The Feminist Bride: The Dress Take 3

Given that my first two stabs at dress shopping were not successful- and stressful to boot- I did not go out of my way to schedule any more dress shopping adventures. I was discouraged by a perceived lack of options. Vintage stuff didn't fit me, retail dresses were  expensive and probably made out of crap from China. I was ready to throw in the towel.

My third dress shopping experience was therefore an accident.

I was having breakfast with my aunt and my cousin in Oakland. My aunt commented that she had recently located my grandmother's wedding dress and asked if I wanted to give it a go. I, rather sheepishly, replied I was game to try anything at this point.

Minutes later she re-appeared, silk dress from 1950s in hand. My grandmother was a practical bride. She wore a short dress, not even white- but a silvery grey color, so that she could wear it again. Of course, as all brides with similar objectives, she never did- and thus it ended up in the dress-up box of my childhood. The next person to wear it was a much younger version of yours-truly, sometime in the late eighties, roughly forty years later. Many times my aunt has told the story of how she salvaged the dress one afternoon after I had spent the day wearing it in my manzanita treehouse.

Although she might have saved it from further disrepair that day, the dress was in pretty bad shape. The lace along the neck was torn in many places, the hem had become undone and was beginning to fray, and there were a myriad of stains covering every major piece of the skirt and bodice. Even if it had fit me it would have needed almost total reconstruction.

What happens next was predictable- given the findings of earlier dress shopping trips. Remember how no dress manufactured before 1960 fit? Same deal. I managed to get my arms and shoulders into the dress, and, delicately, the rest of my body smoshed into it. Seams busting- my aunt and I looked on in her full length mirror. If I had breathed, the dress would have clearly lost its stitching. Fail. I said. My aunt chirped something about it having been a long-shot anyway. We both laughed.

After she had assisted me in smooshing myself back out of the family heirloom, she hung it up, and as we were returning to the breakfast table, she had another inspiration.

Jessy- she buzzed- what about The White Elephant Sale? To which, like any non East Bay native- I replied, the what? The White Elephant Sale she said- it's the Bay Area's largest garage-sale, it's happening today and I have some things to donate.

For those of you who don't know- The White Elephant sale is a huge fundraiser put on by the Oakland Museum Women's Board, a bunch of bad-ass chicks who are in their 60's. It's been put on for decades to support the Oakland Museum. They throw a month long, super organized garage sale in a building larger than the size of your average Costco. It takes a staff of hundreds of volunteers and thousands of people come every year. This year it grossed 1.8 million. Impressive.

An hour later we were in the building. First impression: slightly overwhelming for any second hand goods enthusiast. My aunt and cousin made a bee line for the women's apparel section, breezing past inquisitive volunteers- they clearly new exactly where the rack of wedding dresses was located.

The first dress I saw was just about the most heavenly piece of fabric and string I've come across. I delicately removed it from the end of the rack, along with a couple of other dresses for good measure and entered the large communal fitting room with my cousin and aunt.

Amongst 15 gawking women of all shapes and sizes, all in various states of undress, I began to try on the wedding dresses. Saving the best for last. One was too small by a mile, one made me look like the dreaded cupcake, and another made me look like an 18th century bride- way too many buttons. The heavenly piece came last.

When I put it on, all the chatter in the communal dressing room fell silent. A few women gasped. One matronly looking woman in her 60s in nothing but her bra and panties whispered-  you have to buy that. Others nodded their heads in agreement. Everyone was moved. The choice was made. Me, my aunt, my cousin, and 15 half naked strangers were sure that this was the one.

I left Oakland with a silk and satin hand made wedding dress from who knows when, with embellishments of satin roses, that fits me perfectly. I left Oakland with a wedding dress in a recycled plastic shopping bag, having donated just over a hundred dollars to a cause that I feel good about. I left Oakland with a wedding dress that I'll wear proudly and look great in- values still in tact.