July 1990. Royal blue sequins with fabric flowers, beaded head piece, dyed-to-match satin shoes, and pre-crinkled elbow-length gloves, also royal blue.
What I was thinking:
"Heels sinking into ground. Don't fall over. How much longer could this possibly last? I think they braided my hair too tight. Tension headache. Don't fall over. Cuchi-cuchi... haha, I feel like Charo. Bet you Charo didn't have to endure this on The Love Boat. Probably just leaned on the small guy. Or was that Fantasy Island? How MUCH LONGER could this possibly %$*#-ing last? Breathe. Breathe away the nasty headache. This is your brother's wedding. Be graceful. Breathe. Soon there will be cake. Or me stabbing someone with my high-heeled shoe. One or the other..."
So I think I may want to start a segment in which people send their bad bridesmaid photos and I get to add some sassy interior monologue. Like Cake Wrecks, but with less icing. Send me your snaps, peops. The more hideous the sartorial/facial expression, the better.
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5 comments:
I secret like the dress I wore for my brother's wedding, but apparently no one else in the world does. I'll see if I can find a photo.
There is obviously a certain amount of insanity that sets in once a bride is asked to choose a bridesmaid's dress.
One can only hope that it is a fleeting thing.
Holy shit,
we need to send that blue dress thing into Vice magazine Donts!
Your idea of creating a space where people can send in their bride's maid disasters is brilliant.
I still have the head piece, which is a show-stopper even after all these years.
No one tell my once-sister-in-law about this - she still thinks the dresses were wonderful.
*whew*
Three words about 1990:
High. Top. Faaaaaade.
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