by Amy Odell
One of the first dresses I tried on was a Monique Lhuillier creation I hadn’t noticed in her store, consisting of a beautiful embellished bodice and an A-line tulle skirt.
“I love this,” I proclaimed.
“How much is it?” my mom asked.
“This is twelve thousand dollars,” the saleswoman said.
“Forget it,” my mom replied.
“Never mind, I hate it,” I lied to myself.
When I put on one dress by the designer Ines Di Santo, a strapless mermaid gown with lace appliqué, the saleswoman helping me blurted out, “I will get the designer. She is here today! Stay here.”
Ines di Santo, who, incidentally, made my sister’s wedding dress, was there doing a trunk show. Along with a discount, this meant she was there in person to upsell her wares and fuss over you. She had long bleached-blond hair worn to one side in a cascade of big curls, immaculate red lips, and kohl-lined eyes, and spoke with an Italian accent.
“Oh my God. Stunning. That looks stunning on you,” she said as she entered my Bergdorf boudoir. “Who is here? Is this Mom?”
“Yes, that’s my mom, Gail. And that’s my sister, Holly, who got married in one of your dresses!!!” I was more excited about my sister coming into contact with this woman than myself. Because somehow a woman actually meeting the person responsible for the most epic dress of her life feels like the Destiny’s Child reunion we’ve all been waiting for only it happens right in front of your face.
“I wish I had a picture,” my sister said, but she is older than me and got married back when camera phones weren’t a thing.
“I have other things you must try. Come,” she said, and led me out into the front of the bridal salon, where her collection was on prominent display.
“You like lace? You must try this; it’s very beautiful,” she said, pulling samples from the rack for the saleswoman to take to my boudoir. “You can wear this, not everyone,” she said, pulling a spaghetti-strap lace piece with a slight shimmer to it. “And this, this is a mermaid—very dramatic.” She pulled a pretty dress with a mass of tulle dangling from the bottom. Either she does this for every bride she catches trying on one of her dresses or this is what it feels like to be a muse.
I tried on the shimmering lace dress next. It was sexy in a way that would be great for a different situation—let’s say, like not wearing it in front of your mom. It had a split neckline that plunged in the front almost to the navel and a slit in the front that came up past the knee. Since it was a runway sample, it fit like Saran Wrap.
“This one is sexy. Very wow,” said Ines, as she led me around the salon.
It did look kind of amazing but also amazingly nude. If I wanted to give off the illusion of wearing clothing at my wedding rather than unmistakably being clothed, this was the dress for me.
“What does Mom think?” the saleswoman asked when we returned to our room.
“Well,” she began. “It’s not really for me.”
“A little too sexy for Mom? Haha. Okay, let’s try the next one.”
Next was the dress with the mermaid tulle bottom so massive it allowed the dress to stand upright on the floor. This made for relatively easy dressing but nearly impossible walking.
“I’m not sure if I can walk in this,” I told the saleswoman. She gave me her hand and helped me off the pedestal. Ines took my hand and led me out of the door and around the floor.
“This also looks great. How do you feel? What do you think?”
“Well, it’s very pretty, but I think I’m going to need to be able to walk, and I’m not sure this is great for that.”
I didn’t want to say anything negative about her dresses because I was determined to be a good one-hour muse. “Come here; you can go out,” she said, holding my hand as she led me out of the salon and into the home goods area, where there was another large mirror. My sister and mom were following me. I saw a look of horror creep into my sister’s eyes as I realized my tulle base was close to knocking a large decorative bowl that probably cost as much as the dress off a small glass table.
“Careful!” she cried. Freaked out, I hustled back into the bridal salon as fast as my six-foot tulle base would travel. In what felt like five minutes, our time in the fairy-tale wonderland that is the Bergdorf Goodman bridal salon was up. We had a few strong options, which the saleswoman wrote down on fine stationary. It was time to exit this heavenly, heavenly place and return to my very basic existence.
I left experiencing a surge of endorphins from the sheer knowledge that I would not, after all, have to get married in a very expensive nightgown. And if I was going to spend a lot of money on this dress, it needed to be spectacular, not just a slip with a train and a lining. Some wedding dresses are actually wedding-y in a good way! And they’re all hiding in one of the world’s most expensive stores, what do you know.
• • •
We went to the Reem Acra showroom next. And as I was learning during my dress search, something truly special is happening when you’re looking for an outfit in not a store but a showroom with no storefront because the shit they sell is so expensive, so fine, so otherworldly that you have to make an appointment to be in its presence. The Acra showroom is on the second floor of a large office building on Fifth Avenue just below Fifty-Seventh Street. The building’s interior is gray and unremarkable, but when you walk into the showroom, you’re treated to a relaxing water feature and soothing video footage of the latest Reem Acra runway show. Past the entry area are two huge rooms filled with the most beautiful gowns you’ve ever seen in your life. Tulle and lace and sparkle create a dazzling haven of femininity and happiness while instilling in all who enter a deep-seated anxiety that they should either wash their hands immediately or wrap themselves entirely in latex before proceeding.
A blond sales associate led us through the floor. I told her I wanted something simple and fitted with a splash of lace or sparkle. She went immediately to what looked like kind of an unremarkable off-white rag hanging limply from a rack.
“This is a runway sample, so it’s not in the best condition, but it’s simple with a little lace and a nice little train,” she said, holding out the dress. I agreed to try it. I pulled out several more dresses with statement cap sleeves in rhinestones or lace and a Cinderella dress with a smattering of silver sequins over the bodice and a full, floaty skirt.
“That’s not the style you were looking for,” my sister pointed out.
“I know, but Mom won’t say it looks like a nightgown,” I told her. Besides, I’ll probably never have another reason to put on a dress like that. It’s not like I’m Amy Adams in Enchanted (unfortunately). Besides, even the most cynical, stone-hearted New York media people like myself get emotional and excited around inanimate objects of fashion, especially when sequins are involved.
The sales associate came into the dressing room with me, which meant another hour of stripping down to panties in front of a stranger. But at this point, so many people in New York City had seen me in nothing but nude thong underwear that it felt as natural as a handshake. The first dress I put on was the raglike runway sample. Lace cascaded asymmetrically down the front of the bodice and dripped over invisible illusion tulle netting. The back was low-cut. It was fitted through the bodice and had a small train.
Being a runway sample, the dress was tight. Like compression-stocking tight. Fortunately, it was already a little ripped, so if moving caused it to burst open, they probably wouldn’t force me to buy it. I walked out into the store to look at myself in a full-length mirror.
I cocked my head to one side. This dress, why, this dress was something special. This dress wasn’t like all the others that acted like they’d be all great on the hanger and then got me out of my pants only to roll over and fall asleep as soon as I let them have their way with me. No, this dress was different. This dress would call me the next day. This dr
ess would hold the door open for me and insist on buying me dinner. This dress was maybe actually, really, finally, the one.
“I think—” I began, my mom and sister looking on intently, hoping, no doubt, that this tedious ordeal of watching me try on so much white stuff was finally about to end. “I think I love it.”
“What?!” My sister recoiled.
“Well, I haven’t heard that all day,” my mom said.
“No, I do—I think I love this dress!”
“Do you want to try the veil?” the saleswoman asked. (Obviously.)
She stuck it into my hair with a small comb. “It has just a touch of the same lace that’s in the dress.”
The veil was long and dramatic, made from the lightest sheer tulle and trimmed on the sides with lace. I couldn’t believe I ever considered not having a veil. Veils are everything! Trying on veils is actually more fun than trying on the dresses because veils are what make you look like an actual bride as opposed to a person who’s overdressed. I started walking around in circles just to see the veil swirl around me. My mom dutifully documented me with her camera phone. Trying on wedding dresses is apparently the grown adult’s version of a piano recital. She’ll never feel like videotaping me this much ever again in my life.
As I sashayed to and fro in my dress, negotiating the train, admiring the frothy veil swirling about me, a petite, well-groomed blonde carrying a Longchamp bag entered the showroom.
“I’ve been to eighteen stores,” she told her sales associate. “My six bridesmaids have all come with me. But I just can’t find anything. So I was like, I just have to go by myself. I was here last week, but I just needed to clear my head and come back alone.”
Oh my God. My eyes widened. She made six people do this with her? Over the course of eighteen stores? If you try on seven dresses in each place, that’s 126 dresses. This woman has been through more than a hundred dresses and still hasn’t found something.
I returned to my room to change into the Cinderella dress with the sequins. This was also divine, but in a different way, and unquestionably fabulous.
“I think I love this, too,” I said, turning back to my mirror.
“It’s really pretty,” agreed my sister. “You won’t really get to wear a dress like this ever again.”
“Do you want to try it with the skirt that goes over top?” the saleswoman asked.
What! A secret skirt? Yes!
The tulle skirt went over the sequined skirt and fastened at the waist. Unlike most bridal wear, everything by Reem Acra is incredibly light. Instead of feeling weighed down by it, you feel like you’re being lifted up like a heavenly angel. I tried the dress with and without the skirt, with and without the veil, probably fifteen times. I just didn’t know which I liked better, this or the sexy asymmetrical ivory compression stocking.
Longchamp bag came over to investigate my progress.
“That’s really pretty,” she said. “Are you going to get that?”
“I don’t know, I can’t decide,” I told her.
“Well, it’s gorgeous,” she said with a pained look in her eye that suggested she didn’t understand that she could find things she also actually liked if she didn’t try only to dress the way her mom wanted her to.
After much frolicking about in the sequined Cinderella number, I put the asymmetrical lace dress back on. And I just knew.
“I like this better. This is it,” I said. I had spent my formative years almost exclusively in bodycon clothing, and now was not the time to turn back. I could wear a traditional dress or something tighter and fabulous, and I just had to choose the latter. I want a dress I will look back on when I’m forty-five and think, I don’t know how I wore something so slim-cut, white, and unforgiving, but I’m sure glad I got that out of my system.
I put the veil on one more time. I was in love. This dress had put a ring on me. My mom held her palms up because there really were no words for it.
I never want to wear anything but this dress, I thought.
This, I finally understood, was the feeling fashion people have when they see a perfect pair of ripped tights. This was the fabulous product of impeccable, creative design. This was, for me, Fashion. It was exactly what a perfect dress should be: it made me feel like the best version of myself. You can look at Fashion as clothes by the absurd, for the even more absurd (and absurdity should be mocked or, at the very least, questioned). But you can also look at the ways these clothes—made by dedicated, passionate, and, yes, sometimes slightly crazy people—can make you feel like your best self, whether you’re going to the mall, Fashion Week, or your own wedding.
Reem Acra will always hold a special place in my heart. And, because preserved wedding dresses take up so much room, a huge space in my closet.
That said, I’m definitely not losing my shit over an asymmetrical designer vest anytime soon.
10 Absolutely Vital Tips for Everyone Who Wants to Work in Fashion
Unless you’re the spawn of someone famous, fashion is never just going to invite you over for a cup of tea, so if you want to join, just barge right in and serve yourself with these pointers.
1.When you first start out, always act like you know what’s going on. You won’t know what’s going on ever, but naïveté is not looked upon fondly in this industry. You will wonder, Why are they all wearing sunglasses inside? Why are ninety photographers taking pictures of the girl wearing a dress over her pants? But just pretend like you understand everything and this is all perfectly normal. And if you feel really confused, leave your sunglasses on so you can stare at everything weird around you.
2.When you have been doing this for a while, always act like you don’t know what’s going on. You used to be able to go to a fashion show without eighty million people photographing each other at every corner. The runways used to be so creative, and now it’s all one homogenous sea of easygoing Céline wannabe pants and neoprene sweatshirts. “I just don’t understand it,” you tell anyone who will listen. To really prove your point, leave your cell phone in your bag at Fashion Week, in defiance of all that social media has ruined.
3.When in doubt, wear something simple. You will often be confronted with talented dressers who can wear dresses over pants, and not in an “Eileen Fisher mom whose bed sheets are made from recycled materials” kind of way, but a “Givenchy runway model dressing from the future” kind of way. You will go home and try to re-create these masterful outfits only to realize you can’t and look dumb like this. Instead, just wear a blazer over a jaunty tank with an understated necklace, a flattering jean, and a heel. You already look more chic than the people wearing two outfits at once.
4.When really, really in doubt, wear all black.I It’s hard to wear an all-black outfit that makes you look completely unstylish. People will think you’re one of those people who care more about the clothes around you than the clothes you’re wearing, which is the hallmark of a true Fashion person.
5.Don’t post photos of yourself everywhere if it feels “off-brand.” Like it or not, if you have social media accounts, you have a “personal brand.” A lot of people don’t seem to know what to do with these accounts except act like celebrities, who are brainwashed by all of us into thinking they’re the greatest, which is why they post selfies from their cars and airplane seats all day. But! You don’t have to post selfies from your mundane daily activities! You don’t even have to talk about yourself much! If you’re not comfortable with making your feeds all about your face, then use them to share pictures of people or things or cats around you, or witty quotes or funny links. If you’re not a Kardashian, you don’t have to act like one.
6.Work hard. I know I know, this is cliché advice and I’m not your mom, so why don’t I tell you something you don’t know? Well, guess what? A lot of you don’t know you have to work hard. Really hard. You can often tell you’re working hard by whether or
not you’re sacrificing something. It might be sleep, it might be a dinner out with your friends, it might be a weekend away with your family. To succeed in a highly competitive field like fashion, you have to make sacrifices. The good thing about this is, if you are completely obsessed with what you do and want a fashion career so badly it hurts your soul, then you won’t feel like you’re sacrificing anything.
7.Fear means you’re doing your job. Someone who works in fashion once said if you’re scared all the time that means you’re doing your job. And in a business built upon risk taking, you should take risks so big they scare you. And if your own risks don’t scare you, the egos in this business are so delicate that it’s not unlikely someone will get mad at you in a scary way at some point or another. So embrace it, or you just won’t survive.
8.Check your ego at the door. Here’s something they don’t tell you before you get into this business: you can’t spell fashion without “ego” (the “eg” is silent). Starting out typically involves working for one of these egos. And when you’re working for an ego, there is no room for your ego. So check it at the door when you get to work, because if you want people to listen to you and respect your views, you have to earn it by keeping your head down and working hard until people see you as an angel who makes their lives easier. Until you earn respect, you have to treat your ego like the sweatsuit you put on when you get home after a long day: it’s something only you have to know about. Make other people look good, make other people more successful, and you will become more successful.
9.Beg for work. Ears don’t pierce themselves, and jobs won’t fall into your lap. If you want something, you have to go out and ask for it. And in a competitive industry like fashion, you’ll probably have to beg for it. You’ll get rejected by your idol and have to go back to that person for more. But don’t see it as demoralizing: a career you really, really, really want is totally worth a little groveling. And if you think it’s not, then you probably don’t want this as badly as you’ll need to in order to get through it.
