Wedding dress shopping.
Yesterday my posse (Mom, 2 aunts, cousin, sister, Nana and friend) and I went to a bridal fair at the Ritz-Carlton in San Francisco and dress shopping at Priscilla of Boston.
I think I might have a screw loose somewhere. Let me explain.
The bridal fair was fun. For $10 (big thanks to Ms. Randi for the coupon code!) we gained entry into a gorgeous hotel where we imbibed free champagne, hor d’oeuvres and cake. Some personal favorites were the dim sum and the chocolate fountain. Also, the many different photo booths were fantastic. I was slightly annoyed that the champagne ran out by 2pm (seriously, Ritz Carlton? The show kept going until 4. Do better next time) but other than that it was a blast. Free stuff, woo!
Then we went to the bridal salon. What I had anticipated to be a fun time playing dress-up was instead an hour and a half of feeling really pressured to pick a dress RIGHT NOW. I tried on some amazing, gorgeous dresses (pics to come!) but I don’t know that I found THE dress. First off, my appointment at Priscilla was just meant to give me an idea of what kind of dress to look for and what I thought looked best on my body type. Second, all of these dresses there are WAY too expensive (something I anticipated, but again, I never planned to buy there. Sorry, Priscilla…). The one I liked the best is $3900. HAHA. Third, I couldn’t try on a SINGLE. DRESS. without the very sweet (and she was) bridal consultant asking questions like, “Do you think this is YOUR dress?” “How are you feeling about this?” “Do you want me to take your measurements now?” with compliments peppered throughout - “Oh, I don’t think your hips are too big! You’re very proportional” (thanks hon, I’m actually not self-conscious about my hips; I said that only so you didn’t try to put me in some horrible mermaid monstrosity).
So I’m in the dress everyone likes the most - the Melissa Sweet Dora style. It’s beautiful, sort of a fit and flare shape made with polka dot organza. I’m standing on the raised platform with a long black satin sash tied around my waist and even I have to admit that I look pretty freaking hot. The dress is just so much dress, though. I love it but it looks too bridal, it’s white and I don’t want to wear white, and it’s long long with a train. It’s beautiful but I’m just not sure it’s right to wear in real life. You know, outside. To walk around and eat tacos in.
So I’m there on the platform, and the bridal consultant puts a cathedral length veil in my hair and my sister hands me a bouquet. And for a moment I think, “hot damn I’m GORGEOUS!” But then I start to get really nervous and I realize that everyone is staring at me and I start to get this feeling like I either want to run away or I want everyone else to leave so I can process the figure in the mirror - this BRIDE - on my own. It was weird. And I don’t think I liked it. It looked like me but it wasn’t me. It was Steffany the uber bride and I don’t think I want to be Steffany the uber bride, I just want to be Steffany. With a pretty dress, of course.
