Deconstructing the Wedding Dress

Warning for all brides-to-be: shopping for your dress is a huge pain in the ass.

First, there is that nagging concept that plagues everyone, from our Founding Fathers to modern-day brides: freedom of choice. And whoo, mama. When you get engaged and start dreaming of your perfect gown, the choices leap out at you. Everywhere. From theknot.com, to bridal magazines, to storefront windows - each overpriced, over-fluffy, over-white piece of concoction demands your attention. Now! Now! Now! It's enough to give you a headache. I had nightmares of myself swimming in a sea of silk taffeta, arms flailing, every beleaguered gulp of air making me choke on an errant sequin. I guess it's true - the freedom to choose is never an easy one.

Then, there's the actual process of dress selection. Several months after our engagement, my maid of honor and I took that time-honored sojourn down to Miracle Mile in Coral Gables. "Miracle Mile" is a misnomer, since it really is closer to a three-mile promenade of bridal stores, bridesmaids stores, mother-of-the-bride stores. Basically, the Quick Shopper's worst nightmare. When it comes to clothing, shoes, and accessories, I make 15 second decisions. Style, color, fit, price tag - if all four pass the test, it's a go. My maid of honor is exactly the same way too, and even better - she has my style nailed to a T. This should have made the dress hunting process easier, but it didn't. We'd walk into stores and repeat the same mantra, ad nauseum:

"Strapless, A-line, simple, very little beading, no pouf, no fuss. Sexy. Sexy. Sexy."

The well-meaning abuelitas would peer over their glasses at me, smile, and return with an armful of Glam Rock Bridal Gowns. My darlings in Miss Sixty, you will shit your pants when you see just how little bridal couture has changed since 1982. No matter how many times you ask for something not resembling an 80's relic, as many as 90% of wedding gowns are polluted by that Mariah Carey-Tommy Mottola look.

Trying on wedding dresses - ye gods. Wear a thong, heels, and nothing else. Stand in a room full of grouchy old women, and keep both arms raised above your head at all times. Periodically scratch your torso with tulle and lace, and suck your tummy in hard as the corsets get pulled in, tight, around your waist. Imagine bright fluorescent store lights shining in your face the entire time. That's what trying on wedding dresses is like. If you try on an average of 5 dresses per store, this means that for one whole afternoon, I repeated this process up and down Miracle Mile stores 30 times. Did I mention that we were shopping in the dead of a Miami summer? Killer.

Finally, there is the question of tradition. It goes a little something like this: mom and you have a ball of time traipsing around all the bridal stores and girlishly bond over the merits of organza versus silk charmeuse. She sees you in your dress for the first time, tears up as the veil slides into place, while both of you stare into the mirror at this new entity: The Bride. With my mom flying in from California for a 4 day wedding shopping extravaganza, I knew our time was limited. Off we went to Miracle Mile again, this time armed with bottles of water (for heat exhaustion) and a notepad (for writing snide phrases like, "ghetto pouf - hell no.") I steeled myself for the inevitable Wedding Dress Trek.

As it happened, that was my lucky day. J. Del Ono (ask for Marina - she's like your personal wedding elf) had a shipment of gorgeous dresses for their Spring 2008 La Spoza collection. In the window reposed The Dress. I went through the motions. Dragged it into the fitting room, stripped down to my thong and heels, raised my arms, let Marina slip it over my head, waited for her to button me into place, and....magic. My mom, Marina, and I peered into the mirror. I smiled. Marina slipped the veil into place. My mom teared up. For the first time ever, I felt like a bride. And a cool, very decidedly un-douchebag bride at that.

In the days that followed, I would think of my dress in much the same fashion as I thought of my fiance, when we first started dating. I'd daydream, and make little doodles on notepaper. I'd try it on for size, and marvel at how well it fit me every time - better and better as time passed, it seemed. I'd talk myself out of committing to that one dress, because I had plenty of time, and there were many other dresses to see, and be seen in. In short, I was, we all were, spoilt for choice. But when I couldn't look at the others without thinking of *the* dress, *my* dress, and I couldn't imagine getting married in anything else - that's how I knew it was the one for me.

I guess the moral of the story is - you should fall in love with your dress, the same way in which you fell in love with him. Be honest with yourself. Listen to your instincts, and to what they're telling you. Don't listen to the how-to guides, the self-help books, or your well-meaning relatives. Does the dress make you feel good? Stand up a little straighter? Make you want to dance and twirl? Does it fit you well and complement you, without detracting from the essence of who you are? Is it a foil for your personality? Or do you need all that bling to hide something that you lack?

In love and fashion, the best accoutrement are the ones that accept your flaws, enhance your positives, and always, always, let the real you shine through. Happy shopping.