Yesterday at 4pm I was sat in the changing rooms of Coast uncontrollably sobbing. And I mean SOBBING. I can only imagine what the the people on the other side of the curtain were thinking, especially as the sales assistant handed a glass of water to a small quavering ‘thank you’ from beyond the purple velvet. To make matters worse, I was met with a sight when I looked up and caught a glimpse of my red blotchy face in the mirror, which just sent me into a further spiral of sobs. It took a full five minutes to pull myself together enough to wipe up the mascara tracks from my face and actually put some clothes on.
I have to make you aware that myself, my sister, my mother, and my cousin had been shopping from about 10am in the morning at this point, a feat that many of you will perhaps appreciate as quite ambitious. To add another layer to the demands of the task, we were shopping for bridesmaids dresses. So, fuelled with chocolate mousse cake from Patisserie Valerie, we set out on the daunting exercise.
I have never been a bridesmaid before, I have never been a part of a wedding before (unless you count being in the choir in the village church), and I have never been more stressed in my life. You try finding one dress that will work with three vastly different body types that everyone feels comfortable in! I can tell you now- it’s not easy.
This is what drove me over the edge. Usually going shopping, for me, is fun. I usually drag my oh-so-accepting boyfriend with me to the shops, who doesn’t complain -so long as there are ‘man seats’ for him to rest his aching feet. But yesterday, the four of us traipsed around shop after shop looking for that one dress that would suit us all. As someone who is 4ft 11, I can tell you that some dresses just look better on people who have an extra 6 inches on me. There are two ways around this problem: wear stilts or find another dress. I know some of you will be nodding at the former idea, but I’m not sure how happy the bride would be, so we chose the latter.
Which brings us to me, sobbing on the floor of the changing rooms over the fact that I am not 6 inches taller and 5 pounds lighter. See, this is the thing, I don’t need to loose weight. I’m healthy and I’m happy with my body, but put me next to someone wearing the same dress but two sizes smaller and the insecurities seem to spring from me like a jack-in-the-box. So as the sizes started to increase, the more I felt the prick of tears threatening my eyes and the dry lump in my throat refuse to swallow. That’s when we hit a size that I have never been before. Ever. And the tears overflowed.
I won’t tell you what size it was, because the dress didn’t suit me and it’s not the one the bride chose anyway, in fact we don’t REALLY have a dress to wear yet… The search continues!
And as for the moral of the story? If you look good in a dress, it doesn’t matter what the size is… and chocolate mousse cake may not have been the best breakfast before dress shopping!
The Gathfords 