Once we were in The City and the wedding was over, our next goal was my Prom dress. I’ve been looking at (and of course trying on) countless dresses since December. Since then I’ve fallen in and out of love with a number of dresses as fast as silly girls fall in and out of love with bands like One Direction.
My school has this group on Facebook where we post our dresses, so that no fights break out if, heaven forbid, two girls show up in the same dress. I know I’m mocking it, but, I admit, I’m just as much a slave to this group (aptly named “Bitch Stole My Look) as anyone else. I felt I absolutely could not get a dress I was thinking about, because someone else posted a similar one. You see, choosing the right Prom dress is a careful balancing act, between fitting in with your peers and being unique enough to be noticed (and you MUST be noticed in a good way). You can quote me on that if you’d like — I should be working for fashion magazines (“over my dead body” my internal monologue screams).
This group is really stressful for those of us who are still in search of “the one” (THANK GOD that isn’t me anymore). I had to change my settings to stop getting email updates — every other day someone else posted her dress and I would have a mini panic-attack each time I checked my email! When I decided I was going to ditch school to come to NYC, almost half the girls already had dresses, so I my plan was to buy a dress here. Of course, when I have such a shopping goal, it’s rarely met.
This trip I did meet my goal and I’m am thrilled to report that my dress is now hanging in my closet — YAY!!! However, before I met the dress of my dreams, we had quite the (mis)adventures. Sunday night, while Grandma and Cousin were at the wedding we came in for, I started my search. I went to Lord and Taylor and uneventfully tried on a whole slew of dresses. Then I got tired of that (squeezing oneself into dresses, with no one to even help zip you up is a lot of work) so I sought refuge at Barnes and Noble.
The next day, Grandma, Cousin and I went shopping. Our first stop was Bloomingdale’s, where I had to be cut out of a dress. Yup. That was a great was to start the day. The saleslady was trying and trying to zip it up for about ten minutes. Zipping, sucking-in, tugging, yanking, sucking-in some more, pulling, huffing and puffing. Fiiiinnnalllllllyyyyy she gets the zipper all the way up. I let go of the breathe I’d been holding in and POP! the zipper bursts open. Of course, the zippy part was still at the top, and she couldn’t get it back down, so out came the scissors. The saleslady, Grandma, Cousin and a friend who I had texted all blamed the “faulty zipper” — but you and I both know it was me, not the dress.
I finally found my perfect dress. It’s just the right colour for me and fits beautifully… I guess that’s what happens when you go two sizes higher than the one you normally wear. Oh well, I guess size is just a number…