"Vivid Memories of the Future": The Bare Midriff and Me

The Vivid Memories of the Future collection was a tribute to couturier Madeleine Vionnet

(1876-1975), who is credited with introducing the bare midriff. Madame Vionnet's bias-cut clothes, or cutting on the diagonal, dominated haute couture in the 1930s. They accentuated body lines and curves, and they draped softly. (From Vionnet Paris)

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Four of us, old friends from different countries and residences, took the ferry away from the bustle and clamor of Lisbon to Almada for a dinner celebrating the birthdays of two of us that day at Atira-te ao Rio, a seafood restaurant overlooking the Tejo River.

Sitting outside by the water's edge, the sun dipped below the reddish orange of the 25 de Abril Bridge. Water lapped against the rocks below us, and its suggestive smell whetted our appetites.

We draped scarves round our necks and the restaurant's plush gray blankets round ourselves to stave off the cool of the evening. While paying the bill, our waiter told us that it was his birthday also. Twenty-two!

"We'll do shots," he said, returning with glasses of ginja for the five of us.

Across from us, another table of women gave us a thumbs-up. The woman at the end sitting nearest us wore an electric blue midriff top. We already had spotted several midriff tops on the hilly trek from the ferry to the restaurant.

So, bare midriffs are back. Such is the reassurance of the cyclical fashion industry. This sartorial concept is nearly 100 years old, first appearing in the 1930s.

Then, it hit me. I realized that I was looking at the young me, the young us. When going out dancing in New York, discos were sweaty hot. A cover-up was a hassle because you either had to hold it when dancing or ask someone to hold it for you. And, most importantly, it spoilt the look of the outfit.

Our fellow diners stopped by our table before leaving.

"We think you're cool," they said.

"And, we, you," we returned the acknowledgement.

We had a quick exchange. They were at the University of Lisbon and only had three days left. They were from New York; California; Washington state, and Bowdoin College. To the latter, I said that I went to Williams College, another small college in the woods with a huge legacy, so the sister need not say more.

I had forgotten that Bowdoin's first woman president (2023- ), Safa Zaki, had served as dean of faculty at Williams and had attended the American University in Cairo, where I did my junior year abroad.

Cairo is a special place for me. For the other table, Lisbon probably will be the same.

My friends and I had met through Johns Hopkins School for Advanced International Studies (SAIS) in Washington, D.C. None of us live in the country of our birth. We are Japanese, American and French living in Campo de Ourique, Lisbon; the Beiras between Coimbra and Viseu; Rome, Italy, and a village outside Toulouse, France.

The tables mirrored each other. It felt comforting to meet those who would be taking our seats in another cycle.

"Fifty years from now, you'll be us," I said.

Some things do not change. Under the table, I had slipped off my right black cowboy boot with its decorative hand-stitching along the shaft and vamp. The boot had chafed my foot while looping our way through the city centre to the glass Boca do Vento elevator, which zoomed up 50 meters (164 feet).

On exiting the lift, we caught a side-on view of the open-armed Christ the King statue inspired by the Christ monument in Rio de Janeiro. The statue gave us reason to pause and me to give my foot relief by standing still.

To the end, I am choosing style over comfort.