Posts Tagged ‘guest post’

Guest Post at the Demoiselles!

I wrote a guest post for the Demoiselles and it went up today. In case you aren’t a regular reader of TD (why not?!), they have an amazing blog that covers body image issues, sexism in advertising, and a whole host of other things. I love the Demoiselles and applaud Miss Elle and Jen for their work! So definitely go check it out!

(note: there will be another, although short, post up later today. I’m having some serious issues with my wrist and I’m not sure what triggered it, as I haven’t been typing any more than  usual, but it makes typing big chunks of text pretty hard.)

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Sex and the City Stole My Wedding Dress Story

By D of Dream Sequins (which is awesome and you should check it out. Her designer and blogger profiles are great, and her Twitter-view questions are always creative!)

I was married nearly five years ago in a beautiful white, custom-designed strapless gown by Canadian designer, Justina McCaffrey.  It was a silk-satin gown covered in a cloudy haze of tulle at my request.  In short, it was the poufy, princess gown that girls doodle in notebooks when they dream about their wedding day, the type of gown prominently featured in mainstream wedding magazines.  What many people don’t know when they see pictures of me in that perfect dress, peeking demurely under a long, traditional veil, is the story of my first wedding dress.  The one that never made it down the aisle.

Like Sarah Jessica Parker’s character in the much-maligned movie length sequel to the Sex and the City series, my first wedding dress was a no-name vintage gown which I had proudly purchased on eBay for $50.  About a month after the Mr. and I got engaged, I began my search for The Dress.  On my entry-level salary, I knew I would never be able to afford anything designer, so my best hope, I thought, would be to buy something vintage or perhaps something at a sample sale.

Before even setting foot in a bridal salon, I discovered my first wedding dress on eBay: simple (I was appalled by the amount of dresses with every imaginable surface covered in sequins and appliqués), cream-colored, off-the-shoulder and A-line, with slightly puffed short sleeves.  My bid was accepted, and about a week later, I was lifting the dress from its plain brown mailer box.

“I think I found the dress,” I told my mother over the phone that week.

“Already?,” she said, sounding disappointed. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had envisioned my mother and me in a ritzy bridal salon, sipping champagne and chatting with salesgirls while I twirled in expensive couture gowns.  Yet, we were miles apart: she was in Los Angeles while I was in New York, shopping for wedding dresses online.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Was it very expensive?” She wanted to know.  After I told her the story of the eBay dress, she nearly dropped her phone. “Absolutely not,” she said, rage bubbling into her voice. “I will not have my daughter getting married in a used wedding dress.  Do you need money?”

Then I felt sad for her, and I felt sorry for myself, and I wanted to tell her it was going to be okay, that I loved the dress, and it wouldn’t matter what dress I wore, as long as I was marrying the right guy.  But that wasn’t exactly how I felt, either.  The dress, in reality, was made of a rough, matte satin, and the fit was slightly saggy in the bust.  There was a small, coffee-like stain in the back of the dress.

“Let me give you some money,” she continued.

But my mother was already paying for the wedding, and I didn’t want her to buy me an expensive dress that I would only get to wear on one day. “It’s just a waste, Mom,” I reasoned.

“Don’t say that,” she said. “It’s not just another day.”  Before I could protest, she said “I’m sending your sister over.”

Before I knew it, my sister and I were ducking into ritzy wedding dress shops together and one fateful day, we took the train to Brooklyn to Kleinfeld’s salon (now located in Manhattan), where I gravitated towards a rack of Justina McCaffrey gowns.

“Would you like to try one on?” The sales associate whispered, stroking a particularly rich looking gown.  I nodded, mesmerized by the designs, which were simple, modern and at the same time… so expensive looking.

And that’s how I met my second wedding dress.  It was, of course, the dress that made me feel like a real bride.  And while, like Sarah Jessica Parker’s character in the movie, my story could have finished in a very different way, this is how my story ends: I called my Mr. and had him come to the salon to see me in the dress. I know it’s considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride in the dress before the wedding day, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a third opinion (in addition to my sister’s).

“Is this the one you want?,” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Then, that’s the one I will marry you in,” he said, handing over his credit card to the sales associate.

(Timely subject, no? ;) Also - we’re driving back home today, wish us safe travels please!!)

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