The King of Three Veils (and How Not to Nuke Yourself Trying to Compete With His Fashion)

“Now, not everyone was happy that the Suliibruum plasma-based contingency crashed the party because frankly, Khadijah, it was hard for some of us human fashionistas to hold the line. Of course I never worry about such things because nobody can compete with me being the best-looking version of me, but it's hard for less secure humans when some beings come in with built-in costume changes.”

Captain Almira “Action” Jackson, now Banneker-Jackson in her marriage to my uncle, Admiral Benjamin Banneker-Jackson, was cracking him up while entertaining me about the most talked-about embassy party they had been through as part of the embassy conference they had gone to.

“One of the Ghacturian Kings decided to roll out and represent his planet, and you know how they don't really walk but rotate like tops, so he came with three sets of veils on that move at different rates. So he never had the same look twice. It was all depending on how he was turning and the way the breezes were blowing through the room – now they know how to get next to the air conditioning and catch some movement. And this is before he hit the dance floor and made us all look like amateurs on anything that goes in a circle – now he couldn't hang with your uncle on tap and lindy hopping and all that, and His Majesty cannot do any kind of square dance, but he just sat back there and looked good and watched and cheered.

“So then, one of those Mrs. Ambassadors who is about to have her husband lose his job had to make a comment and was overheard by His Majesty, who, being as majestic as he is, did not bother to respond, but found out she also can't stand your uncle and me and just borrowed me from your uncle and let himself be heard complimenting your uncle and I, how intelligent, how regal, how beautiful, how suited to our august ages, and what fine representatives of humanity we were because so secure in ourselves and not needing to compare and compete with others.

“So then Mrs. Ambassador discovered she could dish it out but can't take it and decided to go to her accommodations and come out with her nuclear-option fashion items – even her husband was shocked by the six-inch heels – but then everybody turned around so fast to see the second Suliibruum contingency coming in that she turned too fast and broke her ankles falling out of those things, and then the outfit was way too tight, so then she had a wardrobe malfunction, but she was glad nobody was really looking and then noticed I was looking and would have been even more upset but I just put my coat over her and started triage, because I'm not in competition with her, and second, I respect my husband as an admiral and ambassador at need and I'm not going to make him look stupid for being with me. Also, I am a professional. I know how to laugh at home!”

We all had a good laugh, indeed, since Mrs. Ambassador turned out to be all right – in 23rd century terms, a broken ankle is not a big deal, and she was able to walk into the parties on the later conference days. She did, however, leave the six-inch heels, tight dresses, and uppity attitude at home.

“Well, I mean, there was no need to nuke herself in a fashionista sense a second time!” Aunt Almira said. “Everybody at these things is a professional, but if you keep doing dumb stuff, everybody isn't going to make it home to laugh at you!”