Why Dolly Parton Meant So Much to Me

Aug 26

A little love letter to the woman who taught us to dream big, dress bigger and, above all else, be kind.

I didn’t know Dolly Parton.

I never met her. I never worked with her. I was never lucky enough to be in the same room as her.

And yet, hearing that she had died affected me far more profoundly than I ever expected.

It felt strangely personal.

Perhaps that is the magic of Dolly. For somebody who was one of the most famous women in the world, she somehow never felt distant. She felt familiar. Like somebody you knew. Somebody who might live down the road — albeit in a considerably more fabulous house, with bigger hair and significantly more rhinestones.

She felt a little like a neighbour.

And I think that is why the world feels strangely different without her in it.

An Angel Walking the Earth in Rhinestones

There are celebrities, there are icons, and then there are those very rare people who seem to become part of the fabric of our lives.

Dolly was one of those people.

Of course, there was the extraordinary talent. The voice. The songwriting. Jolene. 9 to 5. Coat of Many Colors. I Will Always Love You. Songs that somehow belong both to very specific moments and to everyone.

There was the humour. That wonderfully quick wit and ability to laugh at herself before anybody else had the chance.

And then there was the look.

Oh, the look.

The hair. The heels. The nails. The sequins. The fringe. The tiny waists. The extraordinary embellishment. And enough rhinestones to be visible from space.

As a costume designer and stylist, how could I not adore her?

But the older I’ve become, the more I’ve realised that what made Dolly truly extraordinary had very little to do with any of those things.

It was her kindness.

Underneath all that sparkle was somebody who appeared to possess a remarkably simple philosophy: be yourself, work hard, dream big and try to leave the world a little better than you found it.

And she actually lived it.

Dressing Like Dolly

Dolly understood something about clothes that I have always believed very strongly myself: what we wear can tell the world who we are before we ever say a word.

Her wardrobe wasn't simply fabulous for the sake of being fabulous. It was storytelling.

She created Dolly Parton.

And she never apologised for her.

Early in her career, people repeatedly suggested that she tone down her appearance. She didn't. Instead, the blonde hair got higher, the silhouettes became more exaggerated and the rhinestones multiplied.

There is something incredibly powerful in that.

In an industry forever trying to tell people what they should look like, Dolly decided what Dolly looked like.

That visual identity became one of the most recognisable in the world, but it never felt like fashion for fashion's sake. It felt like joy. It felt like humour. It felt like fantasy.

Most importantly, it felt completely authentic.

I was lucky enough to see some of Dolly's extraordinary wardrobe in Nashville at the Country Music Hall of Fame and Museum, and naturally I was completely fascinated. (Some of my photos are in a gallery at the end of this post)

Seeing those pieces in person is something else entirely. The enormous bust, and tiny waist!

You begin noticing the construction, the beading, the rhinestones, the embroidery, the proportions and all those tiny details that disappear when you're watching someone on a stage or television screen.

But standing in front of them, I remember thinking that these weren't simply stage costumes.

They were pieces of a character Dolly had spent a lifetime creating.

The current Dolly Parton: Journey of a Seeker exhibition brings together costumes alongside handwritten lyrics, instruments and objects from across her career — everything from rhinestone-covered shoes to costumes from 9 to 5. It celebrates not just the finished icon, but the determination behind her: a woman repeatedly told to change, who instead became more herself.

And perhaps that is one of the things I have always loved most about her.

Dolly never toned herself down to make other people comfortable.

But the Sparkle Was Never Just on the Outside

For somebody whose public image was deliberately larger than life, Dolly's generosity was remarkably real.

In 1995, she created Dolly Parton's Imagination Library, initially for children in her home county in Tennessee. Inspired by her father, who couldn't read or write, the idea was beautifully simple: send children free books from birth until they start school.

What began locally grew into something enormous.

Millions of children across the United States, Canada, Australia, Ireland and here in the UK have received books through the programme. More than 300 million books have now been gifted.

Just think about that for a moment.

Hundreds of millions of books.

Hundreds of millions of opportunities for a child to open a cover and disappear into another world.

And it wasn't an isolated act of generosity.

She supported families affected by devastating wildfires in Tennessee. She gave to children's healthcare and medical research. During the pandemic she donated $1 million towards research at Vanderbilt University Medical Center that contributed to the development of the Moderna vaccine.

Again and again, when Dolly had the opportunity to help, she helped.

There was no contradiction between the woman covered in rhinestones and the philanthropist giving millions away.

They were the same woman.

Perhaps that's the lesson.

You can love beautiful things and care deeply about serious ones.

You can be flamboyant and thoughtful.

You can be ambitious and generous.

You can take up space without taking anything away from somebody else.

You can sparkle — and still shine your light on other people.

“If You See Someone Without a Smile, Give ’Em Yours”

Since hearing the news, I keep coming back to one particular Dollyism:

“If you see someone without a smile, give ’em yours.”

It's such a tiny sentence.

But it says so much about why I think her death has affected people so deeply.

The world can feel incredibly divided and complicated. Dolly somehow managed to exist above so much of that noise.

She made people feel welcome.

She didn't seem particularly interested in telling people how they should live their lives. She simply encouraged them to live them — authentically, joyfully and with kindness.

There was room at Dolly's table.

And I think people felt that.

A Little Less Sparkle

Maybe that's why this loss feels different.

We haven't simply lost a singer.

We've lost one of those rare people who seemed to represent something good.

Someone who reminded us that enormous success didn't have to make you hard. That confidence didn't require arrogance. That being completely, unapologetically yourself didn't mean judging somebody else for being completely themselves.

Someone who could be clever without making other people feel stupid.

Powerful without making others feel small.

Glamorous without taking herself too seriously.

And successful beyond imagination while still remembering where she came from.

An angel walking around on Earth in rhinestones.

The world feels a little less sparkly without her in it.

But perhaps the loveliest thing about Dolly's legacy is that she left so much sparkle behind.

It's in the songs.

It's in those extraordinary costumes.

It's in the children opening books that arrived through their letterboxes because a little girl from the Smoky Mountains grew up and decided other children deserved the opportunity to dream.

And it's in the millions of people she somehow made feel as though they knew her.

Including me.

So perhaps the best way to remember Dolly isn't simply to be sad that she's gone.

Maybe we take a little bit of Dolly with us.

Wear the thing you were worried was too much.

Laugh at yourself.

Dream bigger.

Tell people you love them.

Give someone your smile.

And above everything else, be kind.

Because the world can always use a little more of that.

And maybe a few more rhinestones too.