Then came the pièce de résistance . Celia arrived at the royal banquet wearing a dress that was a living mathematical proof of Pi. The bodice was a perfect circle. The skirt was an infinite, ruffled spiral of silk ribbons, each ribbon a different shade of blue, calculated to the thousandth decimal place. It rustled with the sound of 314 calculations per second. It was breathtaking, beautiful, and utterly, screamingly frivolous in spirit, if not in name.
“No reason,” she said. “That’s what makes it good.” frivolousdressorder
One day, she wore a dress whose skirt was a perfect, rigid cone. “It’s a study in acute angles, Lord Pence,” she explained. “Nothing frivolous about a triangle.” He grunted his approval. Then came the pièce de résistance
“Joy in clothing is a gateway vice,” he would mutter, confiscating a hat with a single, lonely feather. “Next, you’ll be wanting pockets shaped like animals.” The skirt was an infinite, ruffled spiral of
Lord Pence stared, his shears trembling in his hand. “That... that spiral has no practical application!”