Say Yes to the Dress…?

Say Yes to the Dress?  What Does That Mean?

My youngest sister is getting married.  In…let’s see.  Twelve days?  About a month ago (give or take a couple weeks), she asked me to make her wedding dress.   Which would have been an outlandish, preposterous request, if there hadn’t been some sort of precedence.

Which thankfully there is.  First of all, I do sew.  Quick history:  I’ve craved pretty clothes since high school.  No, actually…since I knew what clothes were.   Probably before I was coining complete sentences.  And then.  Coupled with the craving–or maybe because of it, I had an I Can Sew epiphany when I was fourteen-ish (having survived thirteen). Mom had fabric and a sewing machine (a 50’s-60’s Singer with persnickety tension).  I recognized a Fashion Opportunity; I just needed to learn how to sew.  My mom was willing to tutor me. For awhile. Eventually, she gave up under duress, objecting to my insistence that it didn’t matter which sleeve went into which armhole—my delusion that there was no significant difference between the fronts and backs of things. My refusal to fix mistakes also annoyed her.

Mom taught me the basics before she left me to my own devices.  Desperate for my homemade clothes to actually look good on…or at least, wanting to keep them (my mother threw away one of my first masterpieces, a dress I refused to put a zipper in or face properly, thinking no one would notice a series of safety pins marching down my back…or a raw edge tucked cleverly under my hair), I gradually learned to appreciate the difference between fronts and backs, and to fix my mistakes.  Put in zippers, buttons, hems, facings (I still despise zippers and facings…but I accept them as a necessary evil).  So that decades later, I can make pretty formals for my girls (and friends, nieces, and sisters) with minimal trepidation. I wish I enjoyed the process more…actual sewing still feels de rigueur to me, a tedious means to an end rather than an amusing hobby.  Necessary because fashion taste exceeds fashion budget (this is also why I thrift), and because it’s next to impossible to find perfect fit and style off the rack, even if I’m feeling rich (and I never feel rich).  Sewing, I can tailor clothes to the particular shape of my body, or someone else’s…in any style and almost any color and fabric.

The last precedent:  I’ve actually sewn one wedding dress.  Well, one and a half. My own wedding dress was a clumsy refashion from my 80’s Gunne Sax graduation dress—who knew there were so many shades and sheens of white? But I did successfully sew a wedding dress for my niece last summer.  Though the project had intense moments, it ended well.  The bride beamed and was her beautiful, unique self in it.

So it’s not inconceivable that my sister would ask me to make her wedding dress.  But it is still a little nerve-wracking.

Have you ever seen “Say Yes to the Dress”?  Until a couple of weeks ago, I had only heard of it.  I didn’t care to watch it.  Aside from minimizing a wedding’s celebratory coalescence of love, commitment, community, and hope in favor of a single dress, there was also reportedly meanness involved.   Mean mothers, mean bridesmaids, mean friends…sometimes even mean brides.

Because life has to be ironic, my daughter Meisha discovered  “Say Yes to the Dress” and began watching it with morbid fascination…at about the same time that I began cutting fronts and backs and sleeves out of lace and satin, hoping for more epiphanies and even possibly divine intervention (no one ever fits a standard pattern perfectly).  I caught glimpses of a few episodes, and I heard every word of several.  Such nitpicking!  Over such beautiful dresses (none of which…no, not one…are anything like my sister’s dress).  Dresses perfectly conceived and assembled, with endless yards of gorgeous fabric, lace, beads, rhinestones, sequins…and no homemade stitching, errant facings, or obvious zippers (and certainly no safety pins).   Once again, as I’ve done with every formal I’ve made…especially with Chandler’s wedding dress last summer, I  doubted.  Doubted whether Nola could possibly be happy with one of my homemade concoctions.

And we’re committed, you see.  Like last summer, there’s really not a back door here.  No plan B. No time to run to a boutique and order the one-and-only dream of a lifetime dress.

And Yet.  When I forget  about “Say Yes to the Dress”, and remember the fun conversation Nola and I shared when we dreamed up her dress (a conversation that ranged from pencil skirts to ample busts to Downton Abbey pre-1920’s fashion)…when I look at my progress, the almost finished pieces of the future assembly (because Nola’s dress is in fact a skirt, a chemise, and a gauzy jacket)…I can’t help but revel.  Mmmm.  Crocheted lace, satin, voile.  Post-Edwardian possibilities.

At least I can say yes to this dress.

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