Tales from the Back Row (25 page)

Standing there, drunk, in this pretty lace dress, I could see it. I could see myself getting married in this. My mom and sister agreed it was pretty. Other brides in the store regarded me and told their salespeople they wanted to try it on, too. I felt like a sensation.
Then again, you never know what's truly happening around you when you're drunk in the middle of the day.

We wrote down the details of the lace dress and went to our next appointment at a store that bills itself as being for an “alternative bride,” which I won't go into detail about except to say one of my fashion editor friends says, “It's like Etsy threw up in there,” and I wouldn't disagree with her.

That evening we went out to dinner with my fiancé, where I ordered him to guess how I fared that day.

“I'm guessing you didn't find a dress,” he said.

“I hated everything,” I said. “Bridal is terrible. I'll have to marry you in a bed sheet and a belt. I'll look like the Little Mermaid washed up without her fish tail.”

“What? I thought you liked the Monique Lhuillier,” my sister said.

“I don't anymore. I hated everything,” I said.

“You seemed like you liked it in the store. You were going on and on about how pretty that lace dress was.”

“Well, I had just had some margaritas,” I said. “That's why.”

“I knew that would happen,” my mom said. “I knew she'd have lunch with Chelsea, get drunk, and then find something she likes. So much for that.”

I had one more day to find a dress before my mom and sister left town. I obviously couldn't do this without them. There's a reason women have to bring their families to shop with them for a wedding dress, and that's because their friends would never have the patience for it.

The next morning, we rose early and went to fashion's Upper East Side mecca: Bergdorf Goodman. I can't say enough good things about the Bergdorf Goodman bridal salon. It's like being
inside of a cupcake. Every girly dream comes true in the Bergdorf Goodman bridal salon!

“You only have an hour,” the saleswoman informed us. “No longer. We have appointments all day.”

An hour sounds like a long time, but you could really spend three hours in there trying on everything. All the dresses are insanely gorgeous. I pulled at least fifteen from the racks for the first round.

Suddenly everything seemed like a possibility. I was living out the montage in the
Sex and the City
movie where Sarah Jessica Parker tries on a million dresses for her
Vogue
bridal shoot, only the dresses were things people actually wear in real life as opposed to—fabulous though they were—dresses with sleeves made of queen-sized duvets.

Boosting my ego (as though I needed it) was every salesperson in the store, who would compliment me every time I left my room.

One of the first dresses I tried on was a Monique Lhuillier creation I hadn't noticed in her store, consisting of a beautiful embellished bodice and an A-line tulle skirt.

“I love this,” I proclaimed.

“How much is it?” my mom asked.

“This is twelve thousand dollars,” the saleswoman said.

“Forget it,” my mom replied.

“Never mind, I hate it,” I lied to myself.

When I put on one dress by the designer Ines Di Santo, a strapless mermaid gown with lace appliqué, the saleswoman helping me blurted out, “I will get the designer. She is here today! Stay here.”

Ines di Santo, who, incidentally, made my sister's wedding dress, was there doing a trunk show. Along with a discount, this meant she was there in person to upsell her wares and fuss over you. She had long bleached-blond hair worn to one side in a cas
cade of big curls, immaculate red lips, and kohl-lined eyes, and spoke with an Italian accent.

“Oh my God. Stunning. That looks stunning on you,” she said as she entered my Bergdorf boudoir. “Who is here? Is this Mom?”

“Yes, that's my mom, Gail. And that's my sister, Holly, who got married in one of your dresses!!!” I was more excited about my sister coming into contact with this woman than myself. Because somehow a woman actually meeting the person responsible for the most epic dress of her life feels like the Destiny's Child reunion we've all been waiting for only it happens right in front of your face.

“I wish I had a picture,” my sister said, but she is older than me and got married back when camera phones weren't a thing.

“I have other things you must try. Come,” she said, and led me out into the front of the bridal salon, where her collection was on prominent display.

“You like lace? You must try this; it's very beautiful,” she said, pulling samples from the rack for the saleswoman to take to my boudoir. “You can wear this, not everyone,” she said, pulling a ­spaghetti-strap lace piece with a slight shimmer to it. “And this, this is a mermaid—very dramatic.” She pulled a pretty dress with a mass of tulle dangling from the bottom. Either she does this for every bride she catches trying on one of her dresses or this is what it feels like to be a muse.

I tried on the shimmering lace dress next. It was sexy in a way that would be great for a different situation—let's say, like not wearing it in front of your mom. It had a split neckline that plunged in the front almost to the navel and a slit in the front that came up past the knee. Since it was a runway sample, it fit like Saran Wrap.

“This one is sexy. Very
wow
,” said Ines, as she led me around the salon.

It did look kind of amazing but also amazingly nude. If I wanted to give off the
illusion
of wearing clothing at my wedding rather than unmistakably being clothed, this was the dress for me.

“What does Mom think?” the saleswoman asked when we returned to our room.

“Well,” she began. “It's not really for me.”

“A little too sexy for Mom? Haha. Okay, let's try the next one.”

Next was the dress with the mermaid tulle bottom so massive it allowed the dress to stand upright on the floor. This made for relatively easy dressing but nearly impossible walking.

“I'm not sure if I can walk in this,” I told the saleswoman. She gave me her hand and helped me off the pedestal. Ines took my hand and led me out of the door and around the floor.

“This also looks great. How do you feel? What do you think?”

“Well, it's very pretty, but I think I'm going to need to be able to walk, and I'm not sure this is
great
for that.”

I didn't want to say anything negative about her dresses because I was determined to be a good one-hour muse. “Come here; you can go out,” she said, holding my hand as she led me out of the salon and into the home goods area, where there was another large mirror. My sister and mom were following me. I saw a look of horror creep into my sister's eyes as I realized my tulle base was close to knocking a large decorative bowl that probably cost as much as the dress off a small glass table.

“Careful!” she cried. Freaked out, I hustled back into the bridal salon as fast as my six-foot tulle base would travel. In what felt like five minutes, our time in the fairy-tale wonderland that is the Bergdorf Goodman bridal salon was up. We had a few strong options, which the saleswoman wrote down on fine stationary. It was
time to exit this heavenly, heavenly place and return to my very basic existence.

I left experiencing a surge of endorphins from the sheer knowledge that I would not, after all, have to get married in a very expensive nightgown. And if I was going to spend a lot of money on this dress, it needed to be
spectacular
, not just a slip with a train and a lining. Some wedding dresses are actually wedding-y in a good way! And they're all hiding in one of the world's most expensive stores, what do you know.

• • •

We went to the Reem Acra showroom next. And as I was learning during my dress search, something truly special is happening when you're looking for an outfit in not a store but a showroom with no storefront because the shit they sell is so expensive, so fine, so otherworldly that you have to make an appointment to be in its presence. The Acra showroom is on the second floor of a large office building on Fifth Avenue just below Fifty-Seventh Street. The building's interior is gray and unremarkable, but when you walk into the showroom, you're treated to a relaxing water feature and soothing video footage of the latest Reem Acra runway show. Past the entry area are two huge rooms filled with the most beautiful gowns you've ever seen in your life. Tulle and lace and sparkle create a dazzling haven of femininity and happiness while instilling in all who enter a deep-seated anxiety that they should either wash their hands immediately or wrap themselves entirely in latex before proceeding.

A blond sales associate led us through the floor. I told her I
wanted something simple and fitted with a splash of lace or sparkle. She went immediately to what looked like kind of an unremarkable off-white rag hanging limply from a rack.

“This is a runway sample, so it's not in the best condition, but it's simple with a little lace and a nice little train,” she said, holding out the dress. I agreed to try it. I pulled out several more dresses with statement cap sleeves in rhinestones or lace and a Cinderella dress with a smattering of silver sequins over the bodice and a full, floaty skirt.

“That's not the style you were looking for,” my sister pointed out.

“I know, but Mom won't say it looks like a nightgown,” I told her. Besides, I'll probably never have another reason to put on a dress like that. It's not like I'm Amy Adams in
Enchanted
(unfortunately). Besides, even the most cynical, stone-hearted New York media people like myself get emotional and excited around inanimate objects of fashion, especially when sequins are involved.

The sales associate came into the dressing room with me, which meant another hour of stripping down to panties in front of a stranger. But at this point, so many people in New York City had seen me in nothing but nude thong underwear that it felt as natural as a handshake. The first dress I put on was the raglike runway sample. Lace cascaded asymmetrically down the front of the bodice and dripped over invisible illusion tulle netting. The back was low-cut. It was fitted through the bodice and had a small train.

Being a runway sample, the dress was
tight
. Like compression-­stocking tight. Fortunately, it was already a little ripped, so if ­moving caused it to burst open, they probably wouldn't force me to buy it. I walked out into the store to look at myself in a full-length mirror.

I cocked my head to one side. This dress, why, this dress was something special. This dress wasn't like all the others that acted like they'd be all great on the hanger and then got me out of my pants only to roll over and fall asleep as soon as I let them have their way with me. No, this dress was different. This dress would call me the next day. This dress would hold the door open for me and insist on buying me dinner. This dress was maybe actually, really, finally, the
one
.

“I think—” I began, my mom and sister looking on intently, hoping, no doubt, that this tedious ordeal of watching me try on so much white stuff was finally about to end. “I think I love it.”

“What?!” My sister recoiled.

“Well, I haven't heard that all day,” my mom said.

“No, I do—I think I love this dress!”

“Do you want to try the veil?” the saleswoman asked. (
Obviously.
)

She stuck it into my hair with a small comb. “It has just a touch of the same lace that's in the dress.”

The veil was long and dramatic, made from the lightest sheer tulle and trimmed on the sides with lace. I couldn't believe I ever considered not having a veil. Veils are everything! Trying on veils is actually more fun than trying on the dresses because veils are what make you look like an actual bride as opposed to a person who's overdressed. I started walking around in circles just to see the veil swirl around me. My mom dutifully documented me with her camera phone. Trying on wedding dresses is apparently the grown adult's version of a piano recital. She'll never feel like videotaping me this much ever again in my life.

As I sashayed to and fro in my dress, negotiating the train, admiring the frothy veil swirling about me, a petite, well-groomed blonde carrying a Longchamp bag entered the showroom.

“I've been to eighteen stores,” she told her sales associate. “My
six bridesmaids have all come with me. But I just can't find anything. So I was like, I just have to go by myself. I was here last week, but I just needed to clear my head and come back alone.”

Oh my God
. My eyes widened.
She made six people do this with her? Over the course of eighteen stores?
If you try on seven dresses in each place, that's 126 dresses.
This woman has been through more than a hundred dresses and still has
n't found something.

I returned to my room to change into the Cinderella dress with the sequins. This was also divine, but in a different way, and unquestionably fabulous.

“I think I love this, too,” I said, turning back to my mirror.

“It's really pretty,” agreed my sister. “You won't really get to wear a dress like this ever again.”

“Do you want to try it with the skirt that goes over top?” the saleswoman asked.

What! A secret skirt? Yes!

The tulle skirt went over the sequined skirt and fastened at the waist. Unlike most bridal wear, everything by Reem Acra is incredibly light. Instead of feeling weighed down by it, you feel like you're being lifted up like a heavenly angel. I tried the dress with and without the skirt, with and without the veil, probably fifteen times. I just didn't know which I liked better, this or the sexy asymmetrical ivory compression stocking.

Longchamp bag came over to investigate my progress.