This is an excerpt from my post over at APW today. Click HERE for the entire article.
The sales lady eventually lugged out 6 lumps of fabric in bags and told me to get undressed and to put on a robe. And then almost immediately told me to take the robe off and try to step into the first dress. No one told me the sales people dress you. No one gave me any heads up this was a lot like when you go and get fitted for bras. And definitely no one told me how much effing fabric a wedding dress is. Once the dress was clipped to me, I teetered out, lugging the 20 lbs of fine cloth with me, and stepped up on the run way platform while Maris oooed and clapped from her seated position. When I looked in the mirror I was… embarrassed! Where had I gone and who was this old lady looking back at me? Suddenly I had aged 10 years and gained 30 lbs. Where was I under all of this? I couldn’t be found. But I swallowed it as the sales lady hammered me with questions I couldn’t answer. “How do you like the fit? What about this detailing? Is the sweet heart low enough? What do you think about the train length?” I played vague and hustled back into the dressing room for the next round, because I didn’t know! I didn’t know how I looked! I have been trying on formal dresses since I was 15. I went to an all girls school and we had at least two formal dances a year and I went to every one of them. I know how this works, and while wedding dress shopping… I was struck dumb.
By this time I was full on sweating. The lights were hot, I was bloated from humidity, and the dress was thick and heavy. The next dress to try on would only work going over my head, so my sales woman politely asked me to put on a face net. Like a bee keeper but with cinching so it stayed under my chin. God forbid I get any of my makeup and/or face grease on these fine specimens. She then asked me to take off my bra and put my arms in a diving position above my head and she would hoist the dress over me and I would aim to shoot through the hole. Dear god, I really did it. When the dress slid over my head, the mass amounts of tulle got sucked up over my hips so the dress wouldn’t fit probably. That brave sales lady, without any hesitation, reached up under the skirt, in my sweaty under pinnings, to try to free the bunching while I directed her from above, face mask now pulled up like a lunch lady’s hair net, my boobs just a side show at this point. It was around this time where she actually asked me if I’d like a glass of water since “I seemed a little warm,” and since her face was literally in my nude, mesh underpanted crotch for a good amount of time, I took pity on her even through my embarrassment.