In 2002, I made the mistake of working at the Boston Bridal Expo for a couple extra bucks to pad my college-poor wallet. I say "mistake" because that day, while flipping through magazines at the registration table between bubbly brides, I found "The Dress". It was the most simple yet elegant gown ever created: strapless, mermaid-silhouette, form-fitting, and made of piqued ivory lace. The model owned the look. She dripped 1920s sex appeal, leaning out of the shadows provocatively toward her reflection in an antique mirror, birdcage blusher veil lightly draped over her contoured dark brow, pursing her burgundy lips as if about to put them to a cigarette holder and draw a long breath before her monumental walk down the aisle. I was only 18, serially single, and couldn't even bring myself to like a guy for more than a week much less wrap my head around the idea of marriage -- but I wanted to be her. In that dress. In that moment.
I ripped out the ad from the magazine and took it home with me that night, placing it in my diary for safe keeping.
Fast forward 9 years later. After Andrew asked "Will you?" and I said "OMG I will!" and we finally had a moment to itemize the things we'd have to do to prepare for a wedding, I knew that at least dress shopping would be a cinch. I had known for years exactly the one I wanted, so all I had to do was locate it, shoot it, tie it to the bumper, and bring it home to mount on my trophy wall. Done.
When visiting my father back home in Pennsylvania, I rushed to my bedroom and snatched my diary from its storage bin. I flipped through page after page, but The Dress was nowhere to be found.
I attempted Googling but without the designer, the season, or recollection of the magazine from which the ad came, I couldn't narrow down the results enough to find it. The Dress was lost to time and the internet and, I thought, nothing --
absolutely nothing -- I'd find would ever be good enough.
Just before I closed my browser, I figured I'd take at least take a moment to look over the suggestions Google had come up with. All strapless, all mermaid. But with ribbons? Ruching? I hadn't given those much thought before, but all of a sudden I wanted them both. But those details hadn't been incorporated in my previous conceptualization of the ideal gown. Suddenly, The Dress had competition.
In fact, I've found better dresses already. Holding steadfast to one concept made me dismiss all the other possible ones out there. And, realistically, every aspect of The Dress was so idealized in my head that had I gone and tried it on in a store, I can bet the real thing wouldn't have stood up to my memory. Think of how disappointed I would've been then.
Melissa Wedding
James Bridal
Point of story? It's great to go into dress shopping with an
idea, but not an
ideal. The wonderful thing about the bridal fashion industry these days is that you can find almost every variation on a concept you have in your head, and at prices that you can afford. Clearly the strapless, ivory mermaid-cut dress is so popular that you can find it with any possible tweak to detailing: beading, lace, beading
and lace, ribbons, bustles, trains, silk taffeta or silk organza material. Just when you think you know exactly what you want, you find something new.
The Dress had given me the perfect platform to start from. I still knew the scene I wanted to set. If I wore any of these other dresses, would I still be the sultry, classical bride in the antique mirror? Absolutely. And maybe even sultrier.
