weddingrisk

Kate, who has been so involved with this process from the beginning that it appears that she has a sixth sense, sent me an email with the shoes that I’ve been ogling for a few weeks. Jinx! Also, aren’t they wonderful?

The problem is that aside from concerns about heels sinking into the grass, these are prohibitively expensive. Maybe they’ll go on 90% off sale? A girl can hope.

You’ve heard a lot from Mer about gilded truffle forks and rose-scented ring pillows, but now it’s time to hunker down and hear some straight talk from the gut.  You don’t go to the state fair just to observe the ribboned orchids or macrame from yesteryear.  You gotta eat a turkey leg bare-fisted and go on the Zipper with several fried cheese nuggets in your pocket.  That’s how you get the full fair experience.  That’s how you enjoy life.

Kate will back me up here:  I’ve been engaged for a lot longer than Meredith.  The process of designing, creating and refining the ring took about four months.  Worth it, though.  Totally worth it.  It’s a gorgeous ring.  (Meredith accidentally left it on the towel hook the other day so I got a few hours to stare at it like Gollum.)  So, for months of meeting with the ring maker (and enduring the occasional where’s-this’-relationship-going argument) I’ve had wedding on the mind.  When the day arrived, the ring presented and the “yes” released I felt joy but also a certain amount of relief.  “Okay, we can take it easy for a while,” I said to my sweaty shirt and open fly.

This was not to be.

The next day Meredith has me drive us to Borders where she bought a calf-high pile of wedding magazines.  I’ve really got to hand it to her, though.  The reading and the blog browsing and the calling and the talking and the planning has resulted in some very big wedding planning milestones being covered with over a year before the wedding date.  Meredith may claim to be busy with grad school which is why she is blowing everyone off, but you know the real truth:  she’s diligently working towards her MRS.

So yeah, I’ve totally done my part.  Time to kick the feet up and…. what?  Post on the blog?  Son of a–

Ever-expanding is a slight overstatement. But still, there are a few additions to the [ahem] 10 bridesmaids, two of whom are our sisters, who will be standing right next to each of us as Maid of Honor / Best Woman, and four Chuppa holders (still TBD). My three little cousins, a girl and two boys: currently 11, 8, and 5, are part of the wedding party (D and I were part of our uncle and aunt’s German nuptials many years ago) and I need to figure out what they’ll do. Right now, the plan is for each — Very Supervised — boy to have a ring bowl that he will walk down the aisle with and then present to me or B at the appropriate moment. “Jo”, the girl, will function as a kind of junior bridesmaid and stand…somewhere? What should she wear? Does she need an activity? I visited my old job on Thursday and subjected everyone to a white board diagram of my…er, design plan. They were bemused.

Or bowl as the case may be. This seems like an interesting, chic alternative to the more typical pillows/little birds’ nests. Bonus: The text can be customized.

Because I found my wedding dress so quickly, I didn’t get to try on very many. Some might consider this a good thing, but I like party dresses and so, with the pressure completely off, KCB and I decided to visit one of our area’s most posh “bridal salons”. This is the place that sells dresses that cost as much as new cars and specializes in Vera Wang.

Here too, we were assigned a bridal consultant who gave us wine. They were “out of” champagne, which I find suspect, but perhaps they reserve their stock for people who are closer to buying than I told them I was. “I’m in the initial stage,” I said, “that’s why I’m here with a friend instead of my mother.” We were seated on a white kidney bean shaped settee and I was asked to detail my (wedding) taste while my bridal consultant took notes. “Slightly-rustic elegance” I kept saying, “Vintage inspired.”

We were led into our private fitting chamber, a medium sized room with tasteful lighting, white walls, white carpet, white furniture (this is how they seduce brides and their families, I suspect: isolate them, give them alcohol, put them in lush dresses). Here the bridal consultant puts the dresses on you, which I didn’t mind but did feel slightly infantilizing (though, honestly, there’s no possible way I could have gotten into some of them myself). The room was closed in with heavy white curtains, with white clothespins clipped along one edge. Their function soon became apparent as I was quite literally clipped into the first gown I tried on. It was an amusing juxtaposition, perfect from the front, paper doll + sewing project from the back.

I tried on many, many dresses and while it was great fun, I didn’t like any as much as the dress I found at the far more humble DB (see post regarding the virtues of functional fixedness). Dear readers, I will note that Vera Wang is no joke. Her dresses are exquisite and sumptuous. But to me, they felt and looked like costumes. I couldn’t imagine actually wearing one in my life. Maybe (er, definitely) for a picture or two, but not in any real context.

With this in mind, I give you my very favorite of all the dresses I tried. It’s Marie Antoinette as a sea creature meets art deco statue, and wearing it was magnificent. But only in the posh, white dressing room of a bridal boutique. Or for some kind of lunar red carpet. Not for my wedding, though. No way.

Clearly, that’s not me in the picture - they didn’t allow photography in the store.

A brief preface: My parents got married in Friendly Park in Greensboro, North Carolina (they had intended to have a sunset ceremony but the bus got lost) and had their reception at the original Durham Arts Council (which is now a private school). In lieu of a wedding cake, they had wheels of cheese that my dad’s mom brought from Wisconsin, and the main event was a rock band (”they…played using a couple of different names” says my dad. “We don’t really know what they were calling themselves,” adds my mom). 1970s North Carolina anecdote: The cops showed up because there were interracial couples dancing (horrifying, isn’t it?). As the story goes, my parents enlisted a friend with a posh Southern accent to deal with them and the party continued unhindered. My mother’s wedding dress was a long hippie 70s number (she and my dad both had waist length hair when they married).

It was in the spirit of bucking the big white dress that mom and I went on what we were calling a “fact finding mission” to David’s Bridal, which is conveniently located in a strip mall in Durham. We were chatting on the way over about how I would probably end up with a vintage dress, or a dress that’s not specifically intended for weddings, or getting a dress made, but that it would be productive to get an idea of what styles looked good and what various terminology meant.

When we walked into the store, we were immediately greeted by a perky woman seated behind a long table that effectively blocked us from entering the rest of the store. “Hi!” she trilled, “how can we help you?” When we told her that I was interesting to looking at wedding dresses she said, “do you have an appointment?” (Note: For David’s Bridal? Why?) when we said that we did not, she looked slightly furrowed but told us that they’d try to work us in. “Here’s our catalog, feel free to look around, but please don’t touch the dresses.” After we paged through the look book, we wandered up and down aisles of white dresses entombed in bulky plastic garment bags.

“Tacky!” I kept mouthing at my mother.

“Gross,” she agreed.

But we decided to stick it out, nonetheless.

After about half an hour, a petite and tan girl strode up to me and announced that she was my bridal consultant. I gave her my measurements and was summarily led over to a Wall O’ Dye-able Shoes. “Pick your style,” she prompted. I took a pair of vintage looking heels. “Wow” came the response. “That was fast!”

Next I was led into a small dressing room containing a slip, a ridiculous bustier (nothankyou), and a crinoline fit for a Disney princess.

“Here’s your first dress,” said my bridal consultant, “let me know if you need any help.”

Briefly, the set up for this place is like a slightly more private communal dressing room. There’s a tiny private stall where you wiggle into your dress, but you have step out to a centralized seating area with little rounds (for twirling on, one presumes) and full length mirrors in order to see what the dress actually looks like on. Since I was pretty much raised in Loehmann’s, I didn’t mind this set up. It felt rather democratic. When we were there, a beleaguered father of a bride-to-be had tucked into a chair next to my mother and was snoring fervently. This chagrined the DB staff, but made the experience that much more amusing for us.

Trying on the dresses led to a series of revelations:

1. Wedding dresses are best appraised and better appreciated one at a time, separated from the billowing herd.

2. DB wedding consultants are actually able to engage with a wide range of tastes and aesthetics. Mine was totally wonderful, provided great suggestions (including offering up The Dress for me to try on), did not smother, and kept thanking me for being so fun and easy to work with

3. I was wrong about everything except for the color (I’m far too pale to swath myself in bright white, this we all knew for sure)

It was actually a lot of fun to get feedback from other future brides and their families.

I tried on maybe five dresses and we all (me, my mom, the bridal consultant, other people in the store) fell in love with one of them. No one is more surprised than I (except maybe my mom) that I found my wedding dress in couple of hours at David’s Bridal.

Additionally surprising, there is a veil and a sash involved; I had previously eschewed both.

Bonus: Everything was on sale (my most favorite way to shop!).

The dress and it’s accouterments are at my parents’ house where they have been modeled for teary fathers (and grandfathers) and grinning friends. It is lovely.