Weddingbee Blog

This week I had my long-awaited alterations appointment. Okay, I made it two weeks ago so it’s not really long-awaited, but it felt like it while I was waiting on the mailman to deliver my correctly-sized bra (I’m the friendliest customer he has, I’d bet, given how excited I am when he drives up).

Because my dress originally came from David’s Bridal, I figured I’d get it altered there… but I had a sneaking suspicion they’d be weird about my buying it second-hand, and I was right. See my happy face in the photo below? Totally not related to this paragraph, but a good opportunity to use an unflattering picture. Oh, yea, and I’m wearing too much makeup.

{Honey Sweetie Pie? Don’t read this one. It’s not about you at all, just about my dress drama. Yes, you’re off the hook.}

First, though, let me just tell you that the whole wedding-dress-fitting experience is not for the modest, no, sirree. The curtains barely close and if you turn your head quickly enough, you’ll see the watchful eyes of the seamstress checking to see if you’re ready. Not, “Are you almost ready, dear?” checking, but peering in to get a sense of how close you are to needing them checking. Like a really good server at a restaurant, except you’re in your undies with your patooty hanging out and boobs looking larger than life. Which I suppose could be your restaurant experience depending on the type of establishments you frequent, but without judging I will just say it doesn’t work that way in my world.

Back to the story. All along I figured I’d get the sides taken in a bit, the hem lifted a tad, and the simplest bustle ever put in. I budgeted $150 figuring it would cost a bit more. I was so wrong.

I’m often struck by how the wedding-planning experience magnifies personality quirks. I am easily swayed by the smiles of other people and uncomfortable speaking up in the midst of that kind of gentle groupthink. Standing in my quickly purchased flats (for practicality) in a 12 point bustle (for wow factor), I knew that my bill was going to exceed what I paid for the entire dress and that the bustle was too complicated for my tastes. And yet, I handed over the plastic and walked out with an appointment to pick up my dress.

And then felt that uncomfortable sinking feeling my belly for the next hour.

I felt unsettled. Wearing flats isn’t my style (practicality be damned, I lived in New York City and spent four years of my life running through airports in heels and skirts… for work, not for fun) and I was unexplainably pissed that I paid for more the alterations than for the dress. Pissed. Not unhappy, but angry. I’d let myself down, and even more inexplicably, I’d let you all down. If there’s been one theme to my posts, it’s that you have to know yourself and be yourself and not get caught up in all of the Wedding Industrial Complex crap, right? And here I was, at the chainiest of bridal stores, paying up the wazoo for something I wasn’t sure was right for me. {See, blogs can be good!}

So I called my mom, who has a knack for figuring out which of my feelings are crap and which are worthy of action, took a walk down to our ceremony site in heels (without a single stumble, wobble, or trip, thankyouverymuch), then called DB back to tell them I wasn’t so happy with my decisions. And even though I did it in the most pathetic little voice, they understood and gave me a new appointment to come back with my shoes and concerns.

Don’t ignore the uncomfortable feelings, because whether you or anyone else thinks they’re worthy or justifiable or logical, they’ll dim your happiness just a tiny bit. There are worse and more frivolous things than being happy because your shoes are hot pink.

On the bright side, the sides of my dress had to be taken in a whole bunch. Makes a girl happy.

Tell me I’m not the only one who’s had to rewind and redo something because it just wasn’t right. Did you feel Bridezilla-ish while you insisted on your way? I sure did, but who cares… I get to decide whether I want to risk my neck for the right shoes, right?