I know this sounds very melodramatic. I know. But this is how I feel today. I feel victorious. Like I just climbed a mountain or something.
You see, my wedding gown fit.
Which isn’t a small thing.
I should back up a bit and explain. My wedding gown has been hanging in our hallway closet since April. It’s been in an insanely large, bell-shaped garment bag, and for a while this summer, I was ignoring its very existence. We’ve dubbed this closet in our home “The Champagne Closet” because it is where we store our champagne flutes. Nevermind that it’s actually our linen closet. The champagne flutes are obviously more important. At least, to me. The day Bob the Builder hung an industrial strength hook in there to hold up my giant dress, it became “The Dress Closet”, or “The Closet I Can’t Go In”, if your name happens to be Bob the Builder.
When I first brought the dress home in April, MOH CraftyPants came over to help me into it to make sure it fit. And we were all pleased to say that yes, it fit. And it was good.
And it went to live its happy life in The Dress Closet.
In June, B the B and I hosted a little going away party for our good friends, Ellen & Brian, who were moving to Hawaii. Since Ellen is pregnant with twins (and her due date is a week after our wedding), we all knew they would not be able to come to Philadelphia to celebrate with us. So, upon request, I took the dress from its cozy home in the closet and tried it on.
It wouldn’t zip.
My friend tried to blame the heat and water retention (too much salt!), but the cold hard truth is that it just didn’t fit.
IT. DIDN’T. FIT.
So, I did what any rational person would do. I ignored it. I put that gown back in the closet on that day in June and I never tried it on again. Not until yesterday.
Here’s the truth. I have been struggling with my weight my entire life. I am “blessed” with bum genes in this department. I have always had a super slow metabolism. I can NEVER just eat whatever I want if I want to stay at a marginally healthy weight. I have to watch every single thing I put in my mouth and I have to work out every single day. That’s the sucky truth.
I was the chubby kid in school my entire life, and it was Not Fun, to put it mildly. I can still remember being called “thunder thighs” by Daniel Goia* and his dick younger brother at the local pizza shop. I was 12. I still remember it like it was yesterday. My senior year of high school, someone wrote my name on the wall of the A/V room (which was really more of a hangout room) with a crude drawing of a cow and the words “fat cow” underneath. I remember that as well, like it was yesterday. I wish they didn’t, but these kind of things just hang around in my subconscious.
They are the words that appear out of nowhere when I’m having a bad day. Or when I couldn’t possibly jog another 1/2 mile. Or when the image I see in the mirror doesn’t line up with the image of myself I hold in my heart. Those words, and more, are always there, laying in waiting. Waiting for a tiny crack in my confidence in which they can slink through.
In my twenties, I devoted myself to learning about healthier eating and exercise, and I lost a substantial amount of weight. I was down to a size 6, and I think I had lost somewhere around 45-50lbs. I was a working actor, and I was on tour for a while, trying to maintain a vegan lifestyle – which was pretty damn hard. But, I managed.
A few years later, I moved to Los Angeles, which despite its healthy reputation, has the most fast food restaurants I’ve ever seen anywhere. It’s amazing how much crappy food you can get here without ever leaving your car. And because you’re driving everywhere – and not walking, like in New York – I put on a few pounds in those first few years.
And then, every year, a pound or two more. And then, I’d really work my ass off and lose 20lbs. And then I kept that off for a year or two, and then it slowly crept back on.
I tell you all this to get to this point: I’m not at a happy weight right now. And just typing that made me sad.
I had such great intentions to lose a TON of weight before the wedding, and really? I’ve maybe lost 16lbs. Which I know is a decent number. But not what I was working toward.
Which leads me to yesterday.
My first dress fitting.
I was supposed to go in last week, but I had sort of a panic attack the day of, and called to reschedule. I just could not face the dress.
What if it didn’t fit? What if it didn’t zip?? What if, when I put it on again, I hated it? What if my arms looked like sausages? What if the seamstress made a comment about my weight? What if? What if? What if?
Well, I got my shit together and went over there yesterday. In reality, it was not so scary. My seamstress, Maggie, is very nice and very funny. And she said I looked thin, so she is obviously my new best friend forever. Move over, Team Bridal…
Although, when I walked in to her shop there was one other bride waiting for Maggie as well. She was sitting down, but I could tell she was very, very thin. She had shiny blonde hair and, for her frame, a large busom, which shockingly looked real. (Or she has a really good surgeon. I mean, it is LA after all…) She and I got to chatting, and who would have guessed it? She’s a MODEL. Of course. Of course the person whom I have to watch get fitted for her wedding gown is a 6 foot tall, size 2 MODEL.
Thanks, Universe. You’re swell.
After I watched The Model do a runway walk in her Nicole Miller ivory mermaid gown, it was my turn.
This is the models dress. Super gorgeous.
Me, with my Spanx and long-line bra.
(P.S – The Model was wearing NOTHING underneath her dress. She will regret that when she gets her photos back, just saying…)
Thankfully, The Model left, so I could struggle with my Spanx in private.
Maggie helped me into my gown, and surprise! It zipped!
It zipped without any struggle or drama. Without me having to suck anything in or stand up straight or push in the sides.
It was like Christmas.
We assessed what needed to be done, and she started pinning. The longer I stood there, the more real this all became. Yesterday was actually the longest I’ve ever had my dress on. After all, Maggie had seven layers of skirt to pin. My thoughts waffled from “Holy shit! I’m getting married!” to “My arms don’t look so bad” to “Oh god, do I have back fat?” to “My arms look SUPER fat!!”.
But, all in all, it was a successful visit. I didn’t cry, have a panic attack, or puke.
So, a WIN!
You didn’t think I was going to show you my dress, did you??
Y’all have to wait.
Until I lose 10 more pounds.
* I didn’t even change his name. I haven’t seen him in like, 24 years, so… whatever. If Daniel reads this, he should know he was an ass as a kid.
Did anyone else get all crazy about their dress fittings?
Hey! Are you following me on Instagram? You should, because I actually post there everyday-ish. Come follow me and my #100daysasamiss project!