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Set the scene: I was working at a high-end lingerie store. We had one big fitting room that was meant to accommodate brides and their entourages, both for registry try-ons and to allow for wedding gowns to be tried on with foundation garments. I had bridal duty quite frequently.
Lots of the brides were great. Some we would like to blast off the face of the Earth. And then there was The Queen. She was absolutely the most memorable of a relatively memorable job.
She was not fat, but voluptuous, and quite tall. But her mannerisms were strange -- she acted like a little girl, all fake-blushing, giggling and shy eyes. She was registered with us, so I'd helped her with that -- and she would have this weird high-pitched voice when she'd exclaim that she couldn't wear *that*, it was just too *naughty*. And then the risque thong or see-through nighty would go on the registry anyway. And she did this every.single.time. But she was sweet through most of it.
Until. The Corset.
Her mom had booked an appointment so they (and by “they” I mean mom, and a gaggle of aunts and cousins) could find a corset Queen could wear with her dress. So they file in with this white-shrouded thing, and I lace Queen into a corset. Meanwhile, they’ve unveiled the magic gown. It was exquisite and very obviously expensive.
And there was no freaking way this was gonna work.
Not only was the dress too small – I’m guessing at maximum a size 10, and Queenie was a size 14 easy – it was of thin, flowy silk and chiffon meant to cling all the way down. Truthfully, you would have to be a supermodel to look good in this gown. Even panties would have left visible lines – let alone a steel-boned corset with a knot of corset strings at mid-back.
Because it was bias cut, it actually did go over Queenie’s frame … somewhat. It absolutely could not be zipped up, and instead of hitting the ground it stopped about mid-shin and then the train was kind of flopping after. The lumps and bumps from the corset were totally visible.
And the mom takes a deep breath and looks at me and says “What can you do?” All I could do was shake my head and look at her with an expression of genuine regret.
That’s when Queenie erupted. She was mad. And loud. And swearing. "YOU TOLD ME THIS DRESS WOULD WORK WHEN WE GOT IT IN MY SIZE! THIS IS NOT MY SIZE! NOW I’M TOTALLY FUCKED!"
And she grabs the neckline of the dress and literally rips it in two halves down past her waist, then continues to swear loudly when her legs get tangled up in slippery silk charmeuse. She cursed her mother for insisting on that particular dress. She cursed the bridal shop for getting the wrong size. She cursed her aunts for not reining in her mother. She cursed me for not producing a magic undergarment that would transform her into the kind of stick figure that would look good in the dress. And then she actually managed (and this was a feat, mind you, because these things were built *strong*) to tear the corset in her rage to get it off.
So she’s standing there, with the corset still on but gaping open, and underwear – that’s it (not counting the wreckage of a gown worth thousands of dollars foaming around her ankles). Her hair is wild, and her chest is heaving (an impressive sight!). She’s finally run out of curses.
And we’re all just kind of looking at each other. And we just … start to laugh. All of us. Some of the cousins were still a little confused but Queenie, Mom and I were all doubled over hysterical.
If you’ve noticed that I didn’t call her a Bridezilla, it’s because – even after the irritating little-girl crap and the audible-throughout-the-store-and-possibly-the-state tantrum – I really got the idea that she had a major epiphany. She was tired of trying to be everyone’s picture of a perfect little bride. I kind of suspect I would have liked the new/real Queenie, even though the one I was dealing with was kinda sucky.
(Plus, they paid for the torn corset and bought another one, and nearly all the stuff on her registry was bought too – the purchase of more than $1,000 worth of lingerie, no matter how scanty, will cover a multitude of sins.
)
TL/DR - Irritating bride melts down when corset won't help her fit into wedding dress; shreds dress, screams and curses, but then much commission.
Lots of the brides were great. Some we would like to blast off the face of the Earth. And then there was The Queen. She was absolutely the most memorable of a relatively memorable job.
She was not fat, but voluptuous, and quite tall. But her mannerisms were strange -- she acted like a little girl, all fake-blushing, giggling and shy eyes. She was registered with us, so I'd helped her with that -- and she would have this weird high-pitched voice when she'd exclaim that she couldn't wear *that*, it was just too *naughty*. And then the risque thong or see-through nighty would go on the registry anyway. And she did this every.single.time. But she was sweet through most of it.
Until. The Corset.
Her mom had booked an appointment so they (and by “they” I mean mom, and a gaggle of aunts and cousins) could find a corset Queen could wear with her dress. So they file in with this white-shrouded thing, and I lace Queen into a corset. Meanwhile, they’ve unveiled the magic gown. It was exquisite and very obviously expensive.
And there was no freaking way this was gonna work.
Not only was the dress too small – I’m guessing at maximum a size 10, and Queenie was a size 14 easy – it was of thin, flowy silk and chiffon meant to cling all the way down. Truthfully, you would have to be a supermodel to look good in this gown. Even panties would have left visible lines – let alone a steel-boned corset with a knot of corset strings at mid-back.
Because it was bias cut, it actually did go over Queenie’s frame … somewhat. It absolutely could not be zipped up, and instead of hitting the ground it stopped about mid-shin and then the train was kind of flopping after. The lumps and bumps from the corset were totally visible.
And the mom takes a deep breath and looks at me and says “What can you do?” All I could do was shake my head and look at her with an expression of genuine regret.
That’s when Queenie erupted. She was mad. And loud. And swearing. "YOU TOLD ME THIS DRESS WOULD WORK WHEN WE GOT IT IN MY SIZE! THIS IS NOT MY SIZE! NOW I’M TOTALLY FUCKED!"
And she grabs the neckline of the dress and literally rips it in two halves down past her waist, then continues to swear loudly when her legs get tangled up in slippery silk charmeuse. She cursed her mother for insisting on that particular dress. She cursed the bridal shop for getting the wrong size. She cursed her aunts for not reining in her mother. She cursed me for not producing a magic undergarment that would transform her into the kind of stick figure that would look good in the dress. And then she actually managed (and this was a feat, mind you, because these things were built *strong*) to tear the corset in her rage to get it off.
So she’s standing there, with the corset still on but gaping open, and underwear – that’s it (not counting the wreckage of a gown worth thousands of dollars foaming around her ankles). Her hair is wild, and her chest is heaving (an impressive sight!). She’s finally run out of curses.
And we’re all just kind of looking at each other. And we just … start to laugh. All of us. Some of the cousins were still a little confused but Queenie, Mom and I were all doubled over hysterical.
If you’ve noticed that I didn’t call her a Bridezilla, it’s because – even after the irritating little-girl crap and the audible-throughout-the-store-and-possibly-the-state tantrum – I really got the idea that she had a major epiphany. She was tired of trying to be everyone’s picture of a perfect little bride. I kind of suspect I would have liked the new/real Queenie, even though the one I was dealing with was kinda sucky.
(Plus, they paid for the torn corset and bought another one, and nearly all the stuff on her registry was bought too – the purchase of more than $1,000 worth of lingerie, no matter how scanty, will cover a multitude of sins.
)TL/DR - Irritating bride melts down when corset won't help her fit into wedding dress; shreds dress, screams and curses, but then much commission.
And MontereyJack, Miss Swann was wrong - a well-fitted, well-made corset can actually be pretty comfortable, especially if worn consistently. But I always pitied brides who had never worn them before and then were cinched into one that was too tight and had to endure that throughout a day that was already going to be hectic, emotional and intense.)
I wonder if I could get one that laces up in front...?
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