Los Angeles Part II: Wedding Dresses & Being a Total Tulle

Earlier this week I tackled the journey of Wedding Dress Shopping, otherwise known as Oh My God I Have To Get A Wedding Dress; Holy Crap, The Most Important Thing I’ll Ever Wear; and Screw This, I’m Just Going To Have Fun With It. Contrary to myth, you can have a gigantic amount of fun shopping for your wedding dress. Princess is such a dirty word nowadays and none of us want to be smooshed inside of a meringue, but my gown-hunting mission was as euphoric as it was memorable.

And I’m one picky chick who has always exercised my constitutional right to wear whatever the heck I please. The evolution chart of my fashion phases goes like this: Preppus Ridiculous (Pollock-esque vomiting of Polo shirts, Sebagos); Punky Brewstasaurus (unicorn socks, cowboy hats with clip-on feathers, orange safety goggles); Gothica Overwhelma (Doc Martens, ever-present scowl); Hippie Magnanamus (bell-bottomed thrift store Levi’s, Birkenstocks, shirt with frog saying “Hop over to my pad”); Bohemianeeva Wannabeeya (berets, vintage skirts, appliqués); and Idontcara Anymora (jeans and T-shirts).

So there was only one wedding dress designer for this fashion anomaly: Monique Lhuillier. She is real and deft and fluidly feminine, and her flagship salon was worth every step of the 2,259-mile trip from Columbus. Thanks to the graceful yet razor-sharp assistance of Monique’s assistant manager, I frolicked in a forest of satin, lace, and organza for an entire morning. I forgot about the stress of work, life, to-do lists, and wedding planning — and was simply encouraged to be what I am: A Girl In Love.