Bridethrilla

I got into Dressopotamia without an exit strategy, and I still don't have one, besides "finish closet."

That day is not today.

I briefly considered using Bridethrilla as my valedictory, but thought the symbolism — intended or otherwise — of ending any project with my wedding dress would be a little weird.

For one thing, getting married meant exactly nothing for my wardrobe, except that it expanded by one dress.

I don't know how exactly Bridethrilla and I found each other — I was there, but the whole process is still shrouded in mystery, as far as I'm concerned. An eagle-eyed friend of mine saw it on a mannequin in a vintage store in the East Village, and not one of the chichi designer consignment boutiques that litter the landscape, but a cluttered, musty spot with just a diamond or two in the rough. Ms. Eagle Eyes convinced me to try Bridethrilla on, even though, quite frankly, it was not blowing my mind on the mannequin.

I wish I could say that I wasn't voguing in the store, but really, it's entirely possible. You should always make sure that any new clothes allow for the wide range of motions that voguing may demand.

It was a tiny teeny bit too small, but the details were so lovely — a bodice with corset-like boning, a ruffled skirt that added just the right amount of panache and movement, a green (!) belt (!) detail with a jeweled center, a color that we might as well just go ahead and call "blushing bride" — that I couldn't resist snatching it up.

Plus, I got it for $60, which in wedding terms equals free at worst, infinity dollars at best.

I figured, if it was still too small after a few months, I could reconsider, but luckily I was able to slim down a little (slowly) and retained bragging rights vis-à-vis my inexpensive wedding dress. "This dress cost $500, but the first one I bought was only $60," doesn't quite have the same ring to it.

In the end, Bridethrilla was an exceptional dress for an exceptional night.

 I laughed, I cried, I drank, I danced.

And oh yeah, I pledged my troth. I've cropped some of these photos in the interests of privacy, but in most of them a pretty cool guy is just out of frame.

Photos reproduced with the gracious permission of Meg, who likes to beautify public spaces in Richmond, Virginia when she isn't taking lovely photographs!