
Originally written August 2008.. Published July 2009
But I saw you. And felt sorry for you. Made eyes at the gowns beside you, but pointed at you, too. There could be no harm in trying. You were, at best, an easy "no."
Because I had already discounted you, I tried you first. First, ever. And because you were first, I did not recognize the moment when it hit me square on the head, leaving the dressing room, rounding the corner for my first view – the bride to be – of me.
No, I did not know it. Did not know that my delight at your magnificent train was more than just star-struck fantasy in off-white. Did not suspect your perfect fit would be unmatched in the weeks to come.
And even when I saw you — halted in my tracks by the image of a woman I thought I might know, holding the folds of a gown I had only dreamed of — I did not let myself think you were more than the first blush. I could not think it – because it was not just a thought. It was a moment. It was magic. It was love.
I stared the longest at you, of all of them – and there were many. You were the standard to which all other gowns failed to live up to. I kept you secret because the moment was too precious to share – too difficult to explain. It would be a mouthful of excuses each time: it’s unusual; it’s off-white; it has asymmetry, and is dutchess silk– and I did not want that. Could not invest myself each time only to have it fall on deaf ears. It would do no justice.
You are Princess Grace of Monaco, old Hollywood, and a bride in between. You are sepia photographs and catwalk couture. You are fashion, not form – and you make me feel like only I could look this way in you. That my wearing you is what makes you beautiful, and not the other way around. You are exactly the gown I never dreamed I’d own. You are Dutchess Silk, your are spectacular, and for a brief moment in time, you were my wedding gown.







