Wedding Wear.
I got lucky when my friends from school decided to
marry their long-term boyfriends. I was a
bridesmaid both times, and I privately worried
that one of my friends (good, sensible young
women) would go insane when it came time to choose
bridesmaid dresses and bridal makeup. It’s been known to happen: a
prospective bride asks her best friends to stand
up with her, then dresses them like the dolls made
by insane homemakers to cover up toilet paper
rolls.
When you go to the bridal salons, there are the
endless rows of white gowns, and then, against the
wall, a garish assortment of satin horrors. I
loved my friends, but hormones and the pressures
of engagement can do weird things to even lifelong
friends. (If you’re looking for a gorgeous wedding
or bridesmaid dress that doesn’t make you look
like the marriage-fairy pelted you with magic
bad-taste beans, take a look at the bias-cut silk
gowns at J. Crew.)
Laura’s wedding came first, in early spring. The
wind blasted in icy drafts through the outside
corridors of a lovely, gray-stone Episcopal
church. Laura’s mother-in-law came to town
bringing her favorite mink stole—a gift for the
bride. Laura thought about the sleek little
creatures who’d given their all, weighed the
possibility of offending her fiancé's mother,
swallowed hard and graciously accepted the mink.
Good thing, too. It was twenty degrees on The Day,
and her dress was décolleté.
Our dresses were not build for warmth either, but
they were perfect. Ivory, with a vague damask
pattern. Fluttery sleeves that didn’t mean a
thing. Sleek, flowing waistlines. Calf-length.
Heather has bright blue eyes and dark, wavy hair.
A bust men swooned over, long legs. Laura’s sister
Kathy, blonde, very slim, elegant. Me, feeling
dowdy and nervous until Laura graced me by asking
me to help her manage her voluminous gown and
petticoats. She had to squeeze into the tiny
bathroom at the church for a practically
last-minute tinkle. Her dress puffed up around
her, the train bulged out the open door, where I
held it off the stone floor and blocked the view
of potential passersby. My face was partly buried
in the silky mink. At that moment, Laura looked
like one of those toilet-roll dolls, extra fancy,
wedding-style. We laughed until I had to go too.
Heather’s wedding was neat because she and Kevin
did most of it themselves. They folded a thousand
paper origami cranes, and we placed them around
the banquet hall, with flowers and streamers. We
danced all night. Her gown was movie star
glam—strapless, classy. I remembered the day we
all drove to the bridal salon and spent the day
trying on wedding gowns, and how she narrowed it
down from about three hundred to two, to one in
short order. She always seemed to know just what
she wanted. For Heather’s wedding, we wore emerald
green, her favorite color. Also slightly damask,
rayon, not satin, same easy shape as the ivory
dresses we wore at Laura’s wedding. Beautiful, and
simple. I wore mine again and again that year.
A real friend wants you to feel comfortable and
look pretty, even on her wedding day. She doesn’t
saddle you with costly dresses you’ll never wear
again, or with ugly, dyed-to-match shoes. She
drives you to the bridal salon and makes you try
on wedding gowns along with her, because it’s fun.
She asks you to hold her mink while she takes a
pre-wedding pee, sitting on the toilet in clouds
of silk and tulle, and laughs her ass off at the
picture she presents. Like I said, when my friends
got married, I got lucky.
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