Weddingbee Blog

As a bride, I get the sense that I’m supposed to care about minutiae. And I do care about some of it. I care about vendors showing up on time, how dark my undereye circles are, and how much pizza I’ll be able to eat in a wedding dress. I care about dancing our first dance to Ingrid Michaelson’s “The Way I Am” and my hair not being frizzy. I care—probably an unhealthy amount—about not inconveniencing anyone; I care about our guests have a rocking time (a good thing to care about).

But some things I can’t bring myself to care about, even if I try. This is a story about one of those things.

This might be a hot-button issue so I’ll prepare myself for nay-sayers. It’s okay. Difference of opinions is one of those things that makes our nation great, and keeps wedding planning interesting.

A couple days ago, Mr. Potato Head and I found ourselves in a men’s clothing store—let’s call it Svenn’s Beerhouse. We were looking for a white French-cuffed shirt for his suit.

“I’m assuming your dress is white,” said the salesman.

“Well, it’s ivory,” was my answer.

<<Record scratch>>

Everyone in the store froze and an ominous silence fell upon Sven’s Beerhouse. The salesman gave me an aghast double-take, as if noticing for the first time that I had crawled out from a gutter and into his Beerhouse.

Regaining his composure, the salesman spoke. “If your dress is ivory, then he should wear an ivory shirt, not white.”

He managed to make the word “white” sound dirty.

Mr. PH and I glanced at each other because, honestly, this white-vs-ivory thing had never occurred to us.

“Well,” said I. “It’s okay. I don’t mind if we don’t match.” Mr. PH nodded.

Salesman folded his arms. “Your dress will look like someone spilled apple juice on it,” he said. “It will look dirty next to a white shirt.”

We just looked at him, unsure how to proceed.

Wanting to be amenable and hide my bridal naivete, I asked to see the ivory shirt.

“That looks yellow to me,” said Mr. PH. He is color blind, which is sad. There’s nothing you can do about that. Even if everyone says “ivory,” he will still see yellow and he didn’t want to wear yellow.

“Ivory looks better on me,” I countered. “And white looks better on him, so….”

“In all my years in the industry I have never seen a bride wear ivory and a groom wear white,” said the increasingly agitated salesman. “I’m speaking from years of experience. Your dress will look dirty. And this day is all about you. In your photos and on your video your dress will look dingy.”

“But the groomsmen are wearing white shirts,” I realized aloud. “And so are the ring bearers. It’s a little too late to change all this.”

Salesman shrugged in a “it’s your funeral” type of way.

We left without a shirt.

When we got home we were watching TV when Mr. PH said, “Oh wait, I already own a white French cuffed shirt” and procured a nice white button-down from his closet.

The moral? I don’t care about white and ivory. In pictures, I think my dress will look ivory and Mr. PH’s shirt will look white and the world will keep turning. I don’t mean to put on blast anyone who does care about white vs. ivory, so if you do, that’s cool. And if you, like us, had never considered it before (especially if your wedding is in 20-something days), then you might want to think about it. Or not. I’d say “not.” Just don’t let the salesmen at Sven’s Beerhouse catch you unawares.

Dare I ask, where do you stand on the Great Ivory vs. White Debate?