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wasabi_poptartThe David's Bridal warehouse experience was traumatic, to say the least. I finally understand why my sister does what she does, if only to offer a humane alternative to that loathsome Walmart of the wedding industry (which is already a redundancy). Actually, if the David's experience is indicative of the wedding industry as a whole, the gay community ought to count their blessings they are exempt from the horror. It's THAT BAD.
When you first approach the megastore, there's a limousine parked out front and a creepy guy in a tux beckons you to take a look inside. Yeah, nice try but trust me, I've watched too many John Carpenter movies to fall for that one.
Once you enter the store, you see racks upon racks of dresses. One side is all white dresses, the other is a cacophany of garish satin and chiffon tossed together in some semblance of order, but not really. We're talking hundreds of dresses. Thousands, even. All in the same basic colors and styles. So much for looking like one-of-a-kind on your special day. I'm wondering how many Malaysian children worked how many hours and how much they earned to produce all this frippery. I don't say anything, of course; I love my friend, and it wouldn't be appreciated, but all the same I'm thinking of monkeys and typewriters and Mr. Show. I can't help myself.
And this all transpired on a warm Spring afternoon in the People's Republic of Glen Burnie. Now, I do not mean to sound classist, because as a proud resident of Baltimore I am no better and no worse than any other, and Lord knows I myself have my share of tattoos, and Lord knows I myself am not a thin woman, but ... well, perhaps you can see where I am going with this. On behalf of all fat, tattooed Baltimore women, I like to think this was not a representative sample.
Everything was RIDICULOUSLY overpriced, of course. Combs and tiaras you could buy at Michaels for $12 were tagged at more than ten times that amount. I saw a veil not nearly as pretty as the one I made for my sister on sale (ON SALE!) for $99. And the shoes. Don't even get me started on the shoes. I considered buying a pair of Swavorski-encrusted clear plastic flip-flops to walk my dog in. It would certainly make a statement.
I'm not even going to go into the chaos of the fitting rooms and the bovine apathy of the stock girls. I can't say I blame them. I don't think I'd last five minutes. I think, instead of Going Postal, the expression ought to be Going Bridal. Anyone who's been to David's on a Saturday would understand.
At one point the song that came over the Muzak system was "Can't Buy Me Love." I turned to share the moment of delicious irony with the person standing next to me, but then I remembered I was out in Their World and in space, nobody can hear you snark. I'm not sure anyone else was paying attention anyway.
When you first approach the megastore, there's a limousine parked out front and a creepy guy in a tux beckons you to take a look inside. Yeah, nice try but trust me, I've watched too many John Carpenter movies to fall for that one.
Once you enter the store, you see racks upon racks of dresses. One side is all white dresses, the other is a cacophany of garish satin and chiffon tossed together in some semblance of order, but not really. We're talking hundreds of dresses. Thousands, even. All in the same basic colors and styles. So much for looking like one-of-a-kind on your special day. I'm wondering how many Malaysian children worked how many hours and how much they earned to produce all this frippery. I don't say anything, of course; I love my friend, and it wouldn't be appreciated, but all the same I'm thinking of monkeys and typewriters and Mr. Show. I can't help myself.
And this all transpired on a warm Spring afternoon in the People's Republic of Glen Burnie. Now, I do not mean to sound classist, because as a proud resident of Baltimore I am no better and no worse than any other, and Lord knows I myself have my share of tattoos, and Lord knows I myself am not a thin woman, but ... well, perhaps you can see where I am going with this. On behalf of all fat, tattooed Baltimore women, I like to think this was not a representative sample.
Everything was RIDICULOUSLY overpriced, of course. Combs and tiaras you could buy at Michaels for $12 were tagged at more than ten times that amount. I saw a veil not nearly as pretty as the one I made for my sister on sale (ON SALE!) for $99. And the shoes. Don't even get me started on the shoes. I considered buying a pair of Swavorski-encrusted clear plastic flip-flops to walk my dog in. It would certainly make a statement.
I'm not even going to go into the chaos of the fitting rooms and the bovine apathy of the stock girls. I can't say I blame them. I don't think I'd last five minutes. I think, instead of Going Postal, the expression ought to be Going Bridal. Anyone who's been to David's on a Saturday would understand.
At one point the song that came over the Muzak system was "Can't Buy Me Love." I turned to share the moment of delicious irony with the person standing next to me, but then I remembered I was out in Their World and in space, nobody can hear you snark. I'm not sure anyone else was paying attention anyway.
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no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 02:09 pm (UTC)I think the worst bridal shop experience was when I shopped with a friend one year older than me and the woman working in the shop assumed that she was my mother. Next, she assumed that she was my sister (what, everyone with the same ethnic background must be related?). She then proceeded to try to ask me a lot of questions about my mother until I finally had to tell her that my mother was deceased. Yay.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-07 02:46 pm (UTC)at least I got a little piece of butter cake.
Expose!
Date: 2007-05-07 08:19 pm (UTC)