Monday, 16 June 2008 | Lookieloo

The woman who's making my wedding dress is the least self-conscious person I've ever met. She's an older Mediterranean lady who runs a small shop filled with lovely dresses that are in various stages of development. She's friendly and assertive and funny (although I'm not entirely sure if it's intentional or if she inherently says cute things because she's a foreigner with a thick accent). She decorates her small frame with clothing that's stylish in an absent-minded way, as if she picked out her outfit while concentrating on some unrelated task (which doesn't seem unlikely, actually), and she's in pretty bad need of a shave.

I liked her immediately, and knew right away that I wanted this lady to design my wedding dress, in part, because she's so self-assured and so no-nonsense that I felt safe in her hands, which seemed to nicely complement my total confusion with the whole ordeal of finding such a dress.

She's the sort of person who can say, "This waistline looks bad on you," and you don't feel the least bit offended -- in fact, you listen harder, in case she follows it up with another piece of frank wisdom. Within a few minutes of walking in the store, she threw several half-made dresses on me in various colors (none of them white, which felt refreshing), and for the first time during the dress search, I didn't feel like I was emulating Barbie.

Her shop is chaotic, a chaos that seems to hint at what it's like to be inside her head. She flits around the store, answering questions of everyone around her, while asking a few of her own -- questions she would already know the answers to if she ever wrote anything down. Questions like, "Who are you?" and "How much did I tell you I'd charge you?" She blanks on elements of the dress she said she'd make, wedding dates, and, really, all prior discussions, but she always seems to come through in the end. (Two friends of mine are also employing her, so I know it's not just me.)

Perhaps her lack of concentration has the benefit of lowering expectations, because when she actually makes what she said she'd make, it comes as a pleasant surprise. That isn't to say she doesn't do a good job -- she does a terrific job, in fact. She just very badly needs an assistant who takes notes.

My only problem so far was not realizing sooner that she is more of a dress maker than a designer, and it was up to me to direct her, rather than let her drive. Once I discovered this important distinction, I realized that I had to get to work on figuring out specifically what I wanted, without having the luxury of being able to try on the dress I half-envisioned.

(From the few times I've tried on dresses I admired online, I knew that there's no way of knowing if something will look good on you until you try it on. It's not at all like shopping for a simple summer dress in size M -- it's a lot more like trying on a bathing suit, and all the humbling moments that come with that process. There seems to be no shortcut for simply trying on a variety of them and seeing what works and what doesn't.)

Here's what I do know -- I know the fabric and color I like, as well as how the bottom of the dress should look, and I have pictures of the dress that inspired it. The top of the dress has been much more elusive, however, largely because I'm trying to diminish my top half without hiding it away. I also don't want my dress to be non-bridal to the point that I totally blend in with the guests.

My friend Stef (whose day job is costume design) has been helping me tremendously, and has even made straps of ribbon and safety pins to help edge me closer to a form. On Friday she joined me as I tried on wedding dresses at other stores, sneaking pictures of me in the mirror with her iPhone, covering the camera noise with a hefty cough. I think (think) we found a bodice that will work out nicely. (By the way, I'm learning how to use terms like "bodice" correctly, now that I am helping build a dress. Prior to this experience, my clothing vocabulary stopped at "button.")

Today I visited my dress maker with a printout of the photos we took, just to let her know what direction I was aiming for, and so she wouldn't go down the wrong path before our next fitting. She seemed to be okay with the new idea, but before giving her blessing, she pointed at a picture of me wearing a dress that's too small for my chest and said, "Your cleavage is big here."

And then, with a completely blasé sense of entitlement, she pinched the front of the blouse I was wearing and peaked down my shirt at my boobs. I mean, I guess it's okay -- she's pretty much seen me naked anyway -- but who does that? And why did I have to walk two avenues before it occurred to me that she'd broken a pretty big social rule? I'm not even sure what she could've determined by checking me out, but I guess as long as it results in an awesome dress, I won't question her methods.