Three months into my wedding planning, I heard that some brides now buy two dresses: one to wear for the ceremony, and a different one for the reception. I thought this whole idea ridiculous for a variety of reasons:
- One dress is expensive enough — why buy two?
- A ceremony lasts, at most, an hour. Spend all that money to wear a dress for an hour?
- I hate shopping. It’s bad enough I have to find one wedding dress.
So I quickly concluded that no, I will not be buying two wedding dresses.
Well, if I ever write a book about my life, I should call it Never Say Never.
A month before our wedding I was getting a little stressed. Every make up person I was calling was already booked. And I had gone to my first “trial” for my hair, and we had to schedule a second trial because we had yet to find the right style. I was lamenting (okay — crying) over these silly things, and Michael was dutifully listening, when I added, “And I don’t even know if I like my dress!”
“What do you mean you don’t like your dress?” he asked.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I just said I’m not sure I like it.” Michael wrinkled his brow, then added, “Well, if you’d let me see it, I could give you my opinion.”
Since I had bought the dress (months ago), Michael wanted to see it. “It’s supposed to be a surprise,” I’d say.
“Because that’s the tradition.”
“But we’re not doing a lot of the other traditional wedding things,” he said.
“Well, we’re doing this one.”
But at the moment of this crying fit, I decided this was another tradition we could let go. Except that the dress was no longer in my possession.
“Okay,” I said to Michael, “I’ll show it to you. But I can only show you a picture of me in it, because I don’t have it right now.”
“What do you mean you don’t have it? Where is it?”
“In New York. We didn’t like how the bustle turned out, so Mom took it to her seamstress in New York to see if she could do something better.”
“What’s a bustle?” Michael asked.
After explaining how trains and bustles work, I showed Michael the picture on my cell phone.
Like a good fiancé, he said, “Well, first of all, know that whatever you wear you’ll look good.” I rolled my eyes and mumbled, “thank you.”
“But if you want my opinion . . .” he paused.
“Yes, I do,” I confirmed.
“Well, I’d rather see you in something more fitted.”
The lacy A-line dress he saw me in was fitted to just above my waist, then dropped straight down. I knew exactly what he meant. I started crying again.
“Listen,” he said. “If you want, we can go try on some dresses right now.”
“No, we can’t,” I cried. “You have to make an appointment. And the place is closed right now. And I have so much to do at school tomorrow.”
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he said. “Just text me the number.”
And so it was that on a Friday afternoon, Michael picked me up from school and accompanied me to the place from which I’d purchased the dress. I walked in and explained, “I’m just not sure about my dress.” The woman didn’t blink an eye, just smiled and said, “I certainly understand. Let’s have you try on a few more.”
“And I know it’s weird that I have my fiancé with me,” I said.
“Not at all. Brides do all sorts of things these days,” she said, walking Michael and I over to the racks of dresses. Michael picked a rack and started looking. “No, hon, those are way too big. Only look at these ones,” I said, showing him the racks that held my size.
We picked out dresses, then Michael sat down while I tried the first one on. Michael’s eyes bulged when he saw it. I think he was holding back tears. “Oh my God. Is this really happening?” he asked. I smiled. “She didn’t even zip it up yet, hon.” I stepped up on the pedestal in front of the three way mirror. Michael’s mouth dropped open. “Let’s put a veil on,” said the saleswoman. As she did, Michael nearly jumped out of his seat. “Hon, this is only the first dress. I don’t even like this one,” I told him.
“What do you mean you don’t like it? What don’t you like?”
“I’m not sure. I just don’t like it.”
“How are we going to find the right one if you can’t tell me what you don’t like about it?” Thankfully, the saleswoman jumped in. “When she knows, she’ll know.”
After trying on six dresses, we put one on hold and left the store. “I don’t want to buy another dress tonight. I just want to see some other options,” I told him.
“Well, where else can we go?” We called bridal shop #2, and they had an opening, so off we went. This time our saleswoman did what we had hoped someone would do: she gave us her opinion. After trying on six dresses, none of which I liked, for reasons I couldn’t explain, the saleswoman said, “Show me the dress you have.” I showed her the cell phone picture. “That’s a great dress for you,” she said. I started thinking, Well, then I guess it’s the one, but then she added, “I’ve got two more ideas.” I liked how I looked in both of those ideas. But was I sure I wanted to wear one of these instead of the dress I already had? I wasn’t. But the clock was ticking, so I said yes, and we bought a second dress.
But now I felt like I was in a worse position. Instead of having one dress and just saying, “Eh — go with it,” I now had two dresses and still wasn’t sure which one I wanted to wear. My only consolation was that the first dress cost only $300. Which was still more than I’d ever spent on a dress, but in the world of wedding dresses was pretty cheap. And the second dress didn’t cost much more than the first one.
My maid-of-honor took the pictures I’d sent of both dresses and put them into one side-by-side picture. And after shamefully admitting my dilemma to friends and showing them the picture, I still wasn’t sure.
Three days before the wedding, I confessed to my mother. She reacted just as I’d predicted: a slight look of surprise splashed quickly across her face, and then she said, “Well, try them both on and see which one you like better.” So we did. And I chose the second one. But brought both to the wedding venue. Just in case.