survival of the fittings

what is it with women in the bridal undergarment industry? did they collectively miss the day where you learn about gentleness and tact?

after a less-than-satisfactory dress fitting at david’s bridal (their only check-mark in the “negative” column thus far), during which i struggled to make the seamstress understand that the bra i was wearing at that moment was not the bra i would be wearing on the day of the wedding, and during which she made me feel like an idiot for not knowing how my dress is supposed to fit or how a push-up bra works, and during which she pinned the dress so tight it created those lovely armpit rolls that no woman wants and then pointed them out to me by poking at them with her index finger, my mother and i headed to macy’s to see if we could find said push-up bra/bustier-type deal. the seamstress at david’s seemed to think that, if i were to find the right type of undergarment, no alterations would be needed whatsoever. and i am all for that.

the trip to macy’s was no more successful, but at least i didn’t leave feeling stupid. instead, i left feeling fat and angry. i felt fat because i had to try on sizes that were larger than what i normally wear (a lovely realization three months before one’s wedding day), and i felt angry because the one style i found that would have worked perfectly didn’t come in the exact size i needed.

today, on my lunch hour, i ventured out to a specialty lingerie shop called schwartz’s. i was optimistic when i arrived and was greeted by a friendly gentleman, who i believed to be mr. schwartz himself, and spoke with him about what i was looking for. he gave me a few options to try on and paired me up with a saleswoman. she assisted me in the dressing room—a must for anyone trying on something with ten to twelve hooks down the back—and continually berated me for adjusting the bustier to where it felt comfortable on me. “that’s not where it sits. it’s not that type of bra. stop pulling on it.” sorry, i don’t normally wear this type of restrictive underclothing. and sorry, but—insert shocked voice here—my body isn’t perfect. a little understanding, please? goodness.

at any rate, i actually purchased two of the bustiers i tried so i can try them on with the dress and see if one of them is the miracle bra. ugh. if any men are reading this . . . one: i’m sorry. two: be glad you’re a man. if it weren’t for the fact that i need something as soon as possible, i would hope secretly that neither of them work, just so i could return them both to the bossy saleswoman.

sorry, did i type that out loud? it has not been a good eighteen hours.