7 Months Til My Wedding: Suck My (Vera) Wang

My first experience trying on wedding gowns may have put me off the whole thing forever. Help me pick a dress online?

Apr 13, 2012 at 10:00am | Leave a comment

Some of us symbolically wed ourselves, and some of us wed awesome hairy man-poets. Sarah Crow is planning her upcoming nuptials to the latter, despite being the kind of person who would never use a phrase like "upcoming nuptials." Married ladies, give her some advice. Part one is here.

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part dos.

 It's now 7 months until I'm going to be a Mrs., and things are going quickly and expensively. We've selected our venue and most of our vendors, but there are still approximately 18,000 things to do, all of which involve poking, pinning and a lot of people who want to talk to me about my colors. I hear I'm an autumn.

In an effort to make myself feel and look good in my first appearance in white since my baptism, I'm working out and trying to not eat exclusively foods that legally necessitate list of side effects on the package. Good luck Dorito tacos, who's going to love you now?

So I bought a stationary bike, because like the unreasonably lazy person I've become, I'm only willing to get in cardio I can do sitting down, watching TV and drinking Crystal Light. Did you know that you can get them for under $150 on Amazon, and that you can watch two commercial-free episodes of "GCB" and half a "16 and Pregnant" while burning off 9 Weight Watchers points? Color me impressed. 

I'm hoping that by May, I'll be able to do a squat, or at least stand up for part of the workout, but for now, I'm pretty content with of all of the quality time I've been spending with my good friends Us Weekly and Star.

Since I started my wedding cleanse, which for me means to primarily stop wearing fake eyelashes and eating burritos after 3 AM, I'd say that the thing I've been most committed to is my skin.

I have had two full facials in the past 10 weeks, which is more than I've had in the past 10 years. I've been washing my face with a Clarisonic (although I've heard the much-cheaper and drugstore-available Olay brush is better -- damn you, Sephora gift cards!), slathering my skin with AHAs and non-comedogenic moisturizer, and making sure my neck and eyes are constantly being lifted by various creams and potions that make everything north of my shoulders feel a size too tight.

It seems as though I may have finally found a way to make my skin not look like I am starting puberty every day of my adult life. My acne and redness have decreased and my face no longer peels for no apparent reason (I am one of the lucky few to have a combination complexion that includes both angry, subcutaneous face monsters and scaly, flaking skin on any given day). And smoothness? Babies wish their asses were this soft.

So what's the big problem? I cannot, for the life of me, pick a damn wedding dress. If it were totally up to me (and yes, I know it is, but I also like tradition), I would probably wear a Spanx pencil skirt and my favorite oversized lace T-shirt, which prominently showcases my nipples. Unfortunately, being a fan of having none of our conservative relatives commit harakiri at our wedding, I think I'll wear a dress. SO WHAT IS THE PROBLEM, you ask again.

I got body-shamed, and now I am afraid.

Let me preface this by saying that I do not hate my body. I appreciate it, I like its quirks, and I've decorated it with enough mascara, tattoos, nail polish and clothing to make me believe that it can be a pretty fun thing to look at in the mirror. However, my body, while soft and small and mainly functional, can prove a nightmare to dress.

I wear a 36 C bra, have a 29-inch waist, and my lower half bears a strong resemblance to Coco's. Oh, and I'm only 5'4".

My first experience trying on wedding gowns may have put me off the whole thing forever. One day, after leaving a doctor's appointment in Manhattan, I decided, on a whim, to stop in a bridal shop. I had seen a Vera Wang gown I particularly liked in their window, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to try it on.

After a very awkward five or ten minutes having some 16-year-old pour my breasts into a corset top, I wriggled into a size 10. Or so I thought. After buttoning the top of the dress, the salesgirl clipped me into the waist and then, in perhaps the most disheartening tone I've ever heard, said, "Ohhhhhhh."

I asked her what the problem was, while partially naked in front of a family of strangers.

 "We're going to have to get you the 12," she said.

And they did. More clipping commenced. And then, the salesgirl told me, and I say this without my own personal feelings misremembering the quote, "You're a weird size, buy something online."

I know that buying a wedding dress online is not the world's greatest injustice, nor is being told you're not Vera Wang's ideal customer. However, the store attedant's words struck a chord in the self-conscious, critical and sometimes eating-disordered woman I've grown to be.

As much as I wish the tag on my wedding gown read "size 0," I'm more interested in insuring I don't look like a sack of mashed potatoes shoved into a bag of glitter on my special day.

I've been researching my options, and in doing so, often feel like I'm the only person in the world who doesn't want to get married looking like a Las Vegas showgirl. From the bridal shop in my town to the options in my price range at mega-retailer Kleinfeld, I have found that many women welcome a look that to me is best suited to a Bee Gees fan looking to get wild. Taking into account the advice of my fiancé and some women online who have gotten married without having nervous breakdowns, I've come up with some potential dress options. What do you like?

Help me, xoJane readers. You're my only hope.

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