I’ve been watching Say Yes to the Dress (don’t shoot me) as a background programme for when I’ve been editing. I don’t know if it’s a bride-to-be or girl thing, but I love seeing the preparations and choices other brides are making. The world is such a varied place, with so any different ideas, and there is nothing more novel than the preparations they make for that day.
In a recent episode, one bride looked shocked in fittings because her dress was not as she remembered. There must not be anything more scary [temporarily, of course] than to look at a dress that has been made – often by hand and with immaculate detail – for you alone and not be convinced that the dress is actually something that wows you. Or, that it doesn’t wow you as much as it had done.
Tastes change, of course.
It’s a petty issue, yes; after all, a wedding is about bringing two different families and cultures together to create a new family. Nevertheless, one doesn’t want to have those rabid thoughts. One wants to *love* the dress.
This is particularly a worry for me, as I knew I would never be one of those weepy bride-to-bes when I wore The One. In fact, after coming back for a second look, I even chose away from a dress that my Matron of Honour tear up. Yes, I could’ve kept looking, I could’ve scoured and searched until my feet fell off and my heart died, but there was also that rational feeling of everything fits together with what I would be going for. It’s not the perfect dress, but that doesn’t exist within my price point, if at all, and I’m willing to make these compromises for this dress. I look forward to wearing it on my wedding day.
Not to mention the blushing.
Yet, now one and all are faced with that gaping maw of months as fabrics are picked, dresses are sewn, details are embroidered. (Or whatever the process entails.) Now, we wait with nothing more to do.
Or tonnes to do. However you look at it.