The dress that wasn't and the me that isn't

I was so sure I would never be one of the those who fell in love with a dress. I mean, it's just a dress and no piece of clothing has ever made me feel it was "the one" before so why should something long and white do it now?* I thought I'll go somewhere ethical and cheap, pick something that looks OK and that'll be it. On to the more important things.

Oh that long white piece of clothing, there's so much bloody hype about it. It seems to define us brides in a way the rest of the wedding paraphernalia doesn't. I'm pretty sure this isn't as it should be. But whether we choose to go whole hog traditional or not we can't help it making a statement about ourselves - white; not white; short; long; veil; no veil; vintage; new; home-made; bought for a fortune; bikini; jeans & tshirt; statement; no statement; whether or not we make these choices consciously, they end up saying something about us and also about how we feel about the whole wedding thing.

I know, I know, I'm totally over thinking this. I can't help it I'm afraid, it's a serious flaw of mine. That and subclauses.**

I tried to put all this to the back of my mind and off I went to my first ever wedding shop which happened to be an Oxfam Bridal and tried on a heaps and heaps of dresses. And nothing felt right but I didn't know why - I mean, they were all wedding dresses, what more did I want?

So on Mum's advice I went to some posh shops to have some fun with it and to get an idea of what I thought suited me. And I saw tons of stuff I liked and decided what cut and what fabric I preferred and preened and pranced in front of my bridesmaids and it was all very golly. But I couldn't put my finger on what was bothering me. Somehow these dresses came with baggage - it was as if they were wearing me. I did feel like a bride and that's what I was, right? "A" bride? What the hell was the problem?

So this is the dress that answered that - not because it was "the one" ... but because it wasn't.

My sister persuaded me to put it on. It's tea length, big skirted, 1950s style. I put it on and just loved it - it was the kind of dress you knew you would have a good time in. And it was so flattering - it gave my cucumber shaped body curves and showed off my legs. It swung about in the most fabulous way. Ooh I loved it.

Look - look how pretty. Click on this link and see how it swooshes and swings.

via Angelica Bridal

But but but. I knew this dress wasn't me - it's for someone pouty and dainty with short neat hair - Amelie or Coco, not gangly northern European Bella. My sisters could pull it off - they ride cute bicycles, do arty things and wear creative jewelery. My hair is always a mess, I have bad spacial awareness and I can't do neat eye makeup. In the past I've longed to be a girl who could wear that dress but I have now come to terms with the fact that I've got my own thing going on. I realised that what is most important is not that I look as pretty as a picture but that my friends and family, and most importantly Nick, recognise me on my wedding day.

So much as I find it absurd that one piece of clothing should have such over-hyped significance, I think I'd rather define than be defined.

And as though to prove my point Style me Pretty featured that dress in a photoshoot - soo cute but me in white gloves and oversized pearls - it just ain't me baby!



Then, after all that 'right-on-sister', personal affirmation stuff, I have promptly gone and got myself a serious crush*** on a stupidly expensive dress. Oops.

*I'm being a bit disingenuous because I do in fact search high and low for the perfect jeans and when I find them, after an inevitably lengthy struggle, love them more than inanimate denim deserves to be loved. But, hey, I practically live in them so that that's different.

**Please note that I am not making any judgements or assumptions here either - I not saying what a dress says about the bride - just commenting on how it somehow says something at all!

*** Note "crush" not "love". I'm still trying to be a bit rational.