In an attempt to capture the full wedding dress experience, my mom and I went to a fancy schmansy wedding salon in Pasadena. To give credit where credit is due, the saleswoman was awesome. She and I were very clear on what would work on me and the two dresses she pulled when she got an idea of what I liked were excellent choices. I especially enjoyed how she coerced me out on the floor to stand on a pedestal in this giant frothy dress that make me look like an albino big bird. What a great dress!
My favorite dress was not the big bird dress, or the one that made me look like a slender column. My favorite dress was one-shouldered and draped in tulle. She clipped the trailing veil and the flower in my hair and I looked positively bridal. I know that everyone would say that I looked beautiful. I even didn’t mind the rhinestones hiding out in the center of a few small flowers around the neckline. Too much for a garden wedding, yes, but not too, too much when your groom is in a tux.
There were only two problems: it didn’t feel fun, or celebratory, and I didn’t see how I could dance around in it. It’s the kind of dress that is perfect for standing around and looking fetching but not so good if you want to jump up and hug the hell out of someone. And it was $2800. That would make it $2,300 more than wedding dress #1. As my mom said, You can have a lot of fun for $2,300. I have to agree.
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Driven perhaps by the same instinct that sends penguins across Antarctica, I headed to David’s Bridal to try on one specific dress. Why did I think this dress would work? I have no idea. But it did. Bridal consultants admired my accessorizing: grey and black striped socks and silver booties. My feeling is, if the dress can handle some stripped socks, you’re in good shape. To top it off, it’s on sale. I almost bought it then and there. But then what about dress shopping with my mom? And the ladies? Isn’t this supposed to take longer? Am I too efficient? Aren’t I supposed to see my transformed self in the mirror and break down into tears? Somehow I thought there was more to this.
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One of my students got engaged about a week before me. He shared the process with me a little before he did it—talked about asking her parents, getting the ring, etc. It was really fun and I was so excited for him. I had no idea that I would be engaged a week later. And I was so excited to tell him! So we just checked in—and we’ve both set dates—in June! We’re not only engagement buddies, we’re wedding buddies as well! I love that we can share the process and are on such a similar timeline. His choices aren’t my choices (they are getting married at the university—which I just can’t do) but they are good ones for them. And it’s not often that you get to bond with a student over the fact that David’s Bridal is having a sale.
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My traditional man originally said he wanted to wear a tux and wanted his men in black suits. I felt a little disappointed. I think I showed him a photo of someone looking very fetching and modern in a pale grey linen suit with a vest. He wasn’t feeling it. And I was feeling a bit reluctant about the black suits.
But then I had this revelation a few days ago. People used to wear their best clothes to a wedding—why? I am beginning to understand. I think it was not to impress the guests, to be photographed well, or to indicate your family’s wealth. I am beginning to understand that people dressed up because getting married is serious stuff. You are pledging your life to someone and—surprise!—you wear formal clothes to honor the importance and the gravity of this event. Somehow in this secular world where tradition is no longer a given, everything has become so un-tethered that it feels like I am doing archeology to discover the meaning of the simplest wedding-related things. I dress up to honor other people’s weddings—why wouldn’t I dress up to honor my own?
Posted in weddings
I am riding the flower budget with an iron fist. I will have a bouquet; the man I love will have a matching boutonnière. You know who else will have a bouquet/ boutonniere? No one. If someone else wants a bouquet—or a boutonniere—they can get married themselves.
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I told my ladies that they are not debutants and this is not a ball–no chiffon or satin required. I said I’d like them to incorporate this one particular color somehow, and if they were feeling floral, that was awesome but not required. And ideally I wanted them to feel sexy and festive, so to err on that side on things. I am feeling good about the bmaid dresses. I never want to think about that again.
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I was at Sundance watching a film with the man I love’s brother, who is at school nearby. We talked a little about the wedding during dinner–he’s a groomsman–and the film we saw was, funnily enough, about a wedding as well. He leaned over to me during one scene featuring the bridal party in attractive, rather expensive grey tailoring, and said, Nice suits.
Posted in family
So my ladies are worried. I told them that the man I love is probably wearing a tux and tie and his merry men are probably wearing black suits. And then they got concerned that the perfectly lovely dresses they were looking at weren’t formal enough. I said they were—and then I got worried about it. Maybe it was bad to have ladies in pretty dress with men in suits? Maybe they should be more formal?
Posted in dresses
So I have a new fixation: dresses for my bridesmaids. Here’s what they will not be wearing: bridesmaid dresses. You know the ones: they are satin, possibly to the floor, and feel very much like a bad prom, just less fun. No thanks. Didn’t enjoy wearing them myself, certainly not going to make anyone spend $300 to look awful.
The funny thing is, we all got sort of confused by being off the grid on this one. At first I didn’t want to impose any bridesmaid dress guidelines because…I don’t know why. I wanted them to read my mind and get all Zen master about my color sense?
So in an effort to get clear on myself, I found myself trolling fashion sites and putting together a list of about 50+ links to dresses. It’s like crazy cakes in my head. I like fashion to begin with—and then I “have to” look at all those beautiful dresses. Once again, there may have to be an intervention.
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While buying a bridal magazine today, a woman asked me if I was getting married. I said I was, and got a stupid grin on my face. By the time I answered her questions, and she got to the, Oh so you’ll be a June bride, I was in an embarrassing daze of happiness. It is unbelievable how excited I am to marry this man—when even talking to a stranger about makes me so happy.
Posted in magazines
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