Sexy rexies

I met my seamstress today.

She is very cool. For someone who I thought was going to be pushy and uninspired, I was so happy to be wrong.

First of all, she looks exactly like my Aunty Steph. Second of all, she doesn’t like bridesmaids.  We were going to get along just fine.

She was wrapped that the wedding’s not for another 11 months and we got started with the massive box of dress that I brought with me.

She was honest.

She said the tulle of mum’s dress was just too damaged to be properly reused. When I said I didn’t mind a little tear here and there (it gave it personality) she looked into my eyes with a cocked head and without saying a word, I knew what was happening.

I put the dress back into the box.

She compromised by suggesting we perhaps use the dress as an amazing petticoat-ish thing instead. She’s a classy lady. A real problem-solver.

Next thing I knew I was thrust with magazines while she got her sketch block and fabric swatches.

The bridal magazines weighed kilos. But these were AMAZING glossies. I checked the front of them (near the barcode) to see where they were from. Pounds Sterling gave three of them away, but the others were from New York. We are so ripped off! The mags I have are very close to the line of being, well, exactly the same. It’s all about Wang and Sottero. Not these. This was actually fun.

So, the question came up about strapless – to have or not to have?

Not. That was the short, pert answer.

She nearly kissed me. Not literally.

She, as a dressmaker and pattern-maker said she just didn’t understand the need for strapless gowns. She said it was the style that flattered very few.

*Hey, dear reader, don’t be discouraged by this if that’s what you had, or are having. You could very be part of that ‘few’ who can pull it off*

You can then imagine her smile growing to pure delight at my saying that colour isn’t completely off the cards either. The colour swatches made an appearance. The names of the colours were ridiculously entertaining, but Im afraid that fairy blossom will not be getting a guernsey… but ecru and latte (or was it oyster?) might.

Lace might also make the cut. But not decided.

Organza, duchess, tulle and another fabric that sounded like ‘dolphin’ were bandied about.

Then she looked me square-on and asked me about my underwear.  Before I could say ‘Seamstress how dare you!’, I quickly realised she meant my wedding underwear.

Apparently this is the first thing I have to get sorted.

She told me she would like it if I could be corseted in rather than rely on the dress to do the suckage.

Christ.

Something tells me I am going to be uncomfortable on the big day.

The wedding lingerie is pretty interesting, since it’s really the skeleton of the dress. Crap fitting underwear will ultimately lead to an ill-fitting dress. Think the ‘Genie Bra’ underneath a fab blouse. All shades of bad.

And no one is going to see me in said underwear, ‘cept the Mister I suppose. So who cares what it looks like, right?

Wrong.

One little thing that has become very popular is getting photographed in your rex-grundies before hopping into The Dress. Ah-hem, I believe it’s called ‘boudoir photography’.

A dear friend of mine had this done about 2 hours before slipping her wedding dress on.

The thing is , and I’m sure she doesn’t mind me telling, was that her dress was so fluid and satin-y that SHE DIDN’T WEAR ANY UNDIES.  How provocative!

But, in a moment of genius, she wore a pair of French g-bangers for the shoot.

So brave.

But will I do the same? I’m not so sure. I mean, that corsetry-style lingerie is meant to make you curve here and nip-in there – but let’s be honest – the fat has to go somewhere. And I’m just not sure if I want to be photographed wearing a corset where all my tummy-ness has shot up to my neck.

Also, I would be too scared in this digital day and age, that the thumb drive they might be stored on could go missing or misplaced with a Powerpoint presentation for work.

Awkward.

So I have to start getting the lingerie sorted.

Seriously, if I hear the phrase ‘lift and separate’, I will die.

 

 

 

 

 

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