I’ve wrote a little about this before, but here’s the skinny (haha!): I am currently surrounded by people getting married. This weekend, I was Maid of Honor for my friend K. My sister got engaged a month or so ago (and I will stand for her next spring). One of my other friends has been engaged for years and has finally set a date for next July. And last but not least, I have a fourth friend who, in all the wedding talk, has admitted she really wants to marry her current beau. Altogether, that’s a lot of wedding talk for me to handle, but I think I’ve been doing pretty well, except on these points:
For K.’s rehearsal dinner, we went to a nice restaurant that had very generous portions. Me and my friend G., a fellow bridesmaid, navigated our way pretty well through the tons and tons of food, only to arrive at dessert, and almost die at the size of the cakes we ordered. K. made a comment, as she picked at her carrot cake (OMG, the most delicious cake I’ve ever had) that she wasn’t going to fit in her dress the next day. She had explained to me earlier that the dress had a corset, and that she couldn’t breathe when putting it on. I said, (in a way that might have come out a little wrong), that the carrot cake would not, by any means, affect how well she fit into her dress. If she fit into her dress before that cake, then she’d fit into it after that cake. Her mother, a bit controlingly, commented a couple times on the fact that K. was actually eating her meal. I was thrown off, and G., who has become more and more aware of FA as me and my friends talk more and more about it, kept throwing me conspiratorial glances. Needless to say, we both tried, very hard, to eat our entire pieces of cake. I succeeded. G. got very close.
The next morning we arrived at the church bright and early for the 10:00AM wedding, and were there when K. was getting stuffed into her dress. We stood back and let K.’s mother and aunt dress her, but the entire time, while K. was trying not to breathe, her mother was saying, “You shouldn’t have eaten that carrot cake.” G. and I broke character at the moment, and looked on a little scathingly. K. did make it into her dress, and looked absolutely beautiful, but I couldn’t shake the cake comments all day.
This ties in nicely with my sister freaking out a bit about her weight and her dress size. She’s already started trying on dresses, and when she went, she realized that not only are wedding dresses a size larger than a regular dress size, but she has also, in the past year of great happiness with her now-fiancee, gained some weight. I, personally, think she has the perfect body for wearing wedding dresses. She has beautiful curves. And obviously her fiancee doesn’t mind them. But she does. When she called me to tell me about the dress-trying-on experience, she made a comment about how much she hated her body, to which I told her how perfect I thought her body was, and she actually got mad at me, and said something about how she had to lose weight.
I am distressed by all this obsession with looking your best on your wedding day. I mean, yes, find a great dress, get your hair and nails done, but this is your body. You shouldn’t have to mold it to some ideal version of you, when this is you.
The icing on the cake was something I heard on a morning show on the radio this morning about how instead of a bachelorette party, bridal parties today go to some sort of health spa bootcamp to lose weight before the wedding. The radio show pointed out that while men are “drinking, getting fat, and looking at strippers” women are “working their butts off to look like those strippers.” Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.
Why can’t we all just accept that what makes you look beautiful on your wedding day is when you’re beaming with happiness. You won’t be happy if you’ve been starving yourself and working your butt off. You won’t be happy if your dress is too tight because you bought it to fit the so-called ideal you. On my wedding day I hope to be in heaven because I’m happy. It’ll make me glow, it’ll make me more beautiful, and it’ll make my fat glimmer and shine. No one will care how I look when I’m beaming with joy.