Dresses, dresses, everywhere...

So I've been avoiding chronicling my search for a dress, since what I thought would be the most fun and energizing part of the whole planning thing, is actually turning out to be one of the more stressful! Because, apparently, not only does wedding dress shopping involve the fun parts of playing with fashion, and playing dress-up in fabulous pieces, but it also involves this entire existential process of "who do you want to be" when you get married.

I don't know, maybe I'm overly buying into the wedding porn, but this whole fantasy of "you have the GASP moment and you know it's your dress" seems almost more impossible than the whole "one person in the whole world for you" thing. Because, seriously, do you know how many freaking wedding dresses there are out there? And how many of them look extremely similar, but with one little tweak here, or one different type of fabric there that then makes them either shine or fall flat?

Insanity.

But rant over, and back to the pretty dresses. Going into this, I had some notion of what I wanted.
1) NO satin, taffeta, heavy silk, or anything that makes swooshy noises when I move; no embroidery; no strapless; and no super tight mermaid looking dresses that would make me patter around like a geisha all night.

2) Something light and ethereal, but grounded enough to make sense in our rustic setting.

3) Lace, organza, and tulle. Love it.

4) Some "interest" factor that sets it apart from all the "cindarella" dresses these other chicks in the salon are trying on. (Because boy howdy, that's a whole other post)

I went into this imagining Rose Byrne's Valentino dress from the 2009 Emmys (and yes, I checked the Valentino website, but they don't sell gowns. Also, it was apparently vintage. Boo.)

Lovely, frothy, light, with some interesting sparkle, but still playful enough that it could run through a field. (In my head anyway.)

So I began my search at White Swan bridal in Vienna with Kelly -- and, ps, needed to take swigs of Pinot Grigio to deal with the crazy help there. If one sales lady wasn't forcing me into a dress that was at least two sizes too small (still have no idea how that worked without pliers), another one was hitting my chest to demonstrate the "ugly bones" that you could see there, if we were to alter a dress to have a sweetheart neckline. (Look, look, you feel -- grabs Kelly's hand to press into my chest -- she has bones. You don't want to see bones. But whatever, you do what you want.) Sigh.

Anywho, came away with one dress I loved and didn't expect to: the Rosa Clara Salome:


Tight across the bodice, but in an attractive way, with a full, frothy skirt with interesting detail. Still a top runner, but I hate the straight neckline, and this isn't really one that can be altered down to a sweetheart. Also -- strapless, and upon research, a fairly popular gown amongst brides, which I'm not dying to do. I know. Call me shallow, but I like the idea of being original.

Another dress we saw that day was in the shop of a tailor that I used to walk past every day on King Street. She has lovely stuff, and when we walked in, there stood a dress that I had always imagined getting married in. Lace on top, organza bottom, backless, save organza ties that fell into a bow at the low back. I later found out that this was a copy of Amy Michaelson's Grace dress.


So of course, I try it on. But as I'm standing there in the dress I've always dreamed of, I just feel... nothing. Blank. I don't know why, but it just did nothing for me inside. I've had some time to think about it and realize now that it's the dress I would have gotten married in at 22. But at 28/29? Not anymore. Which is nice to know. I've managed to become elegant in my age! :)

Next stop: Hannalore's for the Rosa Clara trunk show, wherein more success is had....

A quick explanation

For those who are unfamiliar with the character Emily the Strange...

She is a, well, a strange little girl who dresses all in black and keeps a cadre of black cats around her to do her weird biddings.

It is my hope that this blog will keep me from becoming "strange" during my planning odyssey. Emily the Bride is determined to be happy, pleasant, optimistic, and accompanied only by her faithful puppy dog!

Home is where the heart is?

I had always imagined getting married at my parents' house, on the rolling hill that leads down to a stave of pine trees in front of a lake. Now, granted, that's the same hill on which the dogs romp and do their business, but it would be cleaned first, of course.

But now that I sit down to the task in all earnestness, the reality sets in. A wedding at home means personal charm, the layering of new memories upon old, the introduction of your friends to the place you grew up, and the possibility of having donkeys walking around carrying drinks on their backs.

However, a wedding at home also means having to figure out where to park cars, a wasteland across my parents' yard afterwards, lots of money spent to hire people to keep the wasteland scenario from happening, the possibility of backed up toilets, and the ever present threat of rain that would necessitate a tent.

I don't know what it is about tents that makes me react so violently to them. I hear "tent" and I think of hot, stuffy dances during senior week in college, churned up mud on the edges, and the general white-plastic look they all inevitably seem to have, no matter how many flowers or lights you put in there to make it your own.

So the alternative? Currently, we are in talks with our favorite vineyard about having the ceremony there -- close to the church, a large space indoors and out, so the weather can do whatever it wants. It's a lovely and inspiring place -- with great wine. But is it better than home?

You all are the guests! Your thoughts?

And so it begins...

Not that I didn't know it was coming at some point, of course. But it's always a surprise in its own way. To be tired and stressed out after a long move into your first home; to be satiated and stuffed full of the decadent dinner your boyfriend just arranged for your third anniversary; to be limping on a sodden foot after stepping hard onto a pile of leaves and finding them to be floating on four inches of water; and then to turn around after finding the tiny bottle of champagne your boyfriend has planted in the very back if the refrigerator, and find him kneeling before you an asking you to be his wife. I won't lie. I cried.

I cried and laughed and walked around in a joyful haze for about a week, and then it hit me. October. Ten months away. Seriously?

According to the wedding planners, I'm already late. According to popular culture, I need to have a theme, and a grand concept, and a sense of this day as somehow mine. And according to various TV shows, I'm going to become a raging witch and lose my mind.

But to all that, I give an emphatic shrug of my shoulders. Instead, I plan to keep my sanity, design a day that is about us and our friends and our families just celebrating and having a wonderful time, and do it all in ten months.

And this blog is a big part of that -- my online binder of ideas that I can share with everyone and get their ideas and thoughts -- because lord knows I love feedback!

So here we go, kids! Let the brainstorming and inspiration begin!