i went wedding dress shopping last friday. a little after the fact, i realized that moment is typically a big deal in a girl's life. i should probably write about it.
if there is one thing that has been confirmed through all this preliminary wedding planning, it is that i am not a typical girl. not by a long stretch. people would ask about dresses and i'd shrug indifferently. i couldn't be bothered with a bunch of poofy, gloriously-blinding, lung-crushing contraptions when i can't even nail down a date or a reception hall. so, when my mother suggested that we go, i blinked like a child just waking from a nap to a snack of carrots, dazed but deep-down grateful for some motherly intuition nonetheless.
david's bridal made the most sense - cheap and chock full of dresses for every size and shape. upon arrival we learned that people typically make appointments for these sorts of things. they then asked me what 'style' i liked. oh boy. here we go. i sputtered some long train of juvenile gibberish: "i don't really know i mean nothing too frilly not really a lot of fabric some beads but not a lot and maybe a little lace sometimes but not a lot nothing too girly but not too plain not like a prom dress or something..." the receptionist smiled sweetly, a little sorry for my lack of estrogen, and decided to try and help me with dress jargon like "A-line" and "bodice" and "corset back" and other words that made no lasting impression on my memory. i winced and nodded when appropriate.
finally, a chipper consultant came to my rescue, and guided my mom and i to the racks of dresses, where she abruptly abandoned us. i felt swallowed up by the rows and rows of plastic protective coverings that were stuffed full of taffeta and silk and chiffon and embroidery. somewhere in that madness, was the dress of my dreams. or so i'd been told. how to begin?
my mom tackled the racks with fervor, going for variety and anything with straps (mom later lovlingly reminded me that my small boobs and broad shoulders would do me no good in a strapless dress. broad shoulders?!?! i never even though i had broad shoulders). i followed her lead, meekly plucking at gowns here and there, until we'd acquired 6 or 7 dresses acceptable for trying on.
the whole thing had gone predictably enough, until i found myself alone in a dressing room with the first dress. i eyed it warily. as i took it off the hanger, it exploded into a topsy-turvy heap of foamy white on the dressing room floor, like a bubble bath gone wrong. i stood there perplexed, and decidedly reached for the undergarments they had provided. i was told to first put on this contraption (casually referred to as a "bra" to prevent panic and hyperventilation) to slim my form under the dress, but with over 2 dozen hook-and-eye fastens that were destined never to meet around my crushed ribcage, i realized i was in deep. i didn't even bother with the "slip," but instead crawled into the first dress.
i shuffled out of the dressing room, hauling heaps of extra fabric behind me. i looked around for affirmation from my mom, who had dissapeared into the bridesmaid dresses section of the store. thanks, mom. real magical moment here. i climbed up onto a carpeted block, and stared at my reflection in a hundred mirrors.
if there is one thing that has been confirmed through all this preliminary wedding planning, it is that i am not a typical girl. not by a long stretch. people would ask about dresses and i'd shrug indifferently. i couldn't be bothered with a bunch of poofy, gloriously-blinding, lung-crushing contraptions when i can't even nail down a date or a reception hall. so, when my mother suggested that we go, i blinked like a child just waking from a nap to a snack of carrots, dazed but deep-down grateful for some motherly intuition nonetheless.
david's bridal made the most sense - cheap and chock full of dresses for every size and shape. upon arrival we learned that people typically make appointments for these sorts of things. they then asked me what 'style' i liked. oh boy. here we go. i sputtered some long train of juvenile gibberish: "i don't really know i mean nothing too frilly not really a lot of fabric some beads but not a lot and maybe a little lace sometimes but not a lot nothing too girly but not too plain not like a prom dress or something..." the receptionist smiled sweetly, a little sorry for my lack of estrogen, and decided to try and help me with dress jargon like "A-line" and "bodice" and "corset back" and other words that made no lasting impression on my memory. i winced and nodded when appropriate.
finally, a chipper consultant came to my rescue, and guided my mom and i to the racks of dresses, where she abruptly abandoned us. i felt swallowed up by the rows and rows of plastic protective coverings that were stuffed full of taffeta and silk and chiffon and embroidery. somewhere in that madness, was the dress of my dreams. or so i'd been told. how to begin?
my mom tackled the racks with fervor, going for variety and anything with straps (mom later lovlingly reminded me that my small boobs and broad shoulders would do me no good in a strapless dress. broad shoulders?!?! i never even though i had broad shoulders). i followed her lead, meekly plucking at gowns here and there, until we'd acquired 6 or 7 dresses acceptable for trying on.
the whole thing had gone predictably enough, until i found myself alone in a dressing room with the first dress. i eyed it warily. as i took it off the hanger, it exploded into a topsy-turvy heap of foamy white on the dressing room floor, like a bubble bath gone wrong. i stood there perplexed, and decidedly reached for the undergarments they had provided. i was told to first put on this contraption (casually referred to as a "bra" to prevent panic and hyperventilation) to slim my form under the dress, but with over 2 dozen hook-and-eye fastens that were destined never to meet around my crushed ribcage, i realized i was in deep. i didn't even bother with the "slip," but instead crawled into the first dress.
i shuffled out of the dressing room, hauling heaps of extra fabric behind me. i looked around for affirmation from my mom, who had dissapeared into the bridesmaid dresses section of the store. thanks, mom. real magical moment here. i climbed up onto a carpeted block, and stared at my reflection in a hundred mirrors.
and there i was.
how many times had i seen this moment in movies? how many times had i heard friends talk about their first trip to try on gowns? how many times had i imagined this moment (ok. that's a stretch. true, i may have imagined it with a distant sort of curiousity, but certainly never dreamed about it with a hopeful shimmer in my eye)? and there i stood. i didn't really feel very special or magical. it was just me. my apparently broad shoulders and my small boobs, in a white dress. nothing to write home about, let me tell you. i felt like a jumbled junior high kid all over again: awkward and discombobulated.
thankfully, things went uphill from there. mom gave honest advice. i found some dresses that i looked good in. elizabeth came and fulfilled the role of a great best friend, even trying on the unending supply of bridesmaids dresses thrown at her with a smile on her face. all said and done, i learned a lot. and while that dress of my dreams may still be out there, at least i know what i'm looking for.
and i guess i take comfort in knowing that a dress is such a minute, trivial detail in the grand scheme of a wedding... of a life. i am marrying my best friend, my partner in crime, the man of my dreams. that's all i could ever ask for. these laughable, challenging moments are all the easier to overcome with him at my side.
thankfully, things went uphill from there. mom gave honest advice. i found some dresses that i looked good in. elizabeth came and fulfilled the role of a great best friend, even trying on the unending supply of bridesmaids dresses thrown at her with a smile on her face. all said and done, i learned a lot. and while that dress of my dreams may still be out there, at least i know what i'm looking for.
and i guess i take comfort in knowing that a dress is such a minute, trivial detail in the grand scheme of a wedding... of a life. i am marrying my best friend, my partner in crime, the man of my dreams. that's all i could ever ask for. these laughable, challenging moments are all the easier to overcome with him at my side.
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