Two things I've learned during my engagement - wedding dresses need
to breathe. And yes, there is such as thing as a dead, lifeless wedding
dress.
I know that a wedding dress can "die" because
right before I went shopping for a wedding dress, I became obsessed with
TLC's Say Yes To The Dress. In one episode, a tearful bride has to shop
for a new dress weeks before her wedding because her seamstress sent
her first dress to a dry cleaner who put the dress into the washer, and
basically, killed the thing. I learned that a dead wedding dress looks
wilted, doesn't have the form and structure of a wedding dress, and is
basically unwearable. You apparently can never, ever put your dress in a
washer. Ever.
I know that a wedding dress needs to
breathe because I did some online research about how to store a wedding
dress before your wedding. Apparently, you're supposed to wrap your
dress in a white sheet, and lay it flat in one of those garment boxes,
and then store it in a cool, dark place. But only if your dress is made
of expensive lace. Your polyester dress, however, can hang where ever.
What the Bridal Internets all agree upon is this - your dress should be
protected by a breathable garment bag. And it should stay there until
you take it to get altered. And then after that, keep it safe until the
wedding day. Do not, under any circumstance take it out of the bag
before, and put it on "for fun" or to show your friends and relatives.
Do not let anyone touch the thing until your wedding day lest it get
dirty, smells like smoke, or gets otherwise damaged. Do not even look at
it slant-eyed because at any given moment, that dress, the dress you
loved and paid half your life savings for, could wilt and be damaged.
(Ok, not really, but the Internet sure made it sound like that.)
Of
all the things I had to invest in for the wedding, I have been the most
conflicted about my wedding dress. On the one hand, I hated the idea of
investing in a dress I would only wear for 8 hours, and then would go
into a box,
never to be seen again, saved for the daughter(s) I may or may not have.
I was unsure about how much to put towards such a dress, torn between
the idea that this was supposed to be a dress for "the biggest day of
your life" and my greater desire to invest my time, energy and resources
to putting together a kick ass reception that would be enjoyed by all.
On
the other hand, so much of this time of engagement and wedding planning
is also about "the experience" - the experience of being a bride-to-be,
the experience of trying to join two lives. And, whether or not I liked
it, the experience of putting on a wedding dress. I feared that if I
didn't at least try a wedding dress on, and consider wearing one, that I
would always regret missing the experience.
In the
end, I chose to give shopping for a wedding dress a go because I didn't
want to regret never having the experience of wedding dress shopping.
Whether I chose to buy an actual wedding dress, or walk down the aisle
in a store-bought sundress was beside the point. In the end, it was
about having the experience - which I'm told is supposed to be "once in a
lifetime."
I was terrified of being sold to, so I
picked a bridal big box store, rather than a bridal boutique. All the
so-called "cons" of the bridal big box - lack of personal attention,
your bridal consultant serving two brides at once, being herded in and
out - were precisely what made me comfortable. I didn't want attention
lavished on me. I wanted to be bunch of dresses and then to be left to
my own devices. I wanted the bridal consultant to be just a little bit
distracted so that I could look at myself in the mirror, feel wonderful
(or ridiculous), and take my time.
And that was exactly
what happened. My kind, but distracted, bridal consultant didn't bat an
eye when I told her my budget. In fact, she said - oh, that's going to
be fine. She brought me six or seven dresses, and, other than helping to
get me into the dresses, basically left me alone. In fact, I even got
to sit around in a couple of dresses waiting for her - which is
invaluable because being able to sit comfortably in your dress (to you
know, rest and eat dinner) is really important.
I
haven't been privy to many of my girl friends' wedding dress shopping
experiences. But I do remember, post college, I was the maid of honor to
a dear friend. And the moment she found her dress, she turned to us,
teary eyed and said, "I feel like a bride." The memory stuck with me for
over ten years.
Now, obsessively watching TLC's Say
Yes To The Dress, I've noticed that the moment these brides knew the
dress was "the one" was when they felt most like a bride. It was the
moment they felt beautiful and, more often than not, there were tears.
Before I went to my bridal appointment I wondered - would I have this
moment? Or would I make the dress decision like I made most of my
wedding decisions, with some emotion, but a lot of practicality, and
with a keen focus on my budget?
In the end, the moment
"I knew" came subtly. We'd tried on all seven dresses and narrowed it
down to two - one of which was about twice the cost of the other. I was
sitting around in one dress, waiting for the bridal consultant to come
back so she could unzip me, and I was talking to one of my bridal party.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, dress, veil and all and I
thought, "Oh god, I look like a bride."
I wouldn't have
called that moment magical, or beautiful. It was more a moment of
slight terror and surprise. But it was the moment I knew - this is the
dress.
Of course, this was the dress that was more
expensive of the two, and I couldn't bring myself to buy it. The
practical side of me wanted to keep shopping to see if I could get a
better deal. The practical side of me knew I should sleep on it. On the
other hand, if I bought the dress, I'd be done. I would have THE dress. I
could move on to some other wedding planning task.
It
took a phone call to Guillermo to help me with a decision. I told him my
dilemma, tried to explain what each dress was like, and then he asked
the question, "Can you send me a picture?"
(Altogether now - *GASP OF HORROR*)
Yes,
I sent him the pictures. Yes, he saw me in the wedding dress. And he
picked the same one that I thought was "The Dress." I was relieved. My
worst fear was that I would pick a dress and when I walked down the
aisle he'd think, "What the hell is she wearing?" We'd made all the
major decisions about this wedding jointly, even the picking of the
engagement ring, and it didn't seem right to me to make this dress
decision alone.
When he said yes to the dress, my
emotions kicked in. It moved me to think that he considered me beautiful
in this dress - that something I enjoyed would also bring enjoyment to
him. When I cried in the store, everyone thought it was because I'd
found the dress. In reality, it was because Guillermo thought I was
beautiful.
So the dress now hangs on the back of my
bedroom door, in a breatheable garment bag, away from the sun, from
prying eyes, and from fashion shows for friends and relatives.
Tradition
often dictates many things about engagements and weddings - he's
supposed to pick the engagement ring, and I'm supposed to pick the
dress. Both engagement ring and dress are supposed to be a surprise -
something that the other will automatically love even though they have
not been privy to the choice. But I'm not sure how often that's true to
our life. Guillermo wasn't sure he could hit a home run with my
engagement ring, and truth be told, I wasn't so sure what kind of dress
he would think I look good in. In the end, the tradition didn't work for
us, and we chose a different way.
In so many ways,
this upcoming wedding is a reflection of our mutual yesses - first to
each other, and then to each aspect of the wedding. Guillermo may not
look it, but that man has opinions about what he wants in this wedding -
how he'd like it to feel, and how he'd like our guests to be taken care
of. And so, each aspect of the day has needed both my yes, as well as
his.
It's my hope that this planning process is the
beginning of how we make all our major decisions in our lives together -
with some thought for the other and ending in some form of a mutual
yes.
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