5 Tips For Dress Shopping (PS, I Have No Idea What I’m Talking About)

I’ve gone wedding dress shopping 9 times. That’s not counting the countless hours I spent staring into my computer screen in an Ambien haze, clicking and clicking and clicking on dress websites……

A $200  ball gown made to order from China? Seems like a great idea at 3 AM!

china

TBdress

A $600 satin halter dress on an Etsy page that will not accept returns under any circumstances? SURE!

etsy

Via Etsy

A  $140 prom dress made for that especially scandalous girl at your high school complete with high-low hem and ombre coloring? Hell yeah, I can make that work!

prom

LovingDresses.com

Here are the top five things I’ve learned about dress shopping:

1. Don’t shop drunk

It’s really tempting to get buzzed before your appointment (oh yes, I learned you need appointments) but let me dissuade you from getting hammered…

IMG_20140302_235133

I am a girl who can’t resist a breakfast mimosa. A bottomless mimosa, even better. A bottomless mimosa where they just give you bottles of champagne and wish you luck? Be still my alcoholic heart. That photo was taken right before we plodded into our first stop of bridal fun(?), a cute vintage shop that specializes in wedding apparel. The apointment resulted in a lot of snort laughing, swanning around in dresses The Golden Girls would have approved of and almost peeing in the dressing room due to massive champagne consumption.

Also, don’t go shopping when you wake up from last night still drunk. As the booze melts away and reveals you to be a corpse clinging to a hangover, you won’t want to be elbowing small asian girls out of the way to get to the last dressing room at a bridal boutique event. But you’ll muster up your strength and bulldoze your way through those tiny girls and straight into that dressing room where you will sit, panting into a pile of silk and lace, hoping that your booze sweat won’t stain anything.

2. Everyone will see your boobs

Those who have never experienced the joy of dress shopping don’t know what happens in those little rooms before you make your grand entrance wearing a dress that could elicit responses from you friends like, “it’s pretty” to “Ugh” to sighing heavily and checking their phones.

You are assigned a helper. They have names…consultant? Dress guru? Incredibly patient college girl? Either way, you are assigned a helper and once you have loaded her up with dresses, you both squeeze into the dressing room. You undress and stand there clutching your bare breasts and swallowing the words you want to say, which are, “I’m sorry that you have to look at my boobs and my ass in this inappropriate black underwear. All I have is black though and I thought that would be better than none. God, I’m so sorry about my boobs.” Your helper doesn’t give two shit about your boobs, she’s seen it all.

Other people who might see your boobs include: the incredibly groomed and enthusiastic gay sales helper who whisks by the curtain when it’s only half closed, your best friends, your future mother-in-law, your own mother and the nice saleslady who offers help adjusting the torture bra they’ve strapped you into.

No one cares about your boobs. They just want to moosh them into a dress that you love enough to spend upwards of $1,500 on it.

3. What you think you want might not want to be on you

That’s what I imagine my dress saying, “I wanna be on you”. Because my dress’ spirit animal is Ron Burgundy. But sometimes you find out that the dress you’ve always wanted makes you look like a donkey carrying saddlebags full of cottage cheese.

Try on anything and everything. You’ll be surprised. And you’ll find that sleazy, magical dress that wants to be on you, just like Ron Burgundy.

ron

4. This shit costs a boatload of cash

You don’t have to spend thousands of dollars on a wedding dress but apparently, most broads do. There’s one shop in town whose website states, “Brides shopping with us should be comfortable spending upwards of $2,500”.

What they don’t say but should is this, “But girl, if you come in here asking for the $2,500 dresses we’re gonna judge you so hard for only going for the cheap dresses. Besides we only got one and it ain’t your silhouette”.

When I told the next shop that I wanted to keep it under a grand, my helper looked at me like I had just kicked a kitten. Horror, disgust, sadness. All blooming on her young face.

5. There is no squealing A-HA!! moment

Not for me anyway. I tried on over a hundred dresses and not once did my guts seize up and scream THIS IS THE ONE!! I felt beautiful at times. I felt like a lumpy troll at others. I had dresses that I would have loved to have worn if their price tags weren’t so high.

I was never giddy or excited about dress shopping. Perhaps because of low self esteem and body issues or perhaps because I’m droll and emotionless. I had fun, I enjoyed it. But it was certainly not the highlight of my year.

I don’t relate to the girls on Say Yes To The Dress. They are a different kind of woman. But we watch these shows and believe that their behavior is the proper behavior. That we SHOULD be squealing, weeping and hugging everyone. We SHOULD be finding dresses that fit our unique personalities to a T and we should pay the damn money to get one.

I know there are real women like that as well. They’re delightful women too. I wish I wasn’t such a robot somtimes………………………………………………………………………..So basically what I’m saying is that I should have done an eight ball before shopping. I would have been SO AMPED ON EVERYTHING AND REALLY, REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THE DRESS OF MY DREAMS!!!!!!

I missed the boat on that though. I got a dress, sober. Except for the incredibly strong anti-anxiety pill my girlfriend gave me before we went to the appointment.

Tales of that adventure come next!

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I’m Still Getting Married…

Here’s the nutshell version of the past few months:

-Put deposit on venue.

-Venue ignores all attempts to contact them for three months.

-Buy wedding dress.

-Get dress home, decide I hate it and feel like shit.

-Buy new wedding dress for less than half of what the first cost.

-Have all out fights over honeymoon planning and question if we could ever travel with each other ANYWHERE due to our vastly different desires and travel styles.

-Pitch Thailand as a honeymoon destination and get what was either an enthusiastic yes or a shut-the-fuck-up-FINE yes.

-Finally get in contact with venue, find out they upped their day rate to $33,000. But that we’re grandfathered in at the old rates.

-$33,000!!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!

-Plan epic vegan wedding feast with amazing chef at venue.

-Have random bouts of self hatred for caring so much about one day.

-Fiance decides he wants a giant American flag hanging behind us during the ceremony.

-Future mother-in-law suggests that our colors be red, white and blue because of said flag.

-Suppress urge to vomit at the thought of having “colors” let alone red, white and blue.

-Show mother-in-law bookmarked ideas for wedding decor/style and slowly shrink into a ball of nerves as she politely hates everything.

-Have weeping hour long talk with my father, achieving a level of cuntiness that I never thought possible.

-Have more bouts of self hatred for putting my father through that and for caring about a wedding in general.

-Feel like a raging narcissist.

-Wish we had eloped.

-Get asked 34 times a day by co-workers, clients and friends about how the wedding planning is going resulting in never wanting to blog about it.

-Look over at my dude,  breathe a sigh of relief that I still love that motherfucker and I’m so happy that I’m spending my life with him.

That pretty much sums up everything that has happened in the last few months. I have some hilarious dress shopping stories to share so I’ll blog a little more over the next few days.

 

In Which I Say “Fuck” A Lot

Something dark and sinister is happening. Some malevolent forces are conspiring to fuck with my wedding planning and it’s pissing me right the fuck off.

Or…people just don’t reply to e-mails in a timely fashion anymore.

I’ve written countless inquiry e-mails to venues requesting price lists and general information and exactly ONE has gotten back to me. Two if you count Enchanted Forest telling me to fuck off. The other place told me in many more words to fuck off by informing me that it would cost $4,500 to rent their venue and an additional $1,000 for the ceremony space. They could have just said FUCK OFF, BITCH, WE KNOW YOU AIN’T CLASSY ENOUGH FOR THIS SHIT!

Sometimes when I’m writing I realize that how it sounds in my head is not how it will sound when someone else reads it and gives it their own inflection. At that point I pause and wonder if I should stop saying “fuck” so much and try to be more eloquent. Then, instead, I write side note paragraphs like this to explain that if you were in my head, my writing would be way funnier to you. Yup. 

There are two places that I really want to hear back from and it’s been four days since I wrote to them. I don’t know if four days is not that long or if it means that yet again I’m being silently told to fuck off.

I write very polite, brief e-mails. I don’t drop the F bomb. I don’t sign them “XO”. I don’t attach a photo of my fiance and I wearing matching sweaters. Why is no one writing me back?

I could call them on the phone but my anxiety level is so high in general that I assume I would be bothering people. Especially when they have a specific event planning e-mail address. So when they don’t answer, my anxiety and paranoia starts growing and I start assuming that it’s personal. That these people looked at my e-mail address, found me on Facebook, judged all my photos and then decided I wasn’t good enough to get married at their loft/bar/house/garden/theme park.

That’s actually how my brain works. I do know that that is not actually happening and that people are busy. But somewhere deep in my self worth issues is me saying, “Nah, they just don’t like YOU.” How fucking dumb is that?

Oh and guess what the average American wedding costs these days? Over $28,000. 

Eloping is sure looking good.

 

$10,000….

Today I talked to a lovely woman who is getting married tomorrow who regaled me with tales of her money saving wedding plans: Getting married on her family’s land, doing their own flowers, hiring a friend to do their photographs, having their guests camp on the property. All that, allllll that and how much did they spend?

$10,000

Ten motherfucking thousand dollars. For a day. Where people camp and eat food cart food and drink beer.

Here’s a list of things I could buy for $10,000:

1. Some really, really nice breast implants.

2. Half of an Alpaca. Because a whole alpaca costs $20,000. According to my friend, Colleen, I should buy the front half because  “the back half, all you get is shit.”.

alpaca head

Do yourself a favor and google image search alpacas. It will be the best five minutes of your day.

3. I could rent the entire Hotel Budir in Iceland and have my wedding there plus a honeymoon in Europe.

4. Carrot Top. That’s speculation but I’m pretty sure I could.

5. A yard full of fainting goats. Also speculation but again, I’m reasonably sure this could happen with ten grand.

6.rocking chair bed.

giant-rocking-bed

 

7.micro cabin. Because we can’t afford to buy a real house

original

 

8. This Land Rover pick-up. Because I would look amazing in it.

original

 

9. Diamond studded jeans for my fiance.

M375A4AAA8-FBS-10000(1)

 

10. Did I mention really nice breast implants? Those would last at least ten years. Though if a marriage lasts forever then I suppose the wedding is a better thing to spend the money on. But the fiance would see the boobs every day. He’s not going to look at wedding photos every day. Boobs win.