CLASSMATES LAUGHED AT HER “OLD” DRESS AT REUNION BECAUSE IT LOOKED UNWORN — BUT THEY WERE STUNNED WHEN THE LEGENDARY FASHION DESIGNER ARRIVED AND KNEELED IN FRONT OF THE DRESS THAT “MONEY CANNOT PAY FOR”
THE NIGHT OF THE RECEPTION
It was St. Claire Academy’s Grand Alumni Homecoming night. This was the school of the rich, the politicians, and the artists. Ten years had passed since they graduated, and this night was a contest of arrogance.

Everyone was wearing glittering gowns. Gucci, Prada, Chanel. Every neck was full of diamonds. Every wrist had a Rolex or Cartier.

In the middle of the sea of ​​glitter, Mia arrived.

Mia was quiet in High School. She was a scholar, the daughter of a seamstress. Now, she was a Museum Curator in Europe, but her classmates didn’t know it. All they knew was that Mia was poor.

When Mia entered the ballroom, the music in her classmates’ minds fell silent. It was replaced by whispers and laughter.

Mia was wearing a long cream-colored dress. It didn’t sparkle. There were no sequins. There was no big brand logo. The fabric looked old, the color was a bit faded, and there were embroideries that looked like they were made during the kopong-kopong era.

Tiffany, the “Queen Bee” of their batch, greeted her. Tiffany was wearing a bright red gown studded with Swarovski crystals.

“Oh my God,” Tiffany shrieked, covering her mouth as she laughed. “Mia?! Is that you? I thought the waitress or the cleaner got in the wrong time!”

Tiffany’s entire group laughed.

“Mia, this is Alumni Homecoming, not a Halloween Party,” added Tiffany’s assistant, Bea. “Why are you wearing a ghost costume? Where did you get that? At Ukay-Ukay? Or did you dig it out of your dead grandmother’s trunk?”

Mia bowed. She was used to their bullying. “This came from my grandmother. This dress is special.”

“Special?” Tiffany snapped. “Read what it’s called! Look at my dress, Mia. It was made by the famous French Designer Monsieur Pierre Dubois. It cost 500,000 Pesos. And yours? It’s probably only 50 pesos at the market!”

Tiffany approached Mia and patted the fabric of her dress.

“It’s old. It smells old. You’re ruining the aesthetic of our party. Can you just go home? We might get infected by your baduy.”

Mia wanted to cry, but she held it back. She knew the value of what she was wearing, but she also knew that people who judge value based on price alone would not understand.

THE COMING OF THE MARK
While they were humiliating Mia, the big doors of the ballroom suddenly opened.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the host announced. “Please welcome our Special Guest of Honor, the most famous Fashion Designer in the world who is currently vacationing in the Philippines… Monsieur Pierre Dubois!”

Everyone applauded. The women went wild. Pierre Dubois is the god of fashion. With just one look, you can become famous or pass away.

Tiffany was overjoyed. “Oh my God! Pierre! He designed my gown! (Even though he just bought it at the mall and it was a Ready-to-Wear collection).”

Tiffany ran towards Pierre as he walked down the red carpet.

“Monsieur Pierre! Monsieur Pierre!” Tiffany shouted. “Look at me! I am wearing your creation! Isn’t it beautiful?”

Pierre stopped. He looked at Tiffany. He looked at the gown.

The Designer frowned.

“Mademoiselle,” Pierre said in a stiff French accent. “That is from my Summer Collection 2015. Mass produced. There are 10,000 copies of that all over the world. It is… ordinary.”

Tiffany was stunned. She felt embarrassed. Her “exclusive” gown, was it just ordinary?

“And besides,” Pierre added. “It’s too tight at the waist. You’re ruining the silhouette of my design.”

The other guests laughed softly. Tiffany blushed with embarrassment.

Pierre was about to leave because he was bored with the party, when suddenly…

His eyes caught Mia.

Or rather, his eyes caught Mia’s dress.

Pierre’s eyes widened. The wine glass he was holding fell.

CRASH!

He ignored the broken glass. He quickly walked—almost ran—to the corner where Mia was standing.

Pierre pushed the people aside. “Move! Get out of there!”

When he arrived in front of Mia, he did something that shocked everyone.

The legendary designer knelt on the floor.

Slowly, his hands shaking, Pierre touched the hem of Mia’s “old” dress. It was as if he was touching a sacred relic.

THE REVELATION OF THE WEALTH
“S-Sir Pierre?” Tiffany asked. “Why are you kneeling on that rag? That’s dirty!”

“SHUT UP!” Pierre shouted. His voice echoed throughout the hall. “You know nothing about art!”

Pierre looked up at Mia. There were tears in the designer’s eyes.

“Mademoiselle,” Pierre whispered. “Is this… is this ‘The Ghost of Paris’?”

Mia nodded and smiled. “Yes, Monsieur. This is it.”

Pierre stood up and took the microphone from the stage. He faced the shocked guests.

“Listen up, you ignorant people!” Pierre began.

He pointed to Mia’s dress.

“You call this a rag? This dress was sewn in 1920 by my teacher, the Grandmaster of Fashion Coco Chanel, for the Princess of Monaco.”

Everyone gasped. 1920? Chanel? Princess?

“This fabric is made of Rare Silk that no longer exists because the silkworm that makes it is extinct. The embroidery? That is pure Silver Threads and Micro-Diamonds sewn by hand over a period of six months.”

Pierre approached Mia and adjusted her collar.

“The whole world thought this dress had burned down during World War II. It was a legend. It was called ‘L’Fantome de Paris’ or The Ghost of Paris. Because it didn’t shine from a distance, but when the right light hit it…”

Pierre signaled the lighting director. “Spotlight her! Dim the lights!”

The lights in the ballroom went out. Only one spotlight hit Mia.

And there… miracle.

The “faded” dress suddenly changed. The Silver Threads and Micro-Diamonds hidden in the fabric caught the light.

The dress looked like moonlight. It wasn’t as painful to the eyes as Tiffany’s. It had an ethereal glow. It was like a fairy who had come down to earth. The dress seemed alive.

Everyone was speechless. This was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen in their entire lives.

“How much is that?” asked a billionaire guest, interested in buying.

Pierre laughed.

“How much?” Pierre asked. “Tiffany’s gown is 500,000 pesos. This entire hotel is probably 1 Billion pesos.”

He looked at Mia.

“But the dress this woman is wearing? It is Priceless. There is no price. Even if you sell all your belongings in this room, you can’t buy a single sleeve of that dress. This is History. This is Art.”

THE FALL OF THE QUEEN
Pierre turned to Mia.

“Mademoiselle, how did you get this?”

“My grandmother,” Mia replied. “She was the Princess’s personal caregiver during the war. The Princess gave it to him before she died as a thank you for saving her life.”

“An honor,” Pierre said, kissing Mia’s hand. “You are the most beautiful woman tonight. Not because of the dress, but because you carried it with dignity even though people with no class were scorning you.”

Pierre turned to Tiffany, who was already blushing with shame and envy.

“And you,” Pierre said to Tiffany. “Your dress is expensive, but your attitude is cheap. You represent everything wrong with fashion. You buy expensive things to cover your cheap attitude.”

“From now on,” Pierre declared. “You are not allowed to buy anything I make. I will blacklist you from every fashion house in Paris. I do not want my brand to be tarnished by a woman like you.”

The crowd murmured. Tiffany was laughed at. The “Queen Bee” became the “Queen of Shame.”

Tiffany ran out of the ballroom crying, the heel of her shoe breaking in her haste—a final humiliation.

THE REAL VICTORY
Pierre offered Mia his arm.

“Mademoiselle Mia,” the designer said. “There’s a Global Fashion Gala in Paris tomorrow. I want you to be my Muse. I want to show the world the return of the Ghost of Paris.”

“But… I don’t have the money to buy tickets,” Mia said.

“I’ll answer everything,” Pierre smiled. “Private jet. Hotel. And I’ll pay you $1 Million just to walk that runway.”

Mia smiled. She looked at her classmates who had previously bullied her, who were now looking at her with envy and admiration.

“Thank you, Pierre. I accept.”

Mia and Pierre walked out of the ballroom. The crowd moved aside to make way for them.

Mia’s classmates were left in their “glittering” dresses, which suddenly looked cheap and worthless compared to the simple woman wearing history.

The

That saying: True class doesn’t shout, it whispers. And true value is not found in the price, but in the story.

END