Saturday morning, I swung by Vicky’s house, picked her up, and the two of us wandered up and down Las Tunas Dr. in Temple City, aka Asian Wedding Mecca. My mom kept referring me over there, saying that her coworkers picked up cheap wedding photographers, wedding attire rentals, custom Chinese dresses there. The few wedding studios I’d visited locally wanted way too much money, and a $60 wedding gown with all alterations included is hard to resist, so off we went cuz mommy knows best.

Turns out everything mom heard from people was a load of crap. We entered many bridal dress places and they wanted between $200-$400 for rental gowns, but were pushing me to buy gowns for $800+. I was mauled by 4-5 Chinese and Vietnamese speaking salespeople who were not only forcing ugly and/or wrinkled and dirty dresses on me to go try on, but even as I stood in the dressing room half naked in-between changes, multiple salesladies would open the dressing room curtain and hold up dresses to me, saying, “What about this one? This one beautiful! Try on! Only $800 dollar, on sale! Very fashion!” And as I changed, they’d gab to each other in Cantonese or Vietnamese just outside the room, sounding like one was scolding the other, probably for trying to steal each others’ commission. I felt like I was back in China or Jamaica in the streets as an obvious tourist. The photographers were no better. Once we walked in we couldn’t get out easily, they were pushy and clingy and wouldn’t let us just browse. Plus, the dresses and photography were overpriced but offensively low in the quality and talent department. I was so glad Vicky was there with me to speak firmly to them (in Chinese) when the need arose, and to lie to them, feigning interest and collecting a business card so that we could leave, when that was what was required. If I had gone alone, diplomatic and polite (i.e. pushover) me would’ve been stuck and screwed the first store I went into. “That’s why I had so many stupid magazine subscriptions when I was a freshman in college,” I complained to her. My first-year apartment didn’t have a security gate.

After a Mandarin-style beef noodle soup lunch, we escaped the annoyances of Asian Wedding Mecca Street and went to where I had my first wedding dress experience, good ol’ white-bread David’s Bridal in the Orange County city of Brea. The saleslady who helped me the first time I was there had kept notes of the dresses of particular interest to me, and brought out the top two for me to try on again. But because I had unexpected success earlier with a beautiful princess-style jewel-encrusted dress with a satin fitted bodice and a full skirt with embroidered train (but which I refused to pay $1200 for) in the store where I was overly helped by salesladies, we tried on a similar dress at David’s Bridal that ran $900. I looked like royalty in that dress. I looked like I was going from a Venetian cathedral ceremony to a Ritz-Carlton reception. But it was more than I wanted to spend, inappropriate for a garden wedding, and over-embellished for Mr. W’s taste. Or so I told myself. Seeing me admire the dress in the mirror but sensing I would not commit to it, Vicky said that I am supposed to be the most beautiful I can be on my wedding day, and that the vision of me should blow everyone out of the water, so if it’s a price issue, I can pay the amount I’d intended to pay for a dress and she will make up the difference as a wedding present for me. “The difference” being more than the portion I would personally be paying for the dress, I told Vicky there was no way I could let her do that for me. She reasoned with me some more, and although I will forever remember this moment as one of the most touching, selfless offers ever made to me by anyone, I still turned her down and put my front-runner dress on.

When I walked out in the dress that had won the most favor before that day, I looked in the mirror at its simplicity and again was taken aback at how nice I looked in that dress. That’s what hit me and Vicky the first time I tried on that dress a week ago. Other dresses were gorgeous, even gorgeous on me, and people would not be able to help but say, “Wow, that’s a beautiful dress.” But this simple, train-less dress brought the focus on how good *I* look. The difference in comment would be, “Wow, you look beautiful.” It made my waist look tiny, and I could dress it up in any amount of sparkle in jewelry, rhinestoned veil, tiara. But it looked so plain compared to the dress I had just taken off. There was a bride trying on dresses next to me who had brought along three bridesmaids, her mother, and another older woman. The saleslady asked me, “Is it okay if she tries on the dress you just took off?” I told her sure, to go ahead. I had seen her and her mother admiring me when I was in that dress before the mirror. The girl walked out of the dressing room in the $900 dress, and immediately her bridesmaids were agasp with compliments. She spun and admired herself in front of the mirror, and sung firmly, “Found it.” “It’s only the second dress you tried on!” her friends said, gushing about the bodice! The train! The embroidery! How it made her boobs look huge! Behind her, her mother in the chair gazed at her daughter in the mirror, smiled, and then her face wavered and tears flowed out. “Your mother’s crying! That’s a good sign!” her bridesmaids said. As everyone at that section of the mirror went on and on, I couldn’t help but feel so simple and plain in my simple and plain dress.
“Do you think if my mom were here that she’d see me in ‘the’ dress and cry?” I asked Vicky.
“I don’t know if your mom’s the type to cry,” Vicky said comfortingly. We both know the answer would be no. My mom has already expressed how she wanted me in a dress with sleeves to cover my oversized arms, and how I need to stop working out immediately so I don’t get thicker than I already am. Even for the traditional Chinese dress, she wants me in a long-sleeved two-piece.

I changed back into my sweater and jeans, walked to the front desk, and ordered my simple satin dress in ivory. I also ordered the slip that goes under the skirt to make it full, and added a garmet bag to the list. $350 later, we left the store. After leaving Vicky’s place (where I took with me her wedding album that had photos which put the photo samples we’d seen earlier that day to shame), I called my mom, and received my lecture about spending way too much when I could’ve rented at Las Tunas for the elusive $60 deal with alterations and undergarments included.