No.
I. Was. Meant. To. Be. A. Cool. Bride.
Oh no.
When my partner and I got engaged last year, we'd been together for 14 years. I hadn't grown up ever thinking about my wedding day, and I hadn't envisioned it throughout my 20s either. The closest I got to being wedding-obsessed was binge-watching Say Yes To The Dress and bitching that the mermaid gown definitely did not need the bedazzled belt, and stumbling across the Emmy-deserving masterpiece that is Australia's Cheapest Weddings.
So I was certain there was simply no way I'd buy into the wedding industrial complex. I was above it, philosophically, morally, etc. I wouldn't care about dresses or flowers or menus or bonbonnieres or seating plans or colour schemes because I understood the ills of capitalism.
"Capitalism - wait for it - can be bad."
And, look. For the most part, I gave very little f*cks. Except when it came to the goddamn dress.
All I wanted was to be the bride who tries on 1 (one) dress, shrugs, casually buys it, and then everyone remarks on how perfect and effortless she is.
But I am not that person.
I am only just 5 foot, for starters, which means full-length dresses are my mortal enemy, and I also know nothing about fashion. Not one thing. Literally, ask anyone. I always look stupid.
"Even if I have an opinion, it's probably wrong xxx." Image: Supplied.
I'm also highly neurotic and can't make decisions and have a tendency to enter deep, lonely spirals of uncertainty. So.
Here's what happened when I went shopping in Sydney for a wedding dress, and became unexpectedly possessed. By a demon. Who curiously cared only about tulle, lace, boning, and the difference between 'ivory', 'white' and 'off-white'.
***
It’s a rainy weekend and I take my cynical, fashion-loathing mum to Grace Loves Lace in Sydney's Alexandria.
I've written elsewhere about the moment I put on a wedding dress for the first time, expecting Mum to have either of these reactions:
YOU'RE STUNNING.
My baby girl.
Only to discover she was nowhere to be found, because she was outside having a fight with a telemarketer.
When she returns from her previous commitment (????), this is the dress I'm wearing:
"Mum, what do you think?" Image: Supplied.
Mum. Is. Confused.
Because. Why. Doesn't. It. Fit.
Obviously because it's a sample size and you'd understand that if you'd ever watched Say Yes To The Dress.
We move on.
"Mum, can you pls focus." Image: Supplied.
Mum likes this one, mostly because it fits, and for a moment I swear I notice a flicker of emotion on her face. But now she wants more.
The next dress has a high neck, and I think I might like it.
We love a high neck. Image: Supplied.
But Mum has suddenly become a wedding dress expert and prefers the last one, and I now understand how it happens. I'm three dresses in and already questioning my sense of reality - who am I? What do I like? Why am I taking advice from a woman who's currently wearing tracksuit pants and runners in a bridal showroom?
"Trust me. I know bridal fashion." Image: Supplied.
Luckily, the (actual) stylist keeps us moving, and I try a two-piece I love:
Ooooo. Image: Supplied.
My torso may be so short it pretty much becomes a one-piece but the off-the-shoulder sleeves are, dare I say, a vibe.
Next up is a slightly different shape, which gives me a waist which is always lovely.
Okurrr. Image: Supplied.
In Mum's expert fashion opinion, she's not a fan of drape-y tops, which is a weird hill to die on but okay.
I try the same style dress in a different fabric, and yeah, Mum still has the same... feedback.
Okay but... I like it. Image: Supplied.
The stylist isn't pushy at all, and instead just gives me the names and pricing information for my top three choices.
Mum shares her opinions the whole way home, and on an entirely unrelated note, the next time I go shopping, I go... alone.
I'm at Marry Me Bridal and guys, I know which dress I'm going to choose. I've always been obsessed with Meghan Markle's reception dress, and given that I'm often told I look exactly like her (precisely no one has ever said this), surely this style will turn me into a princess:
Meghan's reception dress. Or, me on my wedding day. Image: Getty.
I've found a dress that's similar, and I knock everyone in the shop out of the way to try it on. Only to look in the mirror and see... this.
...Oh. Image: Supplied.
The things wrong with this dress on me include:
- all of it
- everything
But it's okay because there's another style I've been looking at that will certainly suit me. It's casual and cool and looks like perfection on all the models.
I... see. Image: Supplied.
At this point, I have a word to myself.
It would appear that I'm mistakenly envisioning myself to be tall and willowy and able to wear clothes like a coat hanger.
In reality, I'm very short with an almost non-existent torso, and girl needs structure. So the lovely stylist pulls a few dresses for me, and goodness.
Would never have picked myself, but... okay?! Image: Supplied.
Obsessed. Image: Supplied.
Suddenly, I'm a princess and I have a strange urge to wear a tiara for no reason.
Then she pulls one more.
Love. Love love. Image: Supplied.
The last two are my favourites so far, but did you really think I was going to behave like a normal, healthy person and buy a dress just because I liked it?
HAHA y would I do that.
No.
I was obviously going to keep looking until all common sense was lost and everything descended into chaos.
I'm at The Bridal Atelier and on their Instagram, every dress is my dress.
I'm with my future mother-in-law, and I try on the dress I was certain I'd love.
Why. Isn't. This. It. Image: Supplied.
I can no longer articulate why certain dresses don't work, and I'm becoming more and more like that bride in Say Yes To The Dress who tries on 300 dresses and gets bitched about by Randy.
I try a few more I loved online.
Ignore my black undies. Oops. Image: Supplied.
This is giving 'Kim Kardashian attends an awards show.' Image: Supplied.
Then I try a few chosen by my future mother-in-law, who has a far better eye for fashion than I do.
We've got a split. Image: Supplied.
I love the high neckline, but the stylist points out that this style of dress runs the risk of cutting me in half, length-wise, making me look even shorter.
Great advice. Let's try some others.
Okay very interesting. Image: Supplied.
Oh my gosh it's so cute. Image: Supplied.
Okay future mother-in-law has pulled some wildcards and we love it. Now, the stylist has one she'd like me to try.
Ummm yes?? Image: Supplied.
This one is actually three pieces - a skirt, a top, and detachable sleeves, and again gives princess vibes which we surprisingly like??
There's just one problem.
Unbeknownst to everyone, I have become possessed. By a demon. A bridal demon.
Oh no.
I just did not see this coming.
You see, she's lost it.
She can't stop. She won't stop.
She does nothing but scroll through Instagram looking at wedding dresses, and Instagram learns and shows her more and more until she's stalking complete strangers on social media - women who are minding their own business and just trying to wedding. She wants strapless but she doesn't and she wants a full skirt but maybe not and someone needs to lock her in a cell and remind her that the guy she’s marrying has tried on one suit and never thought about it again.
But she's at Made With Love and she loves ALL these dresses, so surely she'll put one on and cry and be done with it.
I try on the first dress:
One of my online favourites. Image: Supplied.
I can't explain how much this didn't look right on me in person, and I think it's because I have weird shoulders. Anything with straps looks odd?!
The next one wasn't quite right either:
Hmm. Image: Supplied.
I was almost losing hope in my delirium. The demon was making strange noises and scaring the other customers, then I tried a strapless, fitted dress:
Yaaas. Image: Supplied.
I. Fell. In. Love.
I loved the shape of the bodice and the train and yes well we had to try with a veil and flowers didn't we.
Oooo. Image: Supplied.
But the demon has hesitations.
Hadn't I wanted white-white? Also did I want a full skirt? Was the train too much and I'd struggle to move?
So I try more.
This one had a gorgeous back. Image: Supplied.
I leave empty-handed, and the demon has entirely taken over.
Ummm... hi.
It won't let me think about anything else and this is all so strange. WHY DO I CARE SO MUCH. I'M PRETTY SURE I DON'T WANT ANYONE TO LOOK AT ME ANYWAY. WHO HAVE YOU BECOME.
But shhh because I'm at Karen Willis Holmes and I've fallen in love... again.
SURELY THIS IS IT. Image: Supplied.
This is a skirt and top and I love the shape.
The only problem is that Mum made a comment about draping/ruching on a dress and now I can't get it out of my mind. I want a simpler top, I think. So I try another top, and then a dress in a similar style.
This is goood. Image: Supplied.
Cuuute. Image: Supplied.
The demon isn't certain. Decision-making is not a skill the demon has ever learnt, so instead it just yells MORE MORE MORE and suddenly I'm at Kyha.
I try yet another strapless white dress and love the fabric on the top.
This is pretty. Image: Supplied.
Then find a Meghan Markle-esque halter that has more structure on the inside:
Am I... am I Meghan yet? (No). Image: Supplied.
But it's futile.
I have decision paralysis.
I go back to places I've already been to re-try dresses, and try on ones I missed. I fall in love with tops and skirts from all different designers, and eventually, the demon has a (pretty good) idea.
I go to Penrith Bridal Centre, because they have one of the biggest selections in Sydney, with over 300 designs.
There, I tell the demon to shhh.
HUSH NOW.
I'm honest and explain that I can't choose because I like different parts of different dresses. The stylist asks me to get specific, so I show her my favourite top (from a New Zealand-based designer called Hera Couture):
It's me. Hi. I'm the problem, it's me. Image: Supplied.
And my favourite skirt (from Australian designer Karen Willis Holmes):
No srsly I have a problem. Image: Supplied.
She explains that Hera have just released a range of skirts, and can make my dress for me.
The demon wants to yell BUT YOU COULD KEEP TRYING ON HUNDREDS MORE DRESSES AND HOW DO YOU KNOW IT'S EVEN GOING TO LOOK GOOD AND HOW ABOUT THE FACT YOU HAVE NO TASTE but I make the decision. Yes pls.
Months later, I go back and try on the dress (which is technically a skirt and top). This is how it looks:
It's my dress! Image: Supplied.
I get a little bit of volume taken out of the skirt, and on my wedding day, the demon is gone. Probably off possessing another bride who simply wants to choose a dress and move on with her life.
You need to... chill.
The moral of the story is that there are probably a handful of dresses I could've chosen and felt perfectly comfortable in. But the wedding industrial complex somehow grips even those of us who think we're immune, turning us into monsters.
I love my wedding dress, but it's a relatively small part of what I'll remember about my wedding day.
With that said, every stylist I encountered was a wizard, and my advice would probably be to walk in and ask them to suggest what will suit you.
But the literal point of getting married is that you're choosing to spend the rest of your life with someone who thinks you're beautiful when you have chronic diarrhea and can't stop vomiting. So whatever dress or suit or potato sack you choose - so long as you're wearing it - will inevitably be perfect.
For more from Clare Stephens, you can follow her on Instagram or TikTok.
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