Sunday, April 3, 2011

Saying Yes to the Dress(es)

As of today two bridesmaids have ordered their dresses, the mothers of the bride and groom have chosen the COLORS of their dresses (guess what each of us is trying to do before we actually shop?). And with six months to go, the bride will have her last fitting this week.
Yep, much of the fuss of this blessed event is about THE DRESS and a bit of the rest of the to-do focuses on the other dresses.  Sorry guys. All eyes will be on the ladies. Tuxes enhance masculine lines just fine. But a dress is all about curves, tucks and puffs that turn a bride into a princess and her best buds into her stately court.  And though I’m sworn to secrecy about the details, trust me - THE DRESS is perfect for THE BRIDE, as it should be, as was mine in the eighties and my mother’s in the forties.
My mother looked so extraordinary in her gown a New York artist, who was a family friend, painted her portrait from her wedding photo. In the actual painting white pigment (stroked and dotted over pink and gray oils) replicates the dainty patterns of lace on the soft, deeply scooped neckline of her gown. Just above the lace, see-through toile rises to her neck. Like so  ------------------->   
In photographs from her wedding day she appears sensuous from afar, more demure up close.  

In the initial emotional rush of Emily’s engagement, almost two years ago, we dug deep into my closet and pulled out the long puffy garment bag that stored my wedding gown. Inside, the dress had remained brilliantly white and kept its sparkle around its Queen Anne neckline and jeweled lace cuffs. We did find a  single age spot on the train, a flaw that a dressmaker could easily remedy.

When Em put on my wedding dress, it fit her just as perfectly as it once had fit me. With her long hair pulled back and Ryan by her side, she could look exactly as off-the-chart happy as I looked beside my handsome groom - on her wedding day.

But wait, that was MY wedding day. And though we giggled and sighed and hugged and cried at the sight of Em in my gown, I think we both knew we’d eventually pass by a bridal shop and say,” Let’s go in.”  She'd try on one or two or three or more and, on another day, in another shop, she'd try on another and know, “This is the one.” The one which, with the right snip here and tuck there, would complement her curves perfectly - and even more noticeably, light up her face. The ONE that you won’t see until her walk down a grassy aisle, in a bit more than six months.