Every little girl raised under the influence western society dreams of her wedding dress. The shape, the fabric, the way it makes her feel like a princess when she's actually just an accountant or a software engineer or a part-time English tutor... I'm no different. Ever since I saw the Disney animated film, Cinderella (1950), I knew I wanted to wear a ball gown and feel beautiful, even if only for one day of my life. But especially so on the day that I was to feel the most loved: my wedding day.
When I was little, the idea of my dress took the shape of a gown reminiscent of Cinderella's: a tight shimmering bodice with a skirt that ballooned over my hips and swept across the floor when I danced. Over the years, as my style and tastes changed, this imaginary dress evolved. The poofy sleeves were cut off, the hips of the gown narrowed, and the waist of the bodice rose. These design ideas were also heavily influenced by a popular TLC show at the time called Say Yes to The Dress.
In it's half-hour of air time, Say Yes to The Dress showed young women attending a bridal salon with a large female entourage where they would try on as many gowns as possible until they found the one that made them tearily squeal, "Yes!". Aside from the obvious drama the show contained ("My mother hates my favourite dress!" "Did my best friend just call me fat?!"), this was an oddly educational experience for me. I got to watch actual brides go through the process of choosing a dress, learn about silhouettes and fabric as well as the difference between ruffles and pleating. Not to mention the associated costs and the extra steps in the process such as fittings and alterations. However, my biggest takeaway from that show was the astonishing price tag attached to weddings. Many of the brides on TV walked away with dresses that cost between $5,000-$25,000. Even back then, I knew that the show existed merely to advertise weddings and luxury gowns. I also knew that no matter what my future held for me, I wouldn't be able to afford such an extravagant garment. I didn't come from a rich family. I wasn't as beautiful as a Disney Princess nor as primped and preened as the women on TV. "I will never look that good. I will never feel like they felt," said the voice in my head. Eventually, Say Yes to The Dress became more of a fantasy world for me. My dream dress would never be a reality. Neither would my own beauty.
A few years passed, and when I was 17, I took to doodling clothes for the characters in my stories. One of the first things I sketched was a wedding dress, my dream dress. I knew I'd never get to wear it, but to see it on paper and for that idea I loved so much to be tangible was wonderful in and of itself.
Now, seven years later, I'm wedding planning. Choosing a dress has been at the forefront of my mind for a long time, even before the engagement when my fiancé was hinting at getting married. I spent hundreds of hours on Pinterest over the last year, but mostly in the last six months, trying to see whether there was a dress out there that matched my dream. I wanted to feel beautiful, even if I believed it would never happen. I was always grasping at that fairy tale in my head even if it would never be realized.
Looking back at my old sketch this year, my tastes have changed once more. Now, I want sleeves again, subtle but classy sleeves that bring a mature look to the design. The neckline would be sweetheart, but also Queen Anne. As for the skirt, it would be organza or tulle to give that ethereal cloud-like effect. The image in my head was murkier than ever as buying the dress drew closer and closer.
Now, I knew that I might not be able to afford even a realistic version what I wanted. Sure, my fiancé and I could afford more than I ever imagined for a wedding as a teenager, but it was only half of what the women on TV spent. If wedding gowns cost more than five grand almost a decade ago, surely they cost even more now. As I did my research into local wedding dress stores, I realized that if I wanted to have a decent dress that I could afford I would probably have to forgo the Say Yes to The Dress bridal salon experience entirely. Instead, I chose a formal wear liquidators only a few blocks away in East Van. They were well-known for their elegant and heavily-discounted wedding dresses, not to mention highly rated for their customer service. They also supposedly had plenty of dresses in my modest (but highly-expensive for me) price range. This was it. This was the place I would find out whether my dream could ever be real.
Now, I knew that I might not be able to afford even a realistic version what I wanted. Sure, my fiancé and I could afford more than I ever imagined for a wedding as a teenager, but it was only half of what the women on TV spent. If wedding gowns cost more than five grand almost a decade ago, surely they cost even more now. As I did my research into local wedding dress stores, I realized that if I wanted to have a decent dress that I could afford I would probably have to forgo the Say Yes to The Dress bridal salon experience entirely. Instead, I chose a formal wear liquidators only a few blocks away in East Van. They were well-known for their elegant and heavily-discounted wedding dresses, not to mention highly rated for their customer service. They also supposedly had plenty of dresses in my modest (but highly-expensive for me) price range. This was it. This was the place I would find out whether my dream could ever be real.
I nervously rang them up and over a staticy landline, I booked an appointment to try on my very first dress. Unlike the television dramafest, I only brought my mother along. She understood my vision and she also knew my body shape as we shared the same silhouette. We arrived a the bland, brown building on a dreary, drizzling Thursday. We were both anxious about what came next. Neither of us had shopped for a wedding dress before. For my mother, who's had two weddings of her own, she had her dress hand-sewn the first time and chose to wear a peach skirt-suit the second. This was new territory for us, but it was important and exciting.
My mother parked the car half a block away and we paused awkwardly once the engine quieted down. We were half an hour early. Was that okay? Would they shoo us outside if we burdened them with our presence so soon? I didn't know. I'd never set foot in a place that sold dresses worth more $200. I didn't want to make a fool of myself; the poor young woman who couldn't afford a proper wedding dress who waltzes into the store with no regard for time nor etiquette. Turns out, my mother was bolder than I.
After a few moments of awkward silence in the car, she sighed, "Well, come on! It's not like they'll be mad that we're early. Let's go."
I blinked at her incredulously. Still, I quietly followed her lead out of the car. She was always more forward, braver than I. She doesn't care what others think while I'm still learning to ignore outside opinion. Marching up that slippery, damp hill towards the store, I was endlessly grateful that I had brought her along. Alone, I might've stood outside in the torrential downpour, making myself look like a drowned rat until my appointment time finally arrived.
Once inside, the consultants took us right away, appointment time be damned. In seconds, I was drowning in racks upon racks of gowns sealed carefully into plastic garment bags. Yet again, unlike the television show, my consultant left me alone with the dresses to make up my own mind. Their opinions weren't necessary during my decision making. Mom and I initially picked out seven dresses to try on, and then in the second round, 13 more. We went to a small backroom with lovely carpet on which we weren't allowed to wear shoes. There was a pedestal in one corner surrounded by tall mirrors and a small changing room in the other. My mother sat on a red velvet stool opposite the mirrors and the podium while I began to wriggle myself into these fantastical dresses.
All in all, I spent two hours at the shop. I tried on over 20 different dresses. But it was when I put on the very first dress, the feeling of realizing just how pretty I could be set in. I felt beautiful, I felt like a bride. The rest of my experience can only be described as jubilant. Many gowns looked funny on me, or didn't fit, but I didn't care. I was having so much fun, more fun than I'd ever had trying on clothes. Normally I hated trying on clothes, it was a chore, a painful reminder of my flaws, but not this. Trying on wedding dresses made me feel great. It made me realize that if the gown looked bad it wasn't because of how I looked. No, it was because of the dress' flaws. That dress didn't work for me, not the other way around. The rainy afternoon I spent in that salon made me feel powerful and gorgeous.
As it turns out, my dress—THE DRESS—was the second gown I put on. I kept coming back to it. The shape was nothing like I dreamed, the waist was so different and the skirt was so narrow, but the way I felt in the dress, the way I looked in that mirror... That is what I imagined all those women on TV felt when they burst into tears and screeched the show's tagline. I'll admit that I was misty-eyed when I put it on for the final time. Mom noticed and she smiled knowingly.
"Is that the one?" she asked coyly, peering out from behind me in the mirror's reflection.
I nodded vigorously as I held back the brimming tears. My dream dress did become a reality, even if it looked nothing like I planned. It didn't have to. The whole idea behind the perfect dress, even in Cinderella or Say Yes to The Dress, is how it makes you feel inside. That wasn't something I truly understood until I was wearing my own dress. Until I felt the pure joy of seeing my own beauty brought to the surface. Was that something I needed an expensive dress to feel? No, of course not. But as someone who struggles daily with self-esteem, wearing that dress just helped me see what's always been there. The beauty I always deny was laid bare before me in a way I couldn't unsee.
After finding my wedding dress, I've come to realize something. Maybe only princesses or wealthy women get to enjoy lavish shopping experiences and wear gowns that cost over 20 grand, but that doesn't mean the concept of beauty is only for the rich. By wearing something that suits you—that highlights the your best features in all their glory—anyone can see their inner gorgeous-self shine through the dark veil of self-doubt. I am finally able to—for the first time in my life—proudly show off my own unique beauty. Even beyond the wedding dress, I can see the features that it highlighted and fall in love with my own body. I am beautiful. I always was.
As I prepare for the joyous occasion that is my wedding day, I am grateful to enter the next chapter of my life acknowledging my own inner beauty and finally loving myself. I can actually see what my fiancé sees. I can see the woman worth marrying, the person worth more than all the vitriol that swirls in the back of my mind. It feels funny that trying on wedding dresses was what it took to strip away the blindfold of self-loathing I clung onto so tightly.
As I prepare for the joyous occasion that is my wedding day, I am grateful to enter the next chapter of my life acknowledging my own inner beauty and finally loving myself. I can actually see what my fiancé sees. I can see the woman worth marrying, the person worth more than all the vitriol that swirls in the back of my mind. It feels funny that trying on wedding dresses was what it took to strip away the blindfold of self-loathing I clung onto so tightly.
-Dana.
"Have you ever gone wedding dress shopping? What was your dress shopping experience like? Do you struggle with self-doubt in regards to your appearance? Let me know down below!"
