I Dreaded Wedding Dress Shopping. Next The 5 Words I Always Thought I’d Notice Improved Everything

The person never looked like me — she was brown. I not witnessed the expression of the man.

***

I received a call from the sales associate, Haley, the night before my visit at a nearby store to try on wedding gowns. She had three things to say.

In case I wanted to bring champagne with me, I did n’t, there would be champagne flutes. How many people ( none ) would be traveling with me? And: What costume variations did I like?

I was in shock.

The business had already sent me their whole stock list via a Pinterest table, so I took screenshots of the ones I liked and texted them in accordance with their instructions.

I did not know the names of the designs I’d sent, and I resented the idea that I was supposed to.

Haley informed me that she had seen the photos.

More of darling blouses and A-line shapes, then? she asked.

I said, “I don’t know, I guess, I guess. I just like what I like.”

What kind of woman doesn’t know what a sweetheart neckline is, a question that was lingering between us made sense? and a declaration I’d felt the sounds of since youth: You are not part of The Club.

***

Haley posed the question, “But, did you grow up thinking about your marriage?” at the interview.

I laughed and said “No. Not at all.”

Actually, actually? She responded, shocked. “That’s so interesting!”

I kept telling Haley that I was a child and that I was raised kissing my companion Julia who lived across the street. Because she fought more hard than I did to be the girl, I played” the child. “I knew I didn’t want to be a boy, but I also knew I wanted to kiss more than I wanted to be “the girl.”

Julia informed me that I was about to turn six, so we couldn’t kiss anymore just before her sixth birthday.

This occurred shortly after her mother caught her and her mother snuggling up in Julia’s bathroom, or at least we thought she had. We’d instantly flung ourselves to opposing attributes of Julia’s twin bed when we heard the door moving.

What are you currently doing? Her mother laughed as she entered the doorway because, after all, she had not seen what we were up to. She was only teasing us, but sorrow wasn’t in on the joke — it was how we knew to separate ourselves, quickly. Perhaps it’s because Julia even recognized the need to put an end to what we’ve been doing.

***

I disliked buying wedding dresses because I believed I would be made visible by heteronormativity’s blazing brightness.

I expected many things would be assumed of me, including: I was a specific kind of woman (one who’d grown up thinking about her wedding and not being the boy), I was straight (Haley had asked, “How’d you know this was your dude?” but seamlessly adjusted to the use of “she” pronouns when I mentioned Rachael, my fiancée ), I needed to be told how beautiful I was ( I could just imagine a perky stylist saying, “Oh my gosh, you look gorgeous”! and that made me cringe, and that I had always been anxiously anticipating this particular occasion and that this was going to be The Most Essential Day of My Life and The Most Important Dress of My Life.

***

My interview with Haley was not my first effort at finding a dress. Prior to now, I had dipped my feet into the chase more conceitedly. Before deciding to not deal with the difficulties of purchasing anything online, I looked on Etsy. I shopped some non- bridal gown shops at the store, including a ring that sells prom gowns, and flipped through the racks at a thrift shop.

Who is concerned? I believed. Does it really matter what kind of costume I get or from where? While Rachael and I were running another duties, she had suggested that we attend a low-stakes trial at David’s Bridal one day. Perhaps try a couple on?

So we did. I detested each of them.

***

I wasn’t sure if I would even dress for my wedding. I am a girl, but my female expression often wants to become “boy”, often wants to become “girl”, and often wants to be neither. How was I supposed to be aware of what I wanted to do on a day that was taking me months and months to prepare?

The answer came to be in the end because I’d been having a “girl” streak since and because it felt appropriate to wear a dress to David’s Bridal. I’d wear a costume, and I’d get one immediately.

Can, however, be made in such a basic way with such a wealth of tradition and such linked meaning? I began to ask myself why I wanted a wedding gown the more I considered purchasing one. Did it have something to do with Rachael’s decision to wear a match? Maybe a portion of me enjoyed the comparison. Perhaps I wanted our like to be immediately recognized by other people who were close to a gay wedding (or known a gay couple for that matter) and also by our wedding friends, some of whom were close to family members. Or even I was grasping for something familiar — an easy and consistently traditional theme — so I had just quit thinking about it.

***

Despite my anxiety over The Dress, I do want to get married. I made the proposal, not the other way around. Like became obvious when I met Rachael, also logically. We want to be together, and we figure we might as well make it legal ( taxes, health insurance, etc. ). Additionally, we enjoy the idea of a big group where passion is sprang up. Even so, we’ve come up with the nickname “love event,” not a wedding. This change denoted anything more aligned with what marriage means to us.

We also think that getting married is a token of gratitude for our gay seniors and friends who fought and suffered for our rights. And it’s an act of gratitude to my 18-year-old soul, who sat in church the Sunday after the federal government approved wedding justice and listened as the preacher said, “Despite new policy, I want to make clear that we will never be conducting same-sex ‘marriages’ around.” It’s a gift to that girl who, with no other choice, kept listening as the congregation stood and applauded and applauded and applauded — and who could not imagine queerness as a possibility for herself.

***

Behind the receptionist’s desk, behind the receptionist’s desk, Haley smiled mouthwatering and smiled down, revealing her flawless teeth.

She showed me the dress-show room and the gallery where all the dresses hung.

“Go ahead and look around and pick some”! She spoke clearly.

Panic once more persisted.

I had assumed the dresses I’d screenshotted would already be waiting for me. I wrote in my appointment notes that I doubt I’ll need an hour and a half because the appointment slot was an hour and a half long. I was persuaded that I would enter and exit without much fanfare. I wanted to take the path of least resistance.

Unfortunately, I was unarmed; instead of having to play the bride and leaf through the swirls of silks, laces, and sweetheart necklines, I was forced to play the role of the bride.

We returned the eight dresses to the fitting room after choosing eight, which Haley thought was a reasonable number for the “first batch.” She took one off its hanger and made a donut shape out of it on the floor, so I could step inside and pull it up without tripping. She instructed me to let her know when I put it on so she could clip a row of clips down its back to fit my frame. I stepped out of the fitting room and onto a platform in front of a trifold mirror once I was sufficiently clipped.

This dress wasn’t one I imagined myself liking. Haley told me to “grab a wild card”; I had to pick it off the rack first, but it was only there. A vague floral pattern was stitched across it, and it was pure white.

I felt beautiful— sexy, even. I adored my strapless shoulders. I adored the body shape that the A-line created. It felt special. When would I ever wear something like this again if I’d never worn it?

I embarrassedly said, “Wow, I like this more than I thought I would.”

“Wow, really”?! Haley responded. You may like the A-line fit, then!

“Um, I guess so. .”.

“Okay, let’s try the next one”!

I can have this, too, a voice in my head said five things that I hadn’t known I had been waiting for.

***

Haley looked up at me as I tried on my favorite dress for the third time.

She beamed, “I have one question for you.”

“What?” I mimicked her facial expression. I was trying to play it cool, embarrassed by my genuine excitement.

“Do you accept the dress,” you ask?

Her tone was half joking — she knew by now that I wasn’t in The Club— but half earnest.

“Um..” I said. “Yes? I believe so.”

I was wondering if I should give it some time to think about it or seek out other viewpoints. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t just being convinced of something. I wanted to be certain that this was the decision I made because I genuinely wanted to make it.

I love this dress, but among all the other thoughts that were running through my head at the time, I heard it say it most loudly.

After Haley measured my hips, belly, and bust, I bought the dress.

She asked if I wanted to pose for a photo with the “say yes to the dress” sign.

I laughed and said, “Yes. My sister will get a kick out of it.”

As Haley took photos with my phone and the shop’s phone, I held the silly wooden sign and grinned.

I texted my sister and the soon-to-be mother-in-law both the “I said yes to the dress” and the “I said yes to the dress” photo. I sat in there smiling. I was so excited to let Rachael know I had chosen my dress. I imagined her wearing it, and I saw her wearing a custom suit that a Brooklyn queer designer had made for her.

We were dressing for love.

***

I might regret my choice in the future. Maybe I’ll think I was clinging to or caving into some ridiculous notion of gender roles. Perhaps not. I don’t believe it really matters. No matter what happens, Rachael and I will look at each other on our wedding day— and every day after — and see love.

Maybe it becomes too serious.

***

Shame is similar to whack a- mole, isn’t it? You smash it once and it pops up again somewhere else. I sometimes feel bad about picking the wedding, the marriage, or the outfit. Should I be avoiding it altogether? Should I be more evolved than taking part in this patriarchal, heteronormative institution? Am I infringing on the queerness? Who is to say, exactly?

The fact that none of this was built for or by people like me is a huge part of why I want it. It’s a little spiteful, I suppose. I want to advise, take that. Take that, priest from my childhood church. Take that, media that made me think queerness was a ridiculous joke, a dangerous choice, or worse. Take that, shame, for example, that terrified two five-year-olds and left at least one of them feeling that way for years and years.

You couldn’t stop me. None of you. And those things about being the wrong kind of woman and not a member of The Club that I believed Haley said? I’ve realized I was really hearing them from myself. I figured out what could and could not be true for and about me. And I miscalculated.

I now know that to wear my beautiful dress is to say take that to the stories I’ve told myself.

Rachael and I will dress in love on our wedding day. Our clothing will celebrate it, regardless of what they may or may not convey or convey about us. And when we behold each other — and are beholden by everyone around us — we will see nothing but radiance.