I can’t say I fully understand,” she said, gently pulling the other boot out of my magic. I let it go. “It’s like everything has two reasons to exist at once. I have an intuition, that finding out the other reason will change Equestria forever,” she continued, zipping the boots up. “But I don’t know if that change will be for the better or worse. And it was me who started it, by asking Twilight a question,” she concluded, staring into my eyes with a serious expression.
“Friends asking questions could never be for the worse,” I insisted.
“Forgive me, Rarity, but ponies are far too liberal with this word,” she replied in a flat voice. “Friendship is not necessarily bidirectional. You have no idea how my mind works, or what do I even mean by the word. My representation of pony mentality is, likewise, extremely sparse. We really know next to nothing about each other, and won’t for quite a while.”
I could not come up with an answer to that.
Mary reached out with her finger and softly tapped me on the muzzle. “Which is precisely why I have no idea what will happen. This is not my story.”
And that was the moment when I finally understood what kind of dress Mary really needs. It really was an epiphany, of sorts.
It’s easy to assume that Twilight is introverted. I actually thought that myself when I first met her, with her running away from my boutique like that. But I saw the error pretty quickly. She isn’t introverted, just very socially inexperienced and anxious, which has been waning with time. The poor girl spent most of her life caring about nothing but magic, it comes with the territory. But she thinks nothing about public speaking on the spur of the moment, taking the reins of a large group of ponies and suddenly ordering all of them around, it comes naturally to her. Give her advance warning, and she will worry herself into a coiffure emergency in minutes, but don’t, and she will do just as well, if not better. It was easy to devise a design that draws on her beauty, because she is not actually hiding it, she just doesn’t know it’s there.
Mary, on the other hoof, for all her scholarly similarities, her propensity for lecturing, the nearly identical awkwardness, really is an introvert. I remember how she managed to single out ponies when the entire party was trying to ask her questions, answering each as if she were alone in the room with the one asking. She even managed to do this with Pinkie, who bounces around the room so fast that it’s impossible to monopolize her attention. What Mary needs isn’t a dress that will make her the star of the party, oh no. For humans, a dress isn’t just a means of expression, but also a necessity, as basic as the coat of hair that we take for granted. So she would politely thank me, and then try her best to avoid wearing it, forever.
Rainbow Dash doesn’t like to wear dresses, because she thinks it conflicts with her rough and tumble image, which she cares about so much, that she will do her utmost to convince you otherwise. Applejack doesn’t like to wear dresses, because she thinks that it’s a pointless, worthless luxury. But that did not stop them from enjoying the dresses I made them for the Gala, which at least saved that miserable affair from being a complete loss for me.
And here we have Mary, who needs to wear clothing just for baseline comfort, and would still refuse it, because it attracts attention. Just how many mares across Equestria share this attitude? There’s Fluttershy right here, but that’s the trouble with introverts, you don’t notice them, they notice you. No, a human among ponies will never be short of attention. What she really needs is a garment that will command it when she needs it, let her blend into the scenery, and yet lock the eyes of whoever she really needs to talk to when she’s ready. It’s a very different approach, instead of charming entire rooms, it’s about charming one on one, striking straight at the heart from the shadows.
I shall need to remember everything I know about enchantment and cloth with variable properties. This will be a challenge, but if I can pull this off… Fame and fortune comes and goes, and every season brings new fashion. But that is the sort of thing that ensures a designer’s place in history, an idea as fundamental as the button. A means to bring the gift of fashion to ponies who previously shied away from it.
This, my human friend, is much, much bigger than either of us.