I can't sleep. I had a weird day. I think I want to write a little bit and talk about it.
My mother called me this morning and said that we should go wedding dress shopping. I said sure, but inwardly, I had mixed feelings. I was glad to go and to have a chance to check out several places, but I was dreading the experience simultaneously. I know this is not the reaction I am supposed to be having. I should be excited to find my wedding dress. I predicted it long ago; the search for the wedding dress was going to be frustrating, because I hate almost all that I've seen on other brides. Perhaps I set myself up for failure. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy, right? Surely at these bridal salons, they carry a wider range of dresses than just the strapless, beaded-bodice ballgowns or the fit and flare mermaid styles that lace up the back, right? So I set out with a mixture of hope and apprehension.
My dad, who was with us, sensed my unease. He suggested lunch before I had the dress-blitz at the various bridal salons on the west side. So we had lunch at an awesome little tea parlor. A good cup of earl grey helped steel me for the rest of the day.
We headed to a giant bridal store that felt like a warehouse. As soon as we walked in, a lady was incredibly sweet to us. Even though we didn't have an appointment, she insisted it was fine and kept telling me that I was going to be "spoiled" by the attention of a personal bridal consultant. So we were invited to browse while we waited to meet with our consultant. We wandered the store, but I was immediately overwhelmed. The store is huge, and there are many, many rooms full of frothy, beaded, huge confections of gowns. I found myself not wanting to dig. This wasn't like going thrifting; I wasn't excited as I pulled out gown after gown with gaudy, poorly-sewn on beading. Everything seemed like it was strapless, or overdone in some way: pretty, but then they ruined it by adding just a little too much lace or a giant beaded buckle or a huge train.
I decided to have a seat and wait to meet with my consultant, who could perhaps help find things that fit what I did want: vintage-y, off-white, preferably with interesting lace, not beaded, not strapless, floor length but no train that would drag on the ground since I'm getting married outside. As for straps vs. sleeves, I was open. Even the fullness of the skirt was something I was willing to wait and see, though I envisioned something more streamlined.
Our consultant was chipper and petite. I told her what I liked, sort of what I was looking for, and she basically flat out said, "Well, we don't have anything like that." But she pulled several dresses for me anyway. I was grateful to hole up in the bridal room and have things brought to me so I didn't have to dig through the racks.
I tried on lots of dresses. Many of them were pretty in and of themselves, but putting them on, they didn't seem like me. Many of the ones at the first place were super small, though, where I couldn't even zip them, or could barely breathe if I did manage to get them closed. I felt like Bridal Barbie; stiff but covered in pouffy layers of tulle and silk and lace. My mom was frustrated because she felt like she couldn't get a sense of how things looked when I couldn't even get them closed. Her being frustrated made me feel awkward in what was already an awkward situation. It was basically my mom and I and this chipper salesgirl, me in a bra that has actually become too large for me (apparently I have lost weight?) and that would bunch out beneath the too-tight dresses. PS: I am not a large girl. If these were their sample sizes, then their regular clientele is apparently related to Twiggy.
Also, whenever I told anybody my wedding date, they acted like I was so last minute. "Well, these dresses take 5-8 months to get in, so you really should be ordering now." That made me feel bad about myself. Bad bride. You should have been dress shopping in November and December. I'm thinking "I didn't even have a wedding date set until mid-November, and then I was finishing Ph.D applications and worrying about passing my recital qualifying jury."
There were more bad bride moments. Although everybody at the places I went was extremely cheerful and willing to pull lots of different styles for me, nothing really fit my initial specifications, and I started feeling more and more embarrassed: for not liking the typical styles, for having to parade out to those little platforms and stand and be scrutinized, for the salesladies complimenting my figure and telling me all those flattering things about how the dresses looked made for me even off the rack, for not taking more joy in this process. I guess I'm more modest than I realized? Seeing myself in curve hugging mermaid gowns made me uncomfortable. Walking with a huge swath of fabric in my wake made me feel gangly and awkward (aka "gawkward"), like when I got my first pair of combat boots in high school and teetered around on their four-inch platforms, but tried to act like I could walk in them just fine.
The salesladies would hand me a strapless dress and say "Now, we can add a sleeve to this in alterations." They would hand me a dress with a huge train and say, "We can bustle this up so it won't trail when you walk." They would hand me a dress dripping with beading and say, "Look how pretty it sparkles." I said, "I'm hoping to have the bling be in my jewelry and keep the dress less sparkly" and they would say "Well, don't do a lot of jewelry with any of these. These dresses already have a lot going on." I wanted to scream "I know! That's why I wanted something without beading in the first place!" I tried to take their advice to heart and focus on the overall look of the dress. I started having thoughts in my head like "Well, this has about 1,000 sequins on it, but maybe I could sit at home with a seam ripper and remove every last one so that just the lace is left. Would it look ok without all the sparkles?"
Listen, I came to girl world late. I grew up preferring my brother's legos to the insulting pastel "girl legos" my parents bought me. I had Barbies that I only played with when friends came over and wanted to play with dolls. I didn't grow up envisioning my wedding day, picturing myself in a frothy white dress, dancing the waltz for my first dance, with a five-tiered round white cake and Canon in D to take me down the aisle.
I jumped in to bride world in 2009 when I got engaged. I started looking on wedding blogs, and I got excited. I saw that not every bride had that cookie-cutter look; couples were having such amazing celebrations by putting their own stamp on the day. And their dresses were amazing. Some were designer dreams, but many more were simple, vintage, perfection. I started thinking, I can do this. I can get married on my own terms in a dress that doesn't make me feel like a cupcake or a Disney princess. Or, a little like a cupcake, but an authentic, 50s sort of cupcake with swiss dot netting and a sweetheart neckline.
I feel like a bad bride. Every step of the way I've been at odds with myself; I want things laid back and focused on John and I, but I want things to be special and beautiful because this is the only wedding I ever plan on having and I want to be able to look back on it and smile and be happy with my photos of the little details. I want to use my talents and make beautiful things and keep it simple, but I want things to be gorgeous and not look low budget or tacky or plain.
I want to feel beautiful in my dress, and not like a little girl playing dress up. I want to wear something that feels like MY wedding dress. I want to put on that dress and know it's the right one.
Am I buying too much into the wedding complex, here? I wasn't expecting to jump up and down and start crying like many of the girls I saw at the salons today. But shouldn't there be an aha! moment? Just a little one? One where you put a dress on, look in the mirror, and say to yourself, "This is my dress. I'm going to get married in this."
