The Republic of Estonia turned 98 this week, with all the trappings of the anniversary of a modern state – a parade, lots of speeches, some protests and one big and many smaller parties. Countries and nations are complex and complicated constructs (and they are constructs, no matter how much some would have you believe that the ideal of the Estonian state was always there, a glimpse on the wall of Plato’s cave, and that an essence of Estonianness runs in our veins, making us serious and song-loving). We tend to reduce them to stereotypes or at least simplify considerably, because this is the only way we can cope with the amount of information out there.

Estonia is usually portrayed as one of the two things: it can be the place of peace and quiet, of unspoiled nature, forests and wetlands, wooden houses, people of few words with a profound connection to the land, an almost shamanic Finno-Ugric romanticism mixed with the peasant idyll. Or it’s a place of change and innovation, of Skype and Transferwise and e-government, fast reforms, sound public finances and hipster-NGOs. There is some truth to both of these pictures, but they are of course far from complete.

The Art Museum in Kadriorg doesn’t fit either of these narratives. With its baroque architecture, gilded interior, colourful walls, manicured lawns, flowerbeds and hedges, it’s European rather than Estonian. And even that impression is misleading, as the whole complex was built during the time when the area that was to become Estonia was ruled by the Russian Empire. Started by Peter the Great, the palace complex of Kadriorg with the surrounding park and rose gardens was named after his wife Catherine the First and became a beloved holiday spot for the tsars. Not necessarily something we like to dwell on (or do too much, if we have a masochistic streak).

Today, the walls are covered with art and even that is foreign, mostly early European and Russian painting. Families come with children to enjoy the fancy interiors, newlyweds come to walk in the garden, tourists stop by, if they have already done the mandatory tour in the Old Town. It’s one of the places that local Estonian-speakers and Russian-speakers have in common, making it – at least for me – one of the most hopeful spaces in the not-yet-100-year-old republic. We have, I think, claimed this strange slice of imperial splendour back from history.

When I was looking for the location to photograph the dress that I wore for the Independence Day Reception, this seemed the perfect solution.* Like the palace, this is not a very Estonian dress: it’s not quiet, inspired by nature and prettily flowing in the breeze. It’s also not modern and cool and minimal. I guess it was pretentious to wear a sparkly lilac dress and a tiara and I believe there was some failure of that pretension, too – not unlike in the past ambitions of this place. But despite our scorn for pretension, it can be a force for good: sometimes, pretention is what makes things become more than we thought they could be. Estonia isn’t only woods and wifi. And neither am I.

*A neobaroque building close by serves as the residence for the Estonian President, the host of the yearly reception.

Dress by Aldo Järvsoo, tiara by Tanel Veenre, make-up and hair Zoja at Glow, photos by Caroline Sada. With heartfelt thanks to Aleksandra Murre, the lovely ladies and the security gentleman at the Kadriorg Art Museum, who let me play there.