The P:P Wedding Dress: Taming the Great White Whale

Before the wedding, I wrote an update on how my dress had turned out, but hadn’t included any photos. I’m going to go light on the writing, heavy on the photos for you here, because I know the dress is really the main show for many people who love wedding stuff.

The dress that I bought, for about 260.00, is a Bill Levkoff bridesmaid dress. When I tried it on, I tried it on in black and at the wrong length and two sizes too big. Frankly, it looked nothing like it eventually would, and I have no idea how we managed to picture it looking glorious; it was a bit of a leap of faith, and knowing my own love of a challenge, I think that was part of the appeal.

We ordered it in ivory satin taffeta, and with an extra 5 inches of length. I took the photo of the dress on the Bill Levkoff site and used Photoshop to lengthen the dress to a proper knee length, and was optimistic it’d be a rockin’ dress in the end. Ten weeks of torturous waiting later, my dress arrived and, as detailed in the last dress post, two good steamings had it looking tiptop. The work of sorting and placing all the green and orange buttons, donated by Project: Priceless blog readers, began in earnest. Each flower on the dress was bedecked, by my own hands, with a button that I sewed into place; on top of each of these buttons I layered two more buttons and used E-6000 glue to anchor them permanently to each other.

A week before the wedding, I remembered I had green rickrack and I tied that around the middle as a sort of sash. Small detail you may not have noticed: our cake had rickrack around each layer. 

Under the dress, we added that wonderful green crinoline, made by Etsy shop Swank Underpinnings, then modified to lighten the green by Judy of JR Creations, with a sweet ruffled ribbon trim of vanilla and apple stripes.

And my boots…my beloved cowboy boots, gifted to me by Brian when I rescued him from Calgary. It took me a year to break those boots in so they didn’t hurt my feet…turns out, cowboy boots aren’t made for wide feet. But it was worth every painful stretch, because they’re perfect; and, while we couldn’t exactly have Brian’s motorcycle in the ceremony, it was nice to have that touch of biker with us.

Finish off the ensemble with a Morganna the White necklace. Lovingly layered into that, lay the Devine Jewellers pearl necklace Brian got me as a groom’s gift. My orange button stud earrings and orange pearl-with-green-buttons bracelet, that I made just for the occasion; I wore my grandmas’ rings for extra luck, and my Grandma Ruth’s blue Nova Scotia charm tucked into my bouquet. And in my hair, my peacock feather fascinator from Flights of Fancy.

The day went perfectly, with the rain disappearing just before the ceremony, and everyone having a wonderful time. It was a good dress, I gotta say. I felt cute and fun but also dressed to the nines. But probably the best part of the whole dress?

It had pockets.Yeah; 'nuff said.




All photos displayed can be identified by their watermarks: Laura Elizabeth Photography, and Photos by Adam Pap have watermarks in the bottom right corners; and Aiden Wolf Photography has no watermark.

Mini post: Jordan's dress

I feel like you could all use an update on my dress. It has changed, morphed, altered, and been abandoned so many times over the last ten months. I started off seeking a green dress, and when I found green dresses, I didn’t like them. I wanted lace, but found nothing lacey that didn’t seem to weight three hundred pounds. I sought vintage, but found it out-of-reach. And if you recall, my gown was found quite by accident, while trying on yet another round of white whales (my word for gowns that are grandiose, white, and make you feel ten times wider than you actually are); there, amongst the bridesmaids gowns, was the little dress that could: a demure strapless number with taffeta flowers along the hem. I took the leap, and despite only seeing the dress in black, I ordered it in ivory. I got it on sale, and I paid less than I ever thought possible (about 260.00).

It came in, and I put it on, and I didn’t feel any tears sting my eyes, nor did I swoon or squeal with joy. In fact, when I put it on, I just felt an overwhelming sense of…calm. Rare, during this crazy wedding project, and more reassuring than any emotional outburst would have been. It was wrinkled and mussed, but I didn’t panic; two steamings later, with some careful work by our seamstress Judy Ruggles, it fell in playful pleats to the knee, and all it needed now was, well, about 6 hours of handiwork. This led to many occasions of panic, and I routinely convinced myself I had the wrong dress, as I had to wait for each little detail to come together.

I spent about a month hating my dress after seeing Kate Middleton’s dress. How unfair that she should find a dress that literally embodied every detail, silhouette, and aspect I had sought for months. Brian pointed out that our budgets were just a tad different, but that didn’t really help. I found that Kate’s dress had taken up residence in my mind as the ideal dress, and it was hard to budge it. Nevertheless, I went to work on tailoring my dress into something I would love.

I began by strategically laying out the many buttons that had been given to us by blog readers and freecyclers. Layering the buttons, all orange and green, I carefully sewed them into the centres of each taffeta floret, then crazy-glued more buttons on top of each one. Many hours later, I had a dress that was starting to take shape. I now waited eagerly for the piece de resistance: the crinoline.

A wonderful artisan named Ann, owner of the Etsy shop SwankUnderpinnings, offered to make the crino, in a fresh apple green that would be my compromise to myself: if I couldn’t have a lovely green dress, I could have a white dress with a killer green crinoline. Ann made the treasure and sent it our way, and to my utter despair, the colour was too bright. This, I’m sure, sounds like an anal-retentive ‘bride moment’, but I mean that the crino literally glowed green through my dress. I put on the ensemble for a coworker to give her opinion, and she gently suggested that I hide my skirt under the tablecloth all night. As that was not the point of having the crino, I consulted with both Ann and seamstress Judy for advice. In the end, Judy saved the day with some crino wizardry, and this weekend past I finally got to see my dress stuffed full of perfect apple green tulle. I was so happy to be able to save Ann’s crino, as her workmanship is beyond spectacular; and I was so glad we had Judy to help, as I had utter trust in her abilities to help.

On Saturday, I slipped on my dress, ivory and bedecked in buttons. I pulled on the crinoline, nebulous and soft and hemmed in a stripe of green. I encircled my neck with Morganna the White’s gifted necklace, and put on my self-made bracelet and button earrings. I slid my peacock fascinator into my hair, made by the venerable Kate of Flights of Fancy, and I pulled on my brown cowboy boots, the first big gift Brian ever gave me. I stood in front of the mirror, and my aisle-walk song came on, and I found myself grinning foolishly and dancing around the living room, picturing the glowing smile on Brian’s face as I came down that long walkway. I pictured my sweet dad, proud to know both me and Brian, with his arm held out to me. I felt fully clad in…armour is the wrong word, but the right concept. The perfect getup for slaying wedding day nerves, the perfect gown for presenting myself to my chosen mate. I slipped one more detail on, a thin sash of apple green rick-rack that I tied around my waist, and suddenly I felt perfect. Kate Middleton’s overworked frock no longer interested me, and I felt like no other dress had ever stood a chance against this one.

Brian texted at that very moment, asking, “What r u up to?” I wrote back, “I am in my dress and I am happy and dancing around the living room.” It was such a long road, to finding a dress that made me feel comfortable: like a shinier, braver version of myself…a dress that made me feel the way Brian makes me feel, actually. A dress worthy of getting married to my lifelong partner in.

Brian came home that night from his bachelor party—a day full of ridiculous amounts of fun—and I asked him what his favourite part of the day was. “Getting that text from you,” he said, “And hearing that you were dancing around in your dress. That was my favourite part of the day.”

This and other reasons why I’m marrying the man.

Apocalypse Dress

I woke up Saturday morning and knew something terrible...an unalterable, undeniable truth: I don't have a dress.

I was suddenly absolutely certain that I did not want to wear the green one for the ceremony. A passing comment while trying on white dresses the week before had made me realize that, while I love the concept and the colour of the green one, it is not a cut or style I would ever choose for myself or my figure. And for reasons only my fickle internal self will ever understand, this realization meant that the dress was immediately out of the game. Okay...fine. But without the green one settled, I have...no dress settled.

Panic set in. I began searching through websites again, aware that every minute that ticked by was another minute I was too late to be ordering a dress from a bridal place. I found my mind racing through every dress I've ever tried on, trying to recall where there may be a sample dress that fits, and if there's any hope of the style I truly want. It seemed grim, which just seemed to make me more angry and crazy. I promptly took myself to Brian's work where he was having his lunch break, and told him I was calling off the wedding.

Brian is a good yin to my wild yang. He didn't argue or respond with outrage, but rather, asked me what the problem was. I told him I couldn't find a dress. I told him that I'd found dresses I loved, online, but almost all of them were way out of our price range, assuming we came up with a price range. I told him this whole thing was stupid anyway, because why did people get married? Bri had no quick answer, and I said that was exactly right: there was no answer. I asked him what role models did we have for marriage? Our friends, numerous ones who are getting messy divorces, or are cheating on their spouses, or are from an older generation to which we cannot relate? (Wide eyes and flailing hands accompanied this.) Ohhh, sure, I have a friend we'll call Marie, and she blogs and chatters away on facebook about how 'beautiful her kids are, and how perfect her Julia Child cooking journey is going', but I know, I just know, Marie, that you've gotta be hiding something pretty juicy behind all that June Cleaver cheer...no one is that cheery without sporting a serious pill habit!

I may have actually been shouting by the end of my rant. Brian tried to talk me down, but I was deafened by the panic in my own ears. I left and called Mo and told her I wanted to call the whole thing off. I told her (and this is probably the real root of all the panic) that Brian's trip to the hospital had shaken me and I didn't understand why anyone would put themselves in a position to be so attached to something as fragile as another human being: something so breakable, unreliable, fickle, and emotional. (Well, I doubt I was that clear or eloquent, but that was definitely what I was trying to say.)

I can't tell you what Mo said to calm me down because I'm not sure I actually did calm down; I think I just got distracted. I know I ranted on about wedding details for another twenty minutes, and by the end of it, I was pretty sure that figuring out this dress issue would at least calm me down about the big day itself. That gave me some reprieve: surely to god I can find one perfect, cost free/low-cost dress that will make me feel beautiful and young and vibrant? Right?

It wasn't until this morning that I calmed down about the rest of my worries...the real ones, the ones about marriage and people. My bridesmaid Tam received a harried email about dresses and dying and divorce last night, and replied this morning over a series of texts. She said that like it or not, Brian and I had already been on the path to real bonding for some time, and that the wedding wasn't really going to make that worse or better. She said I know how much it would hurt to lose each other, and that the ring on a finger (or tattoo on an arm) isn't going to change that aspect of things. I read that and felt a feeling much like I did when I was hanging one hundred feet over the jungle canopy in Mexico on a zipline: I realized that there wasn't any point in screaming or clawing at the ropes anymore, because I was already past the point of no return; after that, I relaxed to an almost humorous state and enjoy the zip-ride. Tam made me realize, I am already at the point of no return: Brian is as important to me now as he will be in five months on that special day. So I might as well stop scrabbling at the safety lines and surrender to the adventure.

Okay. So I have stopped freaking out about the concept of marriage, itself. Thank you, sweet Tam. But my dress is still a problem. I am ready, willing, and able to enter into a lifetime of loving matrimony with this sweet person...but like I said to him on his lunch break (albeit during some sort of psychotic episode), I refuse to do it if I don't look good. The dress is my armor, uniform, and statement for the day. Aside from a cool cake, it's the only thing I've had a real insistence on, and I am absolutely certain that no one can argue whether I've been a flexible bride to this point (case in point: this entire wedding project). I just want one lovely dress. Yes, I am a little surprised (read: disgusted) that it turns out, I'm one of those girls who freaks out about her wedding dress...but god help me, I am, and I can't change it. So let's review:

White (well, ivory).
Some texture...maybe lace. Not satin.
1950's circle dress (aka 'swing dress') silhouette.
Apple green crinoline or petticoat...I still don't know the difference.
Tea or knee length, to show off my cowboy boots.

Suggestions welcome. Offers heartily encouraged. Save a good sporty girl from total GIRLBEAST meltdown.

On dresses, godmothers, presents, and planners.

We picked up a wedding dress this weekend at a very unlikely location: the doors outside of the Bay on the second level of the Bayshore shopping centre. Shannon S, the woman who offered her 12 years-old, 50's-style gown to me, met us with her husband and kids, and handed me the precious item. This is the first wedding dress offer I have accepted, partially because I was quite certain I liked it, and partially because Shannon gave me permission to pass the dress along to a dress charity if it didn't work out--so, either way, this dress was going to get a second life. I thanked her, utterly thrilled to have a dress--any dress, really, but this one is lovely--to try on at home, away from the uncomfortable ornate femininity of the wedding boutiques.

We talked with Shannon for a few minutes, Brian and I, while I held the garment bag containing the dress and felt relief at the lightness of it. (For those familiar with wedding gowns, you know that all that tulle and satin gets heavy, and the pouf-ier the dress is, the heavier it is. The majority of the dresses I've liked on me were ones that were light to carry. This was a good sign.) Shannon shared a few words of wisdom in regards to marriage; this is not unusual these days, and in fact most offers we've been getting have been accompanied by a few wise words from married people. I've actually really enjoyed hearing it as, for the most part, the advice has been quite simple--which leads me to believe, perhaps one runs into relationship problems when one is taking things too seriously or tries to make things too complex. I am happy to follow advice that suggests I cease my overanalyzing; I do enough of that. Much of the advice, however, has ended with some sort of vague statement about it all working out...perhaps because, for those sharing advice, that's the simple truth. Unfortunately, this type of advice has left me feeling like someone has given me the entire plot rundown of a movie, yet keeps leaving off the ending, just saying, 'And by loving each other, it all just worked out.' Really, I'd rather hear the spoiler, you know? Anyway, all this to say, Shannon's advice was the most practical, down-to-earth, realistic wisdom that anyone has yet shared with us. In a nutshell and doing her no justice, it summed up as, seize the day, and if it all goes belly-up, at least you went for it, and life will go on. As I become mired a little more each day in the fairytale dogma of weddings, marriage, and the 'happily ever after' of the bridal industry, it can be really...grounding...to hear such simple, calm advice. At a time when any tiny nagging argument between Bri and I (over dishes, driving, dog walking, etc) feels like we're somehow unworthy of the bridal bliss promised in the magazines (this is my own anxiety speaking, I know that), to have Shannon's relaxed wisdom was wonderful. Thank you, Shannon.

Anyway, I'm on a tangent. So it turns out, we also owe Shannon another huge thank you: turns out, Shannon saw our article in the Ottawa Citizen and had passed it along to Stanley's (our venue), and encouraged them to contact us. Which they did, and now we have a venue and date and we are overjoyed with both. Naturally, between the dress and the venue tip, I found myself giving this (very patient) stranger a big hug. Shannon, we said thank you in person, I know, but not nearly enough! When we got into the car, we were still talking about the serendipity that continues to fuel this wedding project, and the series of coincidences that brought Shannon to read the article, have a great dress, and know of a fabulous venue. I remarked (and have continuously remarked over the few days) that Shannon is our wedding fairy godmother. Thank you, Shannon; we are so happy you found us.

So...curious about the dress? Well, we went to my parents shortly thereafter, and my mom helped me into it. Awesome point #1: I didn't really need help getting into it--a good sign it's not a meringue. Point #2: it's adorable. Point #3, it's so ivory, I would call it cream or mushroom or something, which is wonderful. It's a couple sizes too big, but in my limited knowledge of gowns, I think it'll be easy enough to take in. It has the most adorable neckline I have yet seen. It is pristine. And thanks to Shannon's blessing to modify-at-will, I can see tons of wonderful ways to alter it. Without giving too much away to nosy Brian, who will read this, plans for alteration include: shorter, tighter, sleeves taken up, green, green, sparkles, tulle, and green.

Now, I cannot say for sure that we have THEE dress; Mo has been sick as a dog for days, so I haven't gotten to show it to her yet, and her opinion matters soooo much to me; she will also know if the dress can be taken in enough. As a previous princess-gown bride herself, she knows a lot about alterations and whatnot. We also need to find someone (skilled and experienced, please--I can't let anything bad happen to such a sentimental gown) who can alter it in the various ways I want, plus who will hopefully do it free-of-charge, for trade, or what have you. But I can truly say, this is the first dress I put on where I felt elegant, fun, and yet also, like my normal self. Who is, I always hope, ele-fun, too. I have such a hard time telling if things are going to look good when they're not the right size yet, so I am desperate for Mo to come over and tug it tight in all the right spots. But I have a really good feeling about this dress. I'll keep you all posted.

Moving on...Brian and I went and made a wedding gift registry this week. The barcode scanner is Brian's new favourite toy. We were going into Michael's craft store for some Christmas gift supplies, and had ducked into a home-type store to check for something. In the lobby was a big ad for the registry program. Well, we had an extra hour to kill before going to see my parents, so why not? We found a staff, sat at the registry desk,  filled out the registry stuff, and then grabbed a gun. I whispered to Brian, this is just to practice. We haven't even researched what stores we'd register at yet! And we really don't need house stuff! My comments were met with 'uh-huh' as he practically ran through the store scanning stuff. Brandy snifters, wine glasses, butcher blocks, chef knives...everything went into the scanner. And it was tricky, because as Bri laser-gunned each item, I would think things like, 'But we have knives! Well, yes, those are a lot nicer and would probably cut a tomato instead of mashing it...' Because the reality is, no matter how long you've been living on your own, or as a couple, there are things you have that you'd like to upgrade. I mean, our third-hand toaster still works most of the time, but that sexy Bodum green one is pretty damn awesome...

Brian was smart, and pulled me into the fervor quickly by taking me to the linens; we have several fitted sheets, but none of them have deep pockets to stay on the bed. And they're mismatched because I only buy on sale. And they're not 100% cotton. And they drive me crazy. Like, I hate them and every night before I get into my PJ's, I cast a glare at the bed. Well, guess what, J? Here's an entire wall of colour-coordinated, 400+ thread count, cotton sheets. I had a chuckle when Bri pointed and said, "We need one of those." 'Those' was said with the same tone I use when something on the car needs replacing: I really have no idea what I'm pointing at, but I know it needs fixing. I followed Brian to where he was pointing. "You mean a duvet, darling?" I said, stifling a giggle. "Duvet," he said, memorizing the word. And yet, he was right; we have a summer-weight Ikea duvet which is doing absolutely nothing for us in this freezing temperature. Fine. I showed him around the duvets, explained materials and styles, and we scanned one. By the end of the visit, I was just enjoying scanning things that I would a) never buy the 'brand name' version of, yet would like to get; or b) never buy because it seems frivolous, extravagant, or otherwise irresponsible. My favourite scans by the end: a 2.5-foot tall glass vase that looks like something out of Dr Seuss or Tim Burton's imagination, a set of avocado-green ceramic kitchen items, and a tiny white salt pig. A salt pig was a new term for me, yet my strange Brian knew what it was right away. For $3.95, I may just go buy it myself. I have no intention of leaving all $4600.00 of stuff on that registry, nor do I rule out the possibility that I'll actually do some research before sending friends and family to a particular store(s)...but it was really fun, kind of like circling all the toys you want in the Sears Wishbook catalogue when I was a kid.

These past few weeks have seen me with far less time for wedding planning. It's been a little frustrating, because on top of the usual wedding planning business, we also have our crazy (and awesome) Project: Priceless tasks to attend to. So we're feeling really grateful to have the efforts of Veronica--our wedding planner, another donation to the project! V, as I've been referring to her, is so enthusiastic. It's great, because she's not previously connected to us personally, so all her excitement is unbiased. She knows lots of useful stuff (like, what an escort card is), and she's starting to guide us towards timelines, deadlines, and decisions. I think jumping in when Mo and I are together must be pretty hard, but she's doing well. For our second meeting, I wanted her to get a feel for my side of the family, so I had her meet with us at my parents' house. I explained it: this would be a typical night at the family house, and the extended family is just like my immediate family; so, if she could picture the experience on a scale amplified 25 times over, that's what (my side) of the wedding would be like. I was teasing...a little. But it was a perfect K-family evening: the TV was playing a space movie, the four greyhounds were barking and playing, the exchange students were in and out, my dad decided to try cooking beef Wellington for the first time (which meant that Brian became sous-chef and we didn't see him for the rest of the meeting). It was a cacophonous, chaotic swirl of an evening. And V handled it swimmingly. Apparently she's used to gregarious family gatherings. Perfect!

We haven't had much time, as I said, to connect with V over the last two weeks, which has been weird for me, as I feel like there must be things we are falling behind on or need to connect about. But I have faith that V has her finger on the pulse of this planning process, and will nag at me if I'm neglecting something. I also recognize that the three weeks leading up to Christmas are a hard time to plan anything not related to the holidays. 

Tonight I may buy myself a new magazine and put myself into another panicky spin about floral ideas, decor on the cheap, and dress details. My sweet derby-mate Sandi has enlisted her family to help bring the olive green wedding dress up from It's Your Day in Windsor, and they'll even bring it back if I try it on and find it doesn't work on me. I hope V and Mo understand that they're on call over Christmas, and may have to speed over to my house to critique the two dresses, over and over again.

Note: see December 30, 2010 entry for update on wedding planner status. http://projectpriceless.blogspot.com/2010/12/offer-and-request.html

The Dress...My White Whale

I stood at the foot of the bed, debating aloud what to wear to work. Brian gave feedback that was actually appreciated; he's got a good eye for this type of thing. His suggestions were sound, and would result in a very nice look for the day...but on the other edge of the bed, I had laid an entirely different outfit.

"See? This is the whole problem!" I shouted in frustration. Brian gave me a sympathetic grimace. I was holding both outfits in my hands: in the left, an ephemeral blue printed skirt made from an upcycled sari, so light that I had to wear a slip; in the right, a red plaid tank top, part of a punk rocker ensemble I bought from a Hallowe'en store on clearance. "How the hell am I ever going to find a dress when I am clearly two people stuck in the same body?"

I bought a new wedding book on the weekend, and it has been both a blessing and a curse. It's call The Offbeat Bride, and there's a website, too, if you like. The writer, Ariel Meadow Stallings, is someone I want immediately to meet and be friends with. Her desire to provide a meticulous wedding wedsite (ugh, cutsie names), her insane-in-a-good-way wedding dress, and her opinions on almost everything bridal, are so very much mirrored by my own. Her book is fantastic, in that she is encouraging brides to be themselves and not feel smothered in wedding lore and expectation. I bought it after browsing the Offbeat Bride website for about two minutes. I can't put it down.

So on the positive side, this book is giving me plenty of encouragement to be my non-traditional self. This is wonderful, and I really needed it. On the other hand, I am more afraid than ever that I am allowing my (and Bri's) senses of self to be swallowed up by the often-outdated concept of what a wedding should end up looking like. The book has renewed my conviction that I am committed to my soup-can-as-candle-holder project, and other DIY-looking, punky elements. It has, however made me worried that I've started to settle in certain areas...especially the dress.

Ariel did a lot of research in writing her book, and turns out, plenty of brides don't wear white. I mean, I know that other cultures don't always wear white, and I know that even the 'Anglo-Saxon' tradition is only about 200 years old. But I'm not talking about colourful dresses stemming from ethnic traditions or an insistence on a pre-Victorian dress: I mean, there are plenty of women right now, wearing dresses of all types, walking down the aisle, wearing colours like red, grey, blue, and...sigh...my coveted green.

Ariel's own dress was green, or at least parts of it. To hear her describe the dress without presenting a photo, I found myself picturing this image of a fairy from A Midsummer's Night Dream gone evil. Tulle, and a corset, and colour, and fun. I suddenly found myself demanding to know, just when did I get on the big white dress train (no pun intended)?

I threw myself on the bed and rubbed my face into Bri's shoulder. "You're going to look so beautiful no matter what you were, J; you're always sexy," he said, sweet boy that he is.

"That's not the problem, Bri," I whined, "It's that I want to look like so many different things. And the dress is so symbolic. And I want to be elegant, but also fun...I want to be ele-fun." We laughed at the new word. But it fits.

I calmed down a bit and went to work. I checked over my wedding to-do list, and saw my idea notes on dresses. So far, the white dresses I had considered had not been outside my original vision too much. The only change was that I'd originally pictured an empire-waisted, slinky hippy-like dress, but now I was really excited about the idea of oodles of tulle. Not because it's traditional: because we're going to muck it up and dye it green or something, and hot glue little rhinestones all in it. and pair it with cowboy boots for the aisle walk, and amazing hand-painted Figgie shoes (more on this later) for the dancing. I pictured one of the 1950s inspired dresses I have been looking at, done with a green sash, green petticoat/crinoline, sparkles, and green fabric-covered buttons going down my back. The tongue-in-cheek tradition that I feel comfortable with. Because I do so very much love a theme, and so I'll dress to match the occasion (white); but because I'm never quite what one expects, I'll bedazzle the thing and pair it with a necklace made of mini skulls or something.

I mentioned, in a comment, the first designer I'd found who makes 50s style wedding dresses; I have since found a second. This gives me hope, and a sense of connection with other brides out there: I'm not the only one with a love of the vintage and a distaste for the hyper-Victorian dresses. (Mind you, the olive green one I've been offered has been food for thought...more on this later, too.)

And I have time. Due to the new wedding date, I have 60 days less than originally estimated, but I do still have 2-3 months to figure this out, before I get into rough spots with ordering and delivery timelines. And hey, if the right dress comes to me through a local shop, off the rack, or from a former bride, then I'm golden.

I am, however, more committed than ever that I will feel totally awesome and 'me' as I stomp my way down that aisle in riding or cowboy boots, a kickass dress, and my darling waiting for me at the altar.

The Big White Dress

 I spent a day this weekend in Montreal, looking at wedding dresses at the Plaza St Hubert, a huge outdoor mall that is literally super-saturated with dress shops. Bri was in training, Mo couldn't come, so I went by myself. I packed some cookies, a water, and a map. I brought my notebook to make notes on styles and shapes. I was as prepared for this event as I could possibly be.

My first mistake was walking into the first store without a clear agenda in mind. In the past week, a little voice has been whispering at me, "I want a white dress". I have shushed this little voice every time, yet here I am amidst the largest array of white dresses I have yet seen, and I can't stop myself from thinking, maybe white isn't so bad...

I'll skip ahead for a moment and tell you, I saw a wide range of green dresses at the Plaza, all shapes and sizes, many identical in cut and fabric to the wedding dresses. I hated them all. The greens looked weird, I kept thinking 'leprechaun', and it just made me sad. I also kept having one nasty blog poster's comment play over in my head (something about 'A green dress? So tacky!'), which was demoralizing and made me realize just how stressful this little taste of fame has been, such as it is.

I realize now that my picture of a green dress was meant to be only if I completely eschewed the wedding dress silhouettes and fabrics. I think I pictured a dress like Kate Winslet's in Titanic, the one she wore the night she tried to jump off the ship--which I recognize is probably not the best imagery to connect with one's wedding. Either way, I have now tried on a rather large number of white dresses, and I find that I'm leaning heavily towards this colour. I could walk you all through a dozen rationalizations for this decision, rationalizations that have been assuaging my own concerns that I've lost my mind, but the simplest one is this: I decided my mantra for the wedding is, 'I acknowledge tradition, I just want to muck it up'. If this is true, how better to do that than to take a white dress (I acknowledge), then pair it with leather riding boots and a motorcycle jacket (I muck it up)?

Anyway, with this new, and still tentative, decision to consider white as an option for my dress, I entered the first store with my ideas of the perfect dress once again unclear. I offered the saleswoman a range of confused suggestions as to my taste and style, and ended up in a crystal-studded a-line strapless number that made me look fantastic...but left me feeling detached from the reflection in the mirror. I did manage to try on a simple, tulle-less trumpet-silhouette* dress, with a lace sheath, that I had been eyeing in a magazine, and I loved it; but the 'fun' was really lacking. I looked sombre, somehow, or very au naturale. You know, not the naked kind, but the 'I just rolled out of bed and found this pretty dress in my closet, so then I went and picked some wildflowers while wandering around looking pensive' kind of au naturale. Waifish. Which is great, but not the spirit of the wedding.


After a few more attempts, I found a shop with a small selection of knee- and tea-length dresses. I tried them on, and immediately felt focused again, like a compass pointing north: tea-length is what I want. Great. Nevermind that the two she had looked odd on my hips. The shape was almost right and if we stuffed a crinoline underneath...yes, there it was, almost right. That Audrey Hepburn-meets-Donna Reed look that was both elegant, and party-worthy. So close! At the same store I tried on a yellow (bad, dog-pee-in-snow yellow) dress with navy blue embroidery. The colours made me despair, but the neckline was a true sweetheart with a halter-style strap, a fitted waist, and then a larger skirt. If it hadn't been floor length, it would have been near-perfect. I could feel I was close, soooo close to finding what I wanted.

I entered the next few stores promising myself that I would not even glance at a dress that was longer than tea-length. That worked for about ten seconds, until I realized what was missing from the dresses I'd been looking at: sparkle and texture. So I found myself searching through racks of cathedral trained dresses again, unable to walk away.

The reality is, I look good in almost any dress. I have a small figure with curves where they should be and modestly proportioned. I have a pretty face, and my dark hair and eyes seem to go really well with the light fabrics. With virtually every dress I've tried on, the saleswomen have been amazed at how good I look. I know this sounds pretty conceited, but it's not meant to; it's a fact, and it's actually making things harder. (I know, poor girl, eh? Sorry.) How do you choose a dress that reflects you and not just end up with a dress that is really stunning because of how it looks on you? With growing despair, I realized that I could walk out of any of these stores with almost any dress and look great, which meant there were way too many options. And of course, there was the issue of how this dress will happen: will I be offered a donated dress that's just right? Will I find a designer or shop that wants to donate? Here's hoping. Though I have admitted to myself and to my family that the dress is the one area I may end up paying for (somehow) myself, I want to believe that the right dress will come out of this crazy project without my meddling.

On the verge of a panic attack, I told myself that I would just have to come back to Montreal, and the Plaza, sometime soon with Mom and Mo. Clearly I was not able to handle this by myself. I was absolutely not going to look left or right...oh, I know that shop name! Well, I'll just peak in...

Ten minutes later, I am standing in a borrowed bustier and my pink striped panties while a little old woman (highly reminiscent of Miss Celine** from the Gilmore Girls) maneuvers giant dresses over the top of my head. She puts me in a dress that sparkles with tiny crystals, sits at my natural waist, and then plumes out around me like a ballgown from a black-and-white film. She says something, addressing me as 'the bride', and I stare at the myriad reflections of me bouncing between the surrounding mirrors. I am the bride. I am the bride. I am a bride. I don't know why it hit at that moment, why my mind dwelled on the word, rolling it over on the tongue of my consciousness like a new flavour; but it suddenly seemed more tangible, not quite in my grasp, but so close...the fingers of my mind grazed the edge of the concept, and for a brief moment, I wasn't standing with this woman in a high-end boutique in Montreal. I was surrounded by green trees, in a big tent, laughing with my guests and giving my sweet Brian adoring looks.

It wasn't the perfect dress, of that I am certain. It was, however, a wake-up call. I definitely wanted a dress I could feel connected to, and a vintage look was calling to me. In that dress, the image of myself and the image of a bride overlapped and very nearly aligned themselves into one three-dimensional picture. But not quite. I took off the dress with a sigh, asked for the serial number, and left.

I managed to keep my head down the rest of the way along the Plaza. I was starving by this point, having exceeded four hours of searching and completely missing out on lunch. I stopped for a sandwich and reviewed my map, deciding to walk back to the hotel despite the fact that in the morning, a concierge had convinced me to cab it down to the mall. It hadn't seemed that far as I noted our path through the city, so I decided to gamble and walk back.

Five kilometers of walking, after four hours of shopping and carrying a laptop bag stuffed with a computer and magazines, is not a lot of fun. My advice for other brides: splurge on the cab.

I had over an hour of walking to think about the dresses, and I did so. Mo was unreachable for texting on the subject, and my mom's phone is possessed, so I never know if she's getting my texts or not. I let my mind review the dozens of dresses, and I came to a few conclusions:

1. I want the Audrey-meets-Donna look: tight waist, crinoline-widened skirt.
2. I am not afraid of white.
3. I will personalize the dress with green tulle and crinolines and sashes and maybe gloves.
4. I like texture, especially lace, but I'm also happy with embroidery.
5. I want sparkle!!!
6. Tea length is a must.

I dreamed that night of the wedding gowns. It didn't help that the bed linens in the hotel were all white, and that the cover felt exactly like taffeta. I kept picturing the old lady at the last boutique, the endless tunnels of tulle and mesh from which I was birthed as she pulled me through the top of each dress. I obsessively counted beads and pearls, I waded through unnavigable seas of crinoline. I woke up with some sort of dress shopping hangover.

But then something amazing happened. I turned on my computer and checked Twitter, curious to see who was up and about. A link to a link of a follower's led me to a website. The website is of a little dress shop in the UK. The shop specializes in swing-era 'circle dresses' with sweetheart necklines, halter straps, and petticoats. Coloured petticoats. O my. And upon further searching, they have a wedding dress:


1. It is the quintessential Audrey-meets-Donna look: tight waist, crinoline-widened skirt.
2. It comes in white and ivory.
3. I can personalize it easily with a green sash, green petticoats, green gloves, green bolero...
4. It is LACE. Lace overlay with shiny satin under.
5. I could easily add sparkle to the dress with minimal effort.
6. It is an absolute perfect tea length.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this dress all day. I estimate it will cost, in Canadian, 170.00. Then, of course, the green crinoline/petticoat, which I'll have to search for or make. So really, for about the cost of the average bride's hairdo, I can have THEE dress. There, I said it: THEE dress!

I had better give it a couple days. Because maybe I'll see something else I like better, right? Yeah. Surrrre. I am going to close the website right now. Not another click. I am absolutely going to stop looking at all the pictures of it. Done and done.

Yup.


*tulle: I have learned the correct spelling, though 'toile' is also a fabric. I am becoming well-versed in the world of ballgown materials, to my delight and dismay.

**Miss Celine, for those who don't know: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mq_BpvzldAk

The White Wedding Dress

My mother, MOH, and I went out today and tried on traditional wedding dresses.

As you may know by now, my plan for many years has been to wear a green dress. And nothing flouncy. And nothing with translucent ghosty, giant clouds of fabric. Nothing that makes me look like a rosette of whipped cream. Nothing satin, nothing with boning, nothing with a train, and nothing shiny.

But I have let myself look at some white dresses recently, because I saw one (a bridesmaid's dress actually, but in white) where the opaque layer underneath the lace sheath could be any colour I want--including green. Well, this made me think: maybe I could do something that would give a nod to the traditional, but would still be the green I've so desired. So then suddenly, many of the existing wedding dresses are potential dresses for me, because I can cut, dye, hem, and modify the things until they're a truer reflection of me. So today, we went to try some on and see what I look like in giant white meringue-like dresses.

No one--NO ONE--is more surprised than I am at how much I enjoyed the dresses today.

I tried on so many different styles. And unbelievably, there was only a very small handful of them for which I said a quick and definitive 'no'. You know what's great about the flouncy layers of toile? They make your dress all flowy and stick out in all the right spots. And little crystals embroidered onto a dress means that every time you turn, you sparkle like snow in the moonlight. Satin, done properly, all rooshed (rushed? Rouged? It's pronounced 'roosh-d') around the middle means I look like I've got a Wonder Woman waist. And white isn't nearly as...fattening...on me as I thought. In fact, quite the opposite seems to be true.

I can't tell you too much about the dresses I loved today, because they're all still on the table as ones I may try to find or recreate through donations, trades, etc. and we can't have Brian learning prematurely what I might wear. But suffice it to say, by the twentieth dress or so, we started to really get creative with ideas about replacing all the toile with green toile, putting green satin buttons down the back, and even creating removeable tiers so I can walk and dance like a 'normal' person after the ceremony itself.

By the end of the day, I put on a dress that made Heather (MOH) cry. I will admit, I was a little choked up, myself. I found myself delaying having to take it off. I haven't stopped thinking about it all night. And it's fantastically mod-friendly, so I can add a ton of green to it. Yes, a white dress...but done to be very very green.

And yet, I cannot deny: it is still a white dress.

So that leads me to ask myself, why am I opposed to the white dress? Originally I think it was because I pictured this overworked bodice with a giant ballgown skirt, and having tried one of those on before, and having kept a snapshot of the incident to tape on my fridge as a diet incentive, I know I never want to wear something like that. But now that I see that I look plenty thin in white (waif-like, even), and that I can apparently pull off the whipped-cream-rosette look really well, I don't know. I know that I hate to fit in, do things conventional, expected, or average. I always swore that I thought every wedding dress looked exactly the same as the last one, but today I saw how wrong I was. I also thought that brides who would obsessively correct you if you called their dress 'white' when they insisted it was 'ivory' had clearly lost their minds. Yet today I saw, with my own disbelieving eyes, that white and ivory are too entirely different things. Yes, my initial reaction upon walking into the shop was a choking feeling as I surveyed the countless yards of white (or ivory, natural, oyster, cream...) dresses; but after stepping into them, some like giant NASA spacesuits because of all the infrastructure and crinolines, I have seen that not all wedding dresses are created equal.

I ended the day pretty much in love with this one dress...Brian will read this but let me just say: A line, semi-matte satin, tiered, with some extra surprises we can alter in. For a wedding dress, it was reasonably priced. I felt the foreign urge to buy, on credit, a giant white dress that embodied everything I'd said I didn't want. I reminded myself of P:P and made myself take a step back. Perhaps, if this is the dress I'm meant to have, it will come to me through the project. SIGH. And perhaps I'll crack and find a way to buy it now.

As I drove home tonight, I think I figured out why I was enjoying the dresses--especially the last few, so mod-friendly--even though they were white. I've never been one to throw tradition right out the window; for instance, I would not wear pants for my wedding because I respect the iconography of the bride in a dress. But I do like to thumb my nose at tradition. By adding the riding boots I hope to wear, plus yards of green toile, and a few other quirks (you'll see!), I get to say, 'I appreciate tradition; I just like to f--- it up." And that is really, really fun. In fact, I think it's my new mantra for this whole wedding.


I find myself wondering if my reluctance to consider a white dress is partly due to some sort of rebellion that I should have outgrown around...oh, age 20, probably. Standing there today, staring at myself in a sparkling white dress looking like a moviestar, I really had to ask myself, when had I decided I hated these dresses? And I really don't know.

I think the only solution is for me to try on a bunch more. Lots and lots and lots more.

PS. To better understand the late-life rebellion concept, watch this youtube video. The original monologue is from the Gilmore Girls, as Lorelai philosophizes over her love of poptarts...this girl's audition tape had the whole script, so I'm sharing this version. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fqRwNOIy1s