The myth of the perfect dress

After approximately 50 dresses, five cities, and only one remote possibility, I've come to the conclusion that the 'perfect wedding dress' is a lie. A myth. A vicious fairy tale told to eager brides to sell more magazines and 7 lb. dress books and give any woman an apoplexy and empty wallet so that she'll actually think there's The One For Her.

It's like finding a man all over again, and just as exhausting.

Only this time, it's worse. There are pictures of the one you think you want, the one that could be the one, the ones you know aren't the one (but maybe they are too!), ones that look good on others, ones that won't look anything like the photos on you. You know they're all on 5'10" models that weigh 90 pounds, but you don't care.

After two weeks, you're a Dress Slut, trying on everything in white, ivory and --gasp! -- "diamond white" that you can get your -- or the saleslady's -- hands on. You lug around your own lingerie. You rip out pictures to show to the salespeople, none of which are in stock in that store. None of which come in your size. None of which, even after you try them on, are 'the one'.

You see all the girls in the stores, with their dresses on, murmuring "This is it" in that hushed, happy voice reserved only for really expensive shoes and exceptionally good hair days, and you see how nice and pretty and bride-y they look in their dresses, and you think, "They found theirs; surely I can find mine!"

You don't realize then that that hushed voice is one of relief, of resignation. Finally, they're thinking. I can stop now.

So you go to another store. Then another. Then another town. Then a neighboring city. SUddenly you find yourself on a four-hour road trip with one drafted bridesmaid and one sleepy friend and wonder how it ever came to this.

You're seeing a million dresses: on other women, in stores, in magazines, in your head. They all run together, like the guys between your junior and senior years in college. (That guy from the bookstore --what was his name again? What was that Watters dress number?) And none of them are yours, and it feels like failure. You're a slutty dress Spinster. You're not going to get married after all, because there's not one out there for you.

And here's the thing: you can't give up. Because you have to wear something. Preferrably a dress. I.e. not blue jeans, not a nice white suit (because let's face it, you'd have the same damn trouble finding a white suit), not even a cute bridesmaids dress. And just like you thought you'd never get married, but you don't stop dating because you hear the stories about how that friend of a cousin of a friend ended up marrying the guy who pointed out that her car was leaking radiator fluid on a business trip she had to make for a colleague at the last minute, you don't stop looking.

Just like you want to believe that True Love is just around the corner, you want to believe the dress is out there too. If you're honest, though, you make yourself see that The Perfect Dress, much like Vin Diesel, is not coming. And at some point, you find one you like enough to deal with for the rest of your life and get over it.