#213: My Wedding Dress
When something borrowed becomes something new
I write this as a married woman. I have a husband – and I am a wife – and I have a gold ring on my finger. I have a new name, a new relationship status, a bigger family. I can now also say that I own the very personal and unique object of a wedding dress.
Before it was mine, however, it didn’t sit in a shop window, but wrapped in tissue paper in my grandparents house, because this was my mother’s dress before me, and it was my grandmother’s first. There are stories in its stitches, history in its seams and folds, as well as losses in its structure. By the time my mother wore it, a lace neckline had rotted. When it came to me, the lace sleeves were too fragile, and while my grandmother could pull off puffed sleeves, I was not so able.
When we pulled the dress out of its box, unfolding it carefully and putting it on, we took in its imperfections. My mother and I went to the drawing board, and in doing so, we made this object our own creation. It was changed to fit me and be in my style, but retains my grandmother’s initial creation, when she cut and sewed this dress for herself back in the 1940s.
Many discussions were had between my mother and I, trying out fabrics and necklines, removing and adding sleeves. She only stabbed pins into me a few times, we managed to (mostly) not bleed on the dress, and last minute, inspired decisions were made – the lace neckline only being finished two days before the wedding. Along the way, there were successes and failures, tears of frustration, and moments of tension dissipated by laughter. These are the memories this object now contains, and so many more. There are stories it holds which we do not know, back from when my grandmother stitched it all together. There also memories which are recorded in wedding photos, cementing them in time, and tied to this dress.
On Saturday, September 1st 2018, my wedding dress glowed with memories. It glowed with the memory of my grandmother’s big grin as she threw her bouquet into the air, and it gained many more smiles, laughter, and happy tears from myself, my husband, and all those who celebrated with us. It glowed in its ivory white colour, making me stand out in our huge crowd of friends and family, because that day was my day, our day.
Not all wedding dresses are white, but mine was. Not all people agree that a wedding dress is so special, or so important. Writing this post, I could have launched into the history of the wedding dress. I could have attempted to lead you down it’s messy, constantly changing history of traditions, and gotten lost. You can find wedding dresses all over the world, in a whole range of colours and styles, with their own specific associations and symbolisms, continuing traditions through the ages, as well as starting new ones.
The one constant, however, is that a wedding dress is an extremely personal object. Forget the fashion trends of wedding catwalks, or the insistence that your dress must cost £1000+. The only thing a wedding dress must be is you. This dress, in my eye, was perfect, because it felt so, so right on me. I felt elegant, and I felt comfortable – a feeling which lasted the whole wonderful day.
My wedding dress was my grandmother’s personal creation, containing her hard work of love in its threads. My mother then clothed herself in its silk fabric and lace and made it her own, adding smiles and dancing and small alterations. I then came along, and made it my own wedding dress, with the skilled hand of my mother guiding the way. Perhaps, one day, it will be passed on again, and new celebratory memories will enter its seams.
Katie writes a weekly blog post about random objects that she finds in her everyday life. If you’re interested in reading more, check out her blog Object, a collaboration with fellow Medium blogger Eleanor, and sign up for the monthly newsletter (containing exclusive content) below. You can also follow us on Twitter at @ObjectBlog.
