I bought the dress. My dress. My vessel that symbolizes virginity and chastity and purity and all the untouched things one is supposed to bring to their wedding day. And it feels like a huge relief and at the same time kind of weird, like oh my God I just (well, actually my Dad just) plunked down a large chunk of change for a dress I will wear ONCE. As I paid for it the woman helping me said to my father over the phone, “she’s going to look like a princess!” and I could feel him groan three hours away. When I took back the phone and asked him if he was OK with all this and if he was sitting down, he said gamely, “well, it better be nice enough for me to wear next!” To which I said, “You’ll look like a princess!”
Poor Daddy. Girls and their weddings and the way the world has changed to become all about disgusting consumerism and credit cards and debt. Here, a ritual that is supposed to usher us as a family from one phase to the next is going to cost a fortune!
I do not have the dress in my possession as I write this. And there is a part of me, oddly, that has almost forgotten what it looks and feels like. The truth is that I’ve ordered it, chosen from a sample I’ve tried on more than a dozen times, from a designer in New York City who will be sending it in the coming months, after, presumably, it is made fresh and virginal and hopefully not pulled from some rack that’s been touched and drooled over by throngs of blushing brides just like myself.
So, here I am planning a wedding in a field in Down East Maine and awaiting a designer dress that will come in a box from New York City (although I bought it locally). The world is a strangely circular place. And there’s something in this that’s rocked me a little. It’s like there’s a part of me that has joined all the other wedding planners and bridezillas who are throwing money at this one event that is supposed to be just perfect and so defining to their lives. And, frankly, I find the whole thing intimidating and kind of sickening when I think of how much time and money could go into this and how far — if I let it — it could get from what I want, which is a profound ritual. Is this possible in today’s culture of excess? I don’t know.
I admit I’m conflicted on many levels about what this all means. Why, for instance, am I allowed to get married when many people in America want to and can’t? So what I’m doing these days is walking this very tight rope between family and the unit I’m forging, between what we all want this to be and what the world wants this to be and what I want this to be, and my fears of this just getting out of hand and becoming something I might not recognize myself in. What seems to be required here is that I embrace a side of myself that scares me — a side that can spend lots of money that’s not mine and not feel cheapened. So, I keep trying to come back to me — my inside me — and ask, what does that girl want?
What I know for sure is that although I won’t be wearing an expensive dress to walk down the red carpet because of something I achieved in my career, I’ll be wearing a very flattering, sexy, and glamorous dress to celebrate what I’ve achieved in having a wonderful relationship. And maybe I can come to terms with that.
Email the author
Caitlin Shetterly:bramhallsquare@yahoo.com
