dressy I went around to a couple of these bridal salons to look at wedding dresses today. It wasn't really as painful as I thought it would be. First of all, let me say that I'm totally intimidated by any store at which you have to make an appointment just to get into the place. I'm just not that classy in regular life, and I've never done any kind of shopping before where personal "consultants" and dressing rooms the size of a studio apartment were par for the course. I kept thinking that I would get all talked down to "Pretty Woman" style, when Julia Roberts goes into that clothing store on Rodeo Drive and the snotty salesladies tell her that there's nothing for her there because she's dressed all whorish. Not that I was. Hopefully. So anyway, despite the foreign experience, I managed to come away with some nice dresses that I want to take a second look at, and am going back with my mom tomorrow morning to Vera Wang so that she can weigh in on my choices. I'm not really sure of the utility of bringing my mom back for an opinion--I'd really rather it, for instance, if either of my sisters were in town, since we all have somewhat similar taste in clothing, whereas my mother and I often do not--but it's just one of those things that I need to get her in on. You know how it is: pick a wedding gown, ask your mom. Of course, she's going to hate whatever I picked, and will be complaining about the fabric or the cut or the price for months, if not years. But she does have to take part in the dress choice. My dad actually came with me today, which was nice (and practically unprecedented, as he was the only man in the whole building), but his opinions consisted of "fits OK" and "looks like the last one." Did you know that when you go in to try dresses at bridal salons, the "consultants" get right into the dressing room with you? The whole time? As in, they're standing there watching as you prance around in your underwear, getting close-up views of your butt as they herd you into one dress or another? I didn't know that. If I did, I surely would have worn a bra today. (I was wearing a halter-top dress, and as it is, I don't have much to support.) They lend you bras at the bridal places, of course, to wear with the dresses, but the consultants are right there in the dressing room, helping you put the bra on. Right there! Looking at my breasticles! I don't even know you, lady! And the worst of it is that with the exception of Vera Wang, most of these salons didn't even have a bra in my size. "I'm sorry," they'd say, "the smallest we have is a 34B." So sad that 34A is, like, off the breast size bell curve with these people. I'm practically concave. xo Michelle |
Wednesday . May 8 . 2002 . 11:08pm |
dressy I went around to a couple of these bridal salons to look at wedding dresses today. It wasn't really as painful as I thought it would be. First of all, let me say that I'm totally intimidated by any store at which you have to make an appointment just to get into the place. I'm just not that classy in regular life, and I've never done any kind of shopping before where personal "consultants" and dressing rooms the size of a studio apartment were par for the course. I kept thinking that I would get all talked down to "Pretty Woman" style, when Julia Roberts goes into that clothing store on Rodeo Drive and the snotty salesladies tell her that there's nothing for her there because she's dressed all whorish. Not that I was. Hopefully. So anyway, despite the foreign experience, I managed to come away with some nice dresses that I want to take a second look at, and am going back with my mom tomorrow morning to Vera Wang so that she can weigh in on my choices. I'm not really sure of the utility of bringing my mom back for an opinion--I'd really rather it, for instance, if either of my sisters were in town, since we all have somewhat similar taste in clothing, whereas my mother and I often do not--but it's just one of those things that I need to get her in on. You know how it is: pick a wedding gown, ask your mom. Of course, she's going to hate whatever I picked, and will be complaining about the fabric or the cut or the price for months, if not years. But she does have to take part in the dress choice. My dad actually came with me today, which was nice (and practically unprecedented, as he was the only man in the whole building), but his opinions consisted of "fits OK" and "looks like the last one." Did you know that when you go in to try dresses at bridal salons, the "consultants" get right into the dressing room with you? The whole time? As in, they're standing there watching as you prance around in your underwear, getting close-up views of your butt as they herd you into one dress or another? I didn't know that. If I did, I surely would have worn a bra today. (I was wearing a halter-top dress, and as it is, I don't have much to support.) They lend you bras at the bridal places, of course, to wear with the dresses, but the consultants are right there in the dressing room, helping you put the bra on. Right there! Looking at my breasticles! I don't even know you, lady! And the worst of it is that with the exception of Vera Wang, most of these salons didn't even have a bra in my size. "I'm sorry," they'd say, "the smallest we have is a 34B." So sad that 34A is, like, off the breast size bell curve with these people. I'm practically concave. xo Michelle |
