Dear Wedding Dress,
It's been a while. I'm sorry I've neglected you over the past nine years since our one glorious night. I'm here because I have something to say to you: I wish I'd never bought you.
Yes, you were gorgeous. What words can do due diligence to a white, strapless silk gown from Vera Wang with origami pleating at the hem? I worked hard to find you, and then to procure you at a discount. Sadly, you had already been used and abused on the trunk show circuit, but, luckily enough for me, that meant I was able to purchase you for a less-than-insane price.
The first time I tried you on, I was in love (well, to be clear, I was already in love with my fiancé, and your white frilly gorgeousness was just one detail in the over-the-top wedding that I had planned in my head). I had a wonderful tailor who worked her magic to make you look like you were made for me, and Madame Paulette, a fancy cleaning service here in New York, did their best to get you back to your original pristine state. Unfortunately, all that wear and tear from trunk shows meant that the tulle bodice had been crushed, and alas, no steaming, ironing or other styling wizardry could alleviate the wrinkle that formed across my bosom. No matter, the bridezilla that had taken up residence in my body marched ahead, consumed with much more important thoughts, like whether or not to have pine nuts on the salad with the main course.
The big day arrived. My mother and sister helped me into the gown, and my mother tighted up the corseted back. My father walked me down the aisle and I wed my husband in a ceremony that was as touching as it was beautiful (to me, at least). Although I almost burned my veil lighting the eternity candle and my husband stepped on my train no less than 5,465 times, it didn't matter, it was MY day, and together, you and I were the stars of the show.
Like Cinderella at the end of her ball, I was sad to bid you adieu, knowing that I would never wear you again (well, here's hoping). You hung in a closet in my mother's house for a year or so until I got around to paying an exorbitant amount to have you cleaned and preserved. And now, here we are, nine years later and you sit in a box on the top shelf in my daughter's room.
Yes, it's true that, like a fleeting affair, we had one amazing night together. But, from the vantage point of nine years of wisdom later, I can honestly say that I wish I hadn't bought a big, white wedding dress. Truth be told, like a fleeting affair, it just wasn't worth it. I wish I had spent that money on an off-the-rack dress from Alexander McQueen (no, not like Kate Middleton's wedding dress). It may not have been less expensive, but I would have been able to wear it more than once, and since it was before the designer's death, it would be an iconic piece to be admired as a collector's item. I would have chosen a color more suited for the mood of the day of our wedding; something festive, vibrant.
Granted, you gave me lovely memories (though that wrinkle makes me seethe every time I see it in photos). But, dear wedding gown, unless my daughter wears you when she gets married in a few decades, you will never see the light of day again. And for that, I am sorry.
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