So, as you guys know, I went wedding dress shopping on Friday. And I totally didn’t cry, you guys! Though I did get a little sweaty and “Ingrid,” our helpful wedding consultant, casually was like “would you like me to turn on the fan?”
Um, yes, and I’m sorry for my swamp-like tendencies.
However, there were a few things I definitely didn’t anticipate when walking into the Bridal World. First, some friends were meeting me there so that I had back-up when the going got tough and I ended up in a taffeta tearfest in the corner of the bridal salon.
So when Beth texted that morning about my outfit choices, I got a little nervous that perhaps I hadn’t put as much thought into this as others.
Beth: “What are you wearing?”
Me: “Well, right now I’m wearing work clothes but I brought shorts and a t-shirt to change into.”
Beth: “Really? I’m here jamming on skirts thinking we have to be cute. No?”
Me: “Never even occurred to me.”
So I decided not to change into my shorts and t-shirt and, instead, went in the dress I was wearing for work. But when I walked in with a yellow ShopRite shopping bag full of my backup outfit, Beth was like “You seriously look like a homeless person. Put that in your purse.”
Whatever, brides wear shorts, BETH!
Anyway, CB’s sister was also joining us for the fun, so once we were all properly dressed and seated among the dozens of other brides in the “Bridal Lounge,” I started to get nervous. I mean, I’m someone who gets anxiety walking into Old Navy if there’s a greeter by the door who might try to sell me something, so imagine my Xanax-inducing fears when I found out that I’d not only have one person dedicated just to me, but that I’d also have to show her my boobs!
They totally don’t make you do that at the nicer Old Navy’s, you guys!
Ingrid, pleasant bridal specialist: “What size bra do you wear?”
Ingrid: “I think you’re more like a C+. So, I have some ideas of where to start for you, so take off your clothes and put this robe on and I’ll be right back.”
Closes the door.
Me, to Beth and CB’s sister: “So you guys are gonna have to go ahead and turn around.”
Beth: “There are mirrors everywhere. We’ll still see you. Just take your clothes off, C+.”
CBS: “Yeah, it’s not like we’ve never seen it before.”
Me: “I hate you both.”
Cut to: 15 minutes later and I’m standing there trying on my third wedding dress option, holding my C-pluses in hand.
Beth: “Are you dying right now?”
Me: “I can’t even talk about it.”
However, besides not knowing how to appropriately dress for wedding dress shopping - or knowing that I’d be naked in front of strangers, one of my best friends, and poor CB’s sister who never needed to have those scars - I also didn’t know the following things:
We should all be wearing corsets. Call me anti-feminist, but that sh*t WORKS! Why have I been working out all this time when I just needed a 50-something woman pulling my fatty parts and internal organs together to slim my waist? For real, you guys. Comfort is over-rated. As is laughing, sitting, or eating.
High heels are the devil's work. So they give you heels in your size to try on with your dress so that you’ll be able to get a sense of the actual length on your wedding day. However, they clearly didn’t poll the audience before making this selection because if you think I’m about to walk down the aisle in anything other than my sparkle flip flops, you’re sorely mistaken.
DON’T FREAK OUT, all of my girlfriends, I’m only half-serious. I’ll wear adult shoes, I promise. But can we all just get on board with the fact that no heel in America is comfortable? And probably not in Europe, Africa, or any part of Southeast Asia, either.
So it became a constant balancing act for me – I mean, I couldn’t get into these dresses without letting go of at least one of my C-pluses, and at one point just threw caution – and my chest – to the wind and was like “I’m not a contortionist, I need to prioritize!” So I decided boobs out was better than ripping a dress with the heels and then having to pay thousands of dollars for my own modest, Quaker-like ways.
However, what I’ve failed to do my whole life is walk around my apartment in a short silk gown and high heels. Not only do my legs look killer, but I also looked like a 50s movie star getting ready for her close-up. The only thing I was missing was my scotch on the rocks, and I swear to God I bet they had that in the backroom just in case.
Everyone looks better with the lights off. Every time I’d half-like a dress, Ingrid would walk over to the light switch and dim the lighting. Immediately we were all like “Oooooohhhhhh.”
She’s a genius!
And while nobody would let me make dress choices in the dark, I will admit that I’d prefer that someone walk around me at all times with some sort of light-shading device to soften my complexion and make me look all sorts of mysterious and dream-like at all times. Hell, I’ll put the heels and the robe on and CB will be like “What did you do with my fiancé? And whatever it was, keep her there!”
However, in the end, I think I found my dress! Or at least narrowed it down to what looks good on me and what doesn’t so that I can browse online without delusion. And if you ask me, that’s a successful shopping outing!
Happy Monday, everyone!