Venting: real-life confusions, questions, and doubts about choosing my wedding dress.
They say it is never easy.
I bet some women do look and know it, they 'feel' it. But not me. I don’t feel. Then again, my resentment at him is still there. How can I stop myself feeling cheated out of my big memory?
He ruined my dream proposal. I think I'm allowed to have this block in my head.
A block which makes choosing the dress all the more difficult. Ideas are not the solution as we try and weave them to be. All the advice columns in the world cannot make the decision for me. Everything aside, unless I find that ‘perfect’ one, I will have to say no to one dream when I incorporate the other.
Material gifts should not matter. Yet, they do. The present, a temporary, should not haunt me, but it will do. I am haunted.
I should be fine with not getting the dress of my dreams… And yet, I am nowhere near satisfied. This—why this—the only detail about which compromise I refuse. The church I will have never gone to, the reception I am already planning on leaving early, and the flowers I care about as much as I care about my father’s opinion of all the ‘bad choices’ I’ve made in my life. But not the dress. The dress is the one thing I have…
The one thing I can control in this life.
My choice, no one else’s; my customisation, not a tick-the-box solutions. The little things trip me up, though.
I have to get used to the thought that it will never look as in my head. I doubt a perfect dress even exists, just as a perfect relationship does not exist. I am trying to urge the laws of physics to conform to me instead of the other way around.
Yet, a part of me insists I deserve all of the trimmings. All of the contraptions in the list that exceeds noting down.
There are a couple of dresses I could select, if pushed. The 30s lace number comes back to me. It is, to say the least, not what I would have picked. I almost put it back on the rack. I can’t find it online. And yet…it calls out to me in my waking hours.
I guess the question I am asking myself is do I want to be 1930s styled? Do I want to (inevitably) influence the way the day looks and how people from the future will view it?
Let’s look at the facts. My Twitter profile picture is of the best 30s makeup I’ve done, for my grad party; I am an intermediate level dancer of solo and partnered Charleston and I have performed numerous Charleston routines. One of my dream jobs, indeed, would be to be in a dance troupe. I claim vintage from every side and I have always loved Agatha Christie; if I could live in one era, it would be the 30s.
Is that what I want for my wedding?
I lean towards no. If anything, the vintage that will be there will be Steampunk. There will be Victoriana. And there will be. I have it already planned (in my head), the little things. Yes, those baby details.
Yet, there’s the vintage element to my other elements, from an underbust to the potential makeup.
I won’t have the two fight against each other for details. But they will, they will. Oh dear. That, in the end, is the biggest question. Even bigger, I suppose, than if I want more a corset back (in homage to the Steampunk) or sleeves.
The search continues.