Battling Bridezilla: The Dress

The dress. It’s all about the dress. ‘Have you thought about the dress?’ ‘Oh, you get to wear a beautiful dress?’ What sort of dress would you like?’

If I’m honest, I do love it. At times I am actually quite shy (cue guffawed laughs from friends), but who doesn’t want to look amazing on their wedding day? When I was a little girl I loved nothing more than laying out all my party dresses and trying them on, one by one and going downstairs to show my mum. The prettier the dresses, with little bows, sequins etc, the better. And now I have the chance to do it as an adult. How exciting.

Which brings me nicely to my first foray into the world of wedding dress shopping.

I had three appointments booked on Saturday – the first at a famous, flagship central London wedding dress emporium. The second was with a boutique-type designer in west London, and the last one in north London (logistically a nightmare, I would expect no less from myself…), at another relatively well-known stockist.

I was anticipating problems at the first place, having heard done the obvious and googled it. An enlightining and terrifying experience in equal measure. I thought the second place could be the one for me – as I’d loved the designer’s dresses I’d seen online. I had images of me, like one of the models, galavanting through a flowery fields, like the girl in the Timotei adverts (google it). I thought the third shop may be somewhere in between the other two.

As it happened I was wrong. The first place was initially quite daunting, but we got a great assistant, and any nerves I may have had soon faded. However, I had come well prepared. As a bride-to-be, you learn one lesson pretty quickly: wedding dress shopping is not the time to be body conscious. So I had on my best, newly-purchased underwear for fear of Bridget Jones-type moment, and a pair of M and S pop socks, on the advice of a been-there-done-that, already married chum – whom I had taken along for moral support.

The first dress I tried looked beautiful in the pictures. Unfortunately, not quite so flattering me – tall and stick-insectish I ain’t.

A couple of non-descript numbers followed, then – the one – well I think it’s the one, can’t really remember what it looks like now. It is the most fantastic dress – despite me having to be surgically moulded into it, thus suspecting my internal organs may not make it down the aisle. My friend gasped, I grinned – and I left the shop with head held high, and a happy heart.

However, the other two appointments were not quite as successful…

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