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“What will I wear?” That was practically the first thought that came to mind when Patrick, my boyfriend of seven years, proposed marriage. But, at age 82, finding the right dress turned out to be a greater challenge than I could have imagined. Everything else came together with ease.
“When?” An afternoon wedding on June 21, the Summer Solstice and the longest day of the year, struck us as appropriate for two octogenarians like us.
“Where?” At home. We’d recently pooled our resources to buy a dream house together, and our garden seemed the perfect place to marry. And who needs a wedding planner when friends and family eagerly pitch in? My brother, Orlyn, a Universal Life Church officiant, was a shoo-in to marry us. Maggie, a filmmaker with a talent for floral design, offered to arrange flowers. When we told our pal, David, a retired chef who’d owned a popular restaurant, that we were getting married, he said, “I’ll cook lunch!”
While the main event was our wedding ceremony, we viewed the occasion as a gathering of cherished friends and family members enjoying good food, music and laughter. Our new home, built in New York’s Hudson Valley in 1907, was once a quaint riverside teahouse that became a racy “speakeasy” during Prohibition. In honor of its storied past, we settled on a Jazz-Age theme for our wedding, with our silvery-voiced friend, vocalist Molly Ryan, singing Cole Porter and Irving Berlin at the reception.
Our theme also meant I could indulge my taste for vintage fashion for my wedding attire. I pictured myself in a smart daytime dress falling below the knee, or a sleek suit with a nipped-in waist, perhaps worn with a tilt hat in the style of Katharine Hepburn. These were fashions I’d always loved and figured I’d shop in my own closet. Unfortunately, I found nothing tucked away that was remotely suitable — or that fit. My treasured thrift shop finds are old friends I couldn’t dream of parting with, but I’d last worn most of them long before my hair turned gray.
Besides, at my age, I’m vintage enough without overdoing it in a rayon number with a lacy collar that Ginger Rogers might have worn hoofing it with Fred Astaire.
I began scouring shops online, from affordable to aspirational, looking for — yes, “a pretty daytime dress, perhaps a suit with a nipped waist.” I couldn’t get that look out of my head. I sent screenshots of various finds to my London pal, Jo-an, a former fashion journalist. She raced off to shops, calling me on WhatsApp, dangling outfits on hangers that she thought might work.
I fell in love with one of the dresses long distance, and promptly ordered it online. When the dress arrived, it was everything I’d desired — a creamy linen top with a swingy chiffon skirt — but my heart sank when I tried it on. I looked like a puffy white marshmallow. Fortunately, the online store was gracious about returns, although I hate returning clothing, fearful that a perfectly good, unworn, tags-attached garment will end up in a massive landfill.
So, I hit department stores, determined not to purchase anything I hadn’t tried on and was absolutely sure was the dress I’d wear on my wedding day. For me, shopping is less “retail therapy” than a grim forced march through consumer hell — too much to choose from! Feeling overwhelmed in a dressing room crammed with “possibilities,” I texted selfies to my friend, Sandy, a Hollywood costume designer, who doesn’t mince words.
Sandy texted back: “A big NO on the lace jacket, even if, as you say, it looks a little better in person. Too matronly.”
I had to agree, recalling that my own mother considered lace “matronly” after a certain age. I sent a selfie wearing a different outfit.
Sandy texted back: “The linen jacket has a flattering line, but women of a certain age can’t handle a jewel neckline very well. I’ve been hiding my neck since it startled and offended me about 25 years ago.”
Another selfie. Another text: “The skirt is fine, but how about some palazzo pants? Or I could see you in a cream bias cut silk charmeuse long skirt and silk shirt with French cuffs, or a variation of a tuxedo jacket in the same cream tone but different fabric. Call me if you’d like to talk.”
This was the sort of chat I imagined Cate Blanchett, an actress and fashion icon, having with her stylist — but I’m not Cate Blanchett, nor am I “fashion-forward” enough to have that sort of chat.
My friend Linda sensed my desperation. “So, how do you want to look?”
“I’ll go for clean and neat,” I told her, “preferably something age-appropriate with sleeves.”
She laughed, then made it her mission to check out various boutiques with me in tow.
The truth is, given my age, I still wanted to dazzle. I also realized that my image of myself did not match what I was seeing in a mirror — and lighting in most changing rooms didn’t help. I’ve worn the same dress size for years, but styles that once flattered my figure now looked frumpy. I tried on everything from summery floral midi styles to print wrap dresses and classic sheaths with jackets, feeling more discouraged with each change.
I was losing heart, and questioning whose brilliant idea it was to have a wedding, anyway.
Then, as Linda and I were about to call it a day, I saw it. The perfect dress — and it wasn’t like anything I’d had in mind. A simple midi-length dress in ivory silk that skimmed my body and made me feel — well, just the way I wanted to look on my wedding day.
“Brides know when it’s the right one,” Linda assured me. “Remember what you said when you walked out of the dressing room?”
“I couldn’t be happier.“
And, yes, Jo-an, Sandy, Linda and my new husband, Patrick, were all "dazzled.”
Where do you go when YOU want to buy a new dress? Let us know in the comments below.
Courtesy Kathryn Leigh Scott
Follow Article Topics: Fashion
