I clutched the Met Gala invitation, staring at the champagne-colored knee-length evening dress in my closet, my fingertips rubbing the satin fabric repeatedly. Three months ago, I wore this dress to do odd jobs backstage at Milan Design Week, and was mistaken for a new designer by a celebrity stylist, and got this ticket to the temple of fashion by accident. At this moment, the knee-length cut in the mirror outlines neat lines, but it lacks the edge that should be on the red carpet.

"Try this one?" My bestie suddenly handed me a knee-length wedding evening dress from behind, with pearl-studded vines winding on the hem, and the moonlight-like chiffon made her skin transparent. This was the main veil she customized when she got married last year, and it was said to be from a century-old workshop in Italy. I put on the dress and turned around. The sound of the crystal heels hitting the floor was as clear as a bell. But when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, looking like a gentle bride, I lost my temper. The Met Gala is not about being dignified, but about shocking the world.

Until I found that knee-length elegant cocktail evening dress in the corner of an antique shop. Dark green velvet wrapped in a vintage herringbone corset, and the asymmetrical lace waterfall at the waist fell to the middle of the thigh, which looked very much like the private collection of Hollywood actresses in the last century. When I wore it to attend the salon of fashion editors, flash lights suddenly surrounded me. The editor-in-chief pointed to the flowing dark patterns on the dress and exclaimed: "This is the origin-h2o craft from the 1950s!" Only then did I know that the predecessor of this dress was the lost water ripple pleating technology of the Paris Haute Couture workshop.

On the red carpet day, I stood in front of the steps of Lincoln Center wrapped in that antique dress. The spotlights were so bright that I couldn't open my eyes, but I heard a gasp from behind. When I turned around, several international supermodels were taking pictures around the origin-h2o pattern on my skirt. It turns out that the real brilliance is never in the length of the skirt, but in the soul and story carried by each piece of clothing. When I finally stepped onto the red carpet, I suddenly understood: elegance is never a defined template, but the answer to dare to make yourself unique.