I’m the MOB (Mother of the Bride)! This is a one-time thing for me, as this is my favorite and only daughter. I have so much to learn.
Luckily I have a cadre of loving friends who have offered assistance in various areas. I intend to share the knowledge they have imparted in a series of posts. This one is soooo important — the MOB dress.
What I wanted, and didn’t want
I knew I wanted to look appropriate and special and elegant, and to be able to dance. That’s pretty much all I had in my mind.
But I knew what I didn’t want:
- to embarrass my daughter
- to look like I think I’m a bridesmaid
- to look old and frumpy
- to be too bare
- to be physically uncomfortable
- to look like Cinderella going to the ball
I knew that finding my dres should be a happy and exciting experience, but I was not enjoying it. This was not like a montage in the movies, where you see the protagonist try on dress after dress, having a ball, posing and dancing, until she magically finds the perfect dress. Nope, this was more like trying on swimsuits when you are experiencing menopause belly bloat.
My Number One (and only) piece of advice: get help from your friends.
As I often do, I leaned on my gal Kalisa. She hasn’t been a MOB, but she is an excellent and enthusiastic shopper. I was in good hands.
Kalisa researched where we should go. She set up appointments and had conversations with “consultants” to tell them who I am, what I wear, what the wedding will be like, etc. She did all the legwork for me.
The emotions of the day
When MOB Dress Day dawned, I woke up feeling not so cute. Suddenly I was old, too heavy, stressed out about finding the right dress, and I seemed to have some kind of eczema growing in my eyebrows and on my ears. Nice. Let’s just say that I did not feel like a princess.
The first store
At our first stop, Julian Gold in Austin, Kalisa introduced me to our consultant like she was introducing the most important person on earth. As the stylist asked me questions about the day, I could feel my tears coming. Good grief. Seriously? I’m a person who is just a tad bit emotional, but was I truly going to cry trying on dresses? Yes, apparently I was.
Kalisa and our helper brought me armfuls of dresses. I was nervous about trying them on, certain I would look silly. The first few didn’t work, and then one did. Oh my. I stepped out. Several of the store employees exclaimed about how beautiful the dress was — how beautiful I was. Honestly, I looked so pretty I made myself cry. Again.
The dress that was so perfect had not been chosen by the store employee, but by my sister-from-another-mother, Kalisa. She knew what I needed, and what would be most flattering on me. No salesperson can know that.
We had found it! We took a picture and sent it to my daughter for approval. She loved it! She said it was beautiful. She also pointed out that the top half of the dress looked a lot like her wedding dress.
Yep. She was right. Back to the drawing board. (Even though we didn’t find my dress at Julian Gold, it is a terrific boutique and I recommend it. The consultants were great — I was just lucky to have my own personal expert consultant.)
More stores, until we found the dress
We persevered. Kalisa fed me and gave me pep talks. She hydrated me. She was like Rocky’s coach, sending me back into the ring.
We finally found the dress, in store #5. Again, it wasn’t the salesperson who found it, but Kalisa. I cried, Kalisa cried, even our salesperson cried. It was perfect.
I’m not going to show it to you, because the wedding is in a few days. But I feel beautiful in it. And appropriate and elegant. It’s fancier than anything I’ve ever worn, but it is a fancy day. And I can dance.
MOBs, get some help
Finding your dress is a big task, and not as much fun as one might think.
Lean on your friends. Let them guide you through this. Let them keep you hydrated. Let them build you up and send you back into the fight when you want to give up.
Pretty good advice for dress shopping, but also for life in general.
Wondering what we’re all about?
Why we write what we write. . .
