The Wedding Story

Oh, so you’re not getting married in a white dress, in a church?

“Isn’t that what every woman wants, a white wedding?” Asked my neighbor, an intellectual and professor of philosophy. It was raining and his elbow was sticking out of the wound-down window of his car. I stood on the street, shielding him as best as I could with an umbrella. He said he loved his live-in partner of six years but he‘d never propose. “All that hullabaloo with the rellies puts me off, ” he snorted. “It’s a waste of money, I’d rather spend three months in Jamaica and get stoned on the beach every day.”

During a dinner party my childhood friend, now a forensic doctor, reminisced about her own civil ceremony. “I’m an atheist anyway,” she said. “I wore a suit from a sale. It was a real bargain!” She laughed out loud and raised her glass of wine.

Personally, I believe it’s in bad taste for a woman in her thirties to parade a virginal white gown. As for the church, why would anyone assume we’re Catholic anyway? We’re not. Nor are we both Christian. People think so narrow. They assume everyone wants to be like everyone else.

One sunny January morning, a Milanese girlfriend and I drove to Milan. The mission: to find an outfit for the wedding. We got to the city center early and started sifting through the boutique-lined streets near Piazza San Babila and Via della Spiga. We went everywhere. From MIU MIU to Dolce & Gabbana. I tried on everything, from flimsy cocktail dresses to gold stretch-jeans. Everything was overpriced and undersized. It was late, my feet were sore and my girlfriend had another appointment. Nothing I’d tried on during the course of the day fitted the bill. Except for a pair of mules I’d seen downstairs at Fiorucci. They were outrageous, candy-apple patent leather, heels up to there and a fuchsia ribbon. Three times we returned to the store so I could try them on. Each time, it became harder to take them off. I could hardly walk in them, but they made me feel like a Sex Goddess.

The following weekend the winter sales started. I carried my new mules to a shopping mall of designer boutiques. I didn’t find any dresses I liked — too formal, too boring, too small. Finally a 3/4 length coat by Romeo Gigli caught my eye. The velvet fabric was the color of tangerine and had a print of twirling lines all over it. Unbelievable, it matched the shoes!

All I needed now was something to wear under the coat; anything that would coordinate the red mules and tangerine coat. Days later, on my lunch break I walked past Kookaï. The store had 75% sales. Inside, against the wall, was a rack of evening dresses. I tried on a velvet empire-line dress. It was amethyst. It was only a size two, but it fitted perfectly.

The suit

A year earlier, when my husband-to-be was in Australia packing his suitcase, he asked me what sort of clothes he should bring to Switzerland. Since he was only coming on an extended holiday, “Something casual and warm,” I said. “And depending on how long you plan to stay, some summer clothes as well.” He asked me if he should bring a suit. “Unnecessary,” I said. But he packed it anyway and it’s been hanging in his closet ever since. “You never can tell what you might need a suit for,” he reasoned...