Weddingbee Blog

Before I got serious about purchasing a dress, I figured I should try on a few things to get a frame of reference. I tried to be excited, but I was mostly nervous. I know that my taste in clothes is a little unusual, and I worried that there wouldn’t be options for me. Three of my best girlfriends arrived in town, bubbling with excitement and encouragement.

We set off for a bridal store in Cincinnati. When I told the saleslady at the first store that I was not looking for a strapless dress, this is what I got: “Hmm, well…that’s mostly what we have here…” I should have probably politely excused myself and gone to another shop.

I was uncomfortable with the saleslady to begin with. She was pushy—clearly going after the sale and not listening to me. I’m a modest girl, and she made me feel embarrassed. There was a scene involving an open dressing room and my cup size that I’m not even going to go into.

When I had shimmied myself into the first dress, I felt…nothing. I didn’t feel graceful or bridal or even happy. I felt big and clunky and uncomfortable in my own skin. While other brides beamed at themselves in the mirror, smiling at the images of themselves in form-fitting strapless dresses, I just felt…not like me. I tried on dress after dress, but where was I? It didn’t look or feel like me. I wished that I could be home with PDog, in my pajama pants, with no one looking at me. I wished my mom was there with me. I wished that the saleslady wouldn’t have said, “Well, I like the one with an open back because at least it shows some skin.”

I left the first store feeling embarrassed and dejected. I should have stepped back, requested to go to coffee or lunch. I was incredibly overwhelmed, and I needed to process everything. Instead, I bucked up because I wanted so much to have a positive experience. We went to a different store that was all but the same scenario. Two stores, eight dresses, and not a single one that made me feel anything but awkward.

But you should know this: I love dresses. The ratio of dress pants to dresses in my closet is 1:8. I am not joking. I have eight times as many dresses as I do pants. So it’s not like I’m the type of gal who would rather wear a T-shirt and jeans. I’m a straight-up girly girl. So why didn’t it feel like a fun version of playing dress up?

By the time we got in the car to go to lunch, I was so surprised and confused at my joylessness that I just started to cry. It wasn’t a bridezilla moment or some sort of hissy fit; I cried because I felt like a freak for not enjoying my own wedding-dress shopping. And yes, a few tears leaked out because I felt terrible that my girls drove all that way just for me to be uncomfortable and disappointed. It wasn’t the cooing, joyous day it was supposed to be, and I was beginning to worry that I would never find anything I’d be comfortable in on my wedding day.

My girlfriends put their arms around me, comforted me, and made me laugh all through lunch, the same way they have been doing since junior high.

That’s what I will remember, years from now. Not that I got embarrassingly emotional or that I felt like a fish out of water. I will remember feeling so blessed that my girlfriends are still in my life, over ten years later, still holding my hand when I feel embarrassed, overwhelmed, and out of place. That’s something that a wedding-dress fund can’t buy.

Am I the only one who hated my first dress-shopping experience?