so last weekend, i had an appointment at a certain (to remain unnamed) wedding dress shop that specialized in custom dresses. i figured having an appointment meant you know, i would either have my own space, someone to actually help me, or you know, some sort of decent treatment.

guess who was wrong here?

i arrived to the shop at 10:55am for an 11am appointment. milling around the shop was an older crotchety looking mom-figure with some frizzy haired chick to looked entirely too much like jeannie, the girl with the bad perm from married with children.

not knowing why the shop was closed up, i called the number that was in my email for my contact at the shop. oh, no answer. something along the lines of five minutes later, this really perky girl opened the door and looked as if she was opening the shop. the younger girl (whom i will from this point on refer to as jeannie) nudged her way into the shop before the lights even turned on. i think the shopgirl assumed we were together because jeannie looked filipino and i, of course, am of the yellow variety. as the lights turned on, jeannie started grabbing dresses left and right off the racks. there were really only about four racks of dresses and yet she must’ve had three dresses in her hand once i made my way into the store.

as jeannie was rounding up dresses with shopgirl at her side, telling her how excited she was for her “dress up day,” i stood close to the door, staring at b. i had the look of abject fear in my eyes. i didn’t know what to do. i wasn’t instructed to grab dresses. i just didn’t want to be rude. after a full few minutes, another shopgirl made her way into the shop and asked if i needed any help. “sure.. i uh.. have an appointment.” she then lit up, calling me by name, mentioning that she didn’t know if i was going to show or not. i *did* confirm to you via email that i was going to, no? whatever.

i was asked if i had brought along a bra or shoes. i quietly told her no and that i really didn’t know i was supposed to. she then instructed me to pick out some dresses. i picked out two dresses that didn’t look absolutely horrible and proceeded to hand them to the all-too-eager shopgirl who was helping jeannie earlier. the shop wasn’t very large and in that sense, didn’t seem like they were meant to take in more than one bridal-dress finding appointment. the shopgirl who greeted me suddenly grabbed one of the dresses i had and said that it was too big and to grab another size. oh no. i smelled disaster. feeling meek, vulnerable, and all sorts of mixed feelings - i was stuffed into a fairly small dressing room that was probably half the size of a nordstrom fitting room. this was really only a problem because the dresses i had were HUGE (tulle skirt and all) and i had problems fitting that and me into the room at the same time.

i disrobed and started with the first dress. it. wouldn’t. even. zip. up. i tried. the dress looked incredibly pretty in front, but absolutely wouldn’t even come close to coming together in the back.

i held my breath, squeezed out a pound or two and started pulling. nothing. i was going to rip a several hundred dollar dress just because some shopgirl gave me the wrong size. right outside the curtain, the girl offered to help zip up the dress. “it doesn’t fit,” i told the shopgirl, my voice obviously breaking. she told me not to worry and started clipping the dress. i didn’t understand the concept of clipping when the dress didn’t even zip up, but i was too in a state of confusion to do or say anything to stop her.

i also want to note that jeannie and her rude, crotchety mom were having a grand ol time. well, not the mom, who was criticizing every little thing about the dresses and jeannie, but they seemed to be having a much better experience in contrast to my wanting to hang myself inside my dressing cubicle.

i walked out of the dressing room to where b was sitting. turns out this was also where jeannie and her mom were. there’s only one mirror and two benches. we had to share the same fucking mirror. i had nowhere to stand as jeannie was hogging up the main mirror with her size fucking 2 dress and 6” stilettos. i stood awkwardly in front of b with a look of utter helplessness on my face. as i did this, i heard comments about my dress. i don’t even really know what was said about my dress because my mind was swimming with panic. i trudged back to the dressing room. behind the pink translucent curtain, i started to cry. i feverishly grabbed my cardigan to dab away tears, but they kept coming.

to make a really long story short, it was a ridiculously shitty experience. in the time i had started to cry, i heard three more people enter the shop to watch jeannie try on dresses that really didn’t look at all right for her. any other dress they handed me didn’t fit. every single time that happened, i probably cried. the one dress that did fit, i refused to leave the dressing room for, as they set up the shop so that jeannie got to keep the large mirror and benches (because she had a party of 5 watching her try on dresses) and i was banished to the mirror in front of the store - meaning i had to walk by their party any time i had a dress, just to look at myself in the mirror.

as we left the store and got back into the car, i probably spent another 10 minutes bawling. b didn’t really know why i was crying, and i couldn’t even really describe to him what i was feeling other than utter humiliation about everything. i was embarrassed about having to try on dresses in front of other people and i was embarrassed about squeezing myself into dresses that didn’t fit. it was my first time trying on dresses and it was an absolute failure. i don’t know what i expecting going into all this. maybe not to feel like utter shit? not to not want to get married?

1. conniek posted this