Whoo-whee is my mother ever patient and kind. Today was our first wedding dress reconnaissance trip and I made it through without crying, acting like a brat or having an anxiety attack. I do not enjoy shopping for clothes and I always seem to have a meltdown when I'm looking for something specific. My mom, having known me since birth, is well aware of the potential for a meltdown. She has witnessed some of the worst during back-to-school shopping in Mervyn's and getting me to look less like Charles Manson in pre-high school dance pictures. Shopping and posing for pictures turn me into a raging maniac, basically. You should ask my dad about the time I ugly-cried in Nordstrom because the prom dress sales lady told me I had a "mature figure."
We started at Britex, which is a four-story fabric store downtown that houses everything you need to sew anything and the kindly Russian ladies and men in embroidered satin vests to show you just how to do it. Starting on the third floor, we flipped through all the pattern books from Vogue, McCalls, Butterick and Burda. I haven't looked at a pattern book since sometime in the mid-90s, but it used to be a favorite weekend pastime, right after spending an afternoon at the roller rink. While my mom would go off and disappear into the notion aisles or whatever she did for an hour at the fabric store, I would sit myself down at the long table that held all the huge, square pattern books with the heavy cardboard covers. I'd start with the Halloween costume books, even if it was April, because a kid always has to be prepared. Then I'd move on to the regular books, going first for Evening and Bridal, then the "hip and with it section," and perhaps I'd check out the nightgowns and crafts. I thought 80% of the content of these books were hideous and I got a creepy sort of enjoyment out of making fun of the illustrated, knockoff Barbie and Ken models in horrible hand-made clothing.
My mind is much more "mature" (fuck you, Valley Fair Nordstrom lady) these days and I picked up the pattern books and began a surgical strike. I only looked at the Dresses and Evening and Bridal sections, not even giving myself time to inwardly chuckle at the more unfortunate looks. We picked out three possible patterns that will be amenable to hacking towards our needs. We then headed down to the first floor to look at their silk selection and that's where I got the first little twinge of anxiety. I do not have the talent my mother has that allows her to look at a Vogue pattern and a bolt of silk and come to the conclusion that the color would look too brown and it wouldn't drape right. I just see pretty shiny fabric that I want to rub on my skin. We're leaning towards a champagn-y, pale ballet pink charmeuse. I don't know what charmeuse is but it's lovely.
We had a relaxed lunch after our fabric store trip and I realized the reason why I didn't lose my shit was because we took our time and there was no pressure to find THE PATTERN and THE FABRIC RIGHT NOW. We were just looking at options and my mom was gently guiding me in the direction I wanted to go without too much pushing. I showed her four dresses that all looked to be in the same general vein but she told me no, those are definitely four different dresses and then asked me what I liked best about each. And she never once was all "SARAH YOU ARE INSANE DO YOU NOT HAVE EYEBALLS TO SEE THAT EVERY DRESS YOU SHOW ME THAT IS THE ONE IS DIFFERENT." That's why she's making this dress.
No Comments Yet, Leave Yours!