Confession: I want to be thin for my wedding. Correction: I want to be thinNER.
I am having an existential crisis having to pick just the right shade of nail polish for my wedding day.
Do I go conventional? French? Do I match the shade to my dress? To my invitation color? To groom’s tie? My maid of honor says that my choice of color will depend on whether or not I decide to have a colored sash for my dress. What the hell is a sash????
According to a FB friend, the only possible option was soft baby nude or pink. After all, as she helpfully reminded me: “You are celebrating the exchange of your Virgin status for an agreement made between your father and groom. Anything else screams whore”.
I decided that on a continuum from baby to whore, I am probably closer to the latter. Especially given that one of definitions of “whore” on Urban Dictionary is “someone who does something excessively”. Ummm… Running whore? Reading whore? Blogging whore?
How’s that for the reappropriation of the word? Reverse discourse for the win!
With that in mind, anything pink, pastel and polite in terms of nail polish color for the wedding has been deemed (by me) as way too subtle and, thus, inappropriate. So, I am going with MAC’s limited edition dark purple, called “Dark Angel”.
Phew… Another completely inconsequential decision MADE!
I have told Italian that I almost wish I had another wedding coming up after this one – after all, I learned SO much, and would be so much more efficient next time around. He agreed in theory, but refused to participate in planning yet another wedding. Go figure.
All in all, I met with the last of the vendors this week, and we may actually pull this thing off. In the very least, there will be food and music. And a dress. And I will wear purple nail polish.
Cue Gogol Bordello.
Many folks seem to think I have superpowers. For the most part, I agree. I can run for hours, I can carry heavy things, and all that.
Yet… the superpowers seems to be powerless against the tentacled wedding industry as it vomits white lace and unrealistic expectations. Thus, your favorite superhero likes what she sees in the mirror some days, but not other days, doesn’t feel like working out sometimes, and is still affected by all the bullshit that seems to perpetuate days leading up to the “big day” – from “how much weight are you planning to lose before the wedding” to “are you sure you want to wear THAT?” to “how can you NOT wear that?” to “what about a detox”? [Ok, maybe not that last one. That one would require a full lobotomy. Hmm… which is starting to sound more and more appealing].
Yesterday marked the 30 day countdown to the wedding day. Not that I am counting. Clearly, the only thing to do is to download a wedding countdown app (I haven’t checked that such app exists, but I am willing to bet one of my limbs that there are many to choose from… perhaps, you can even coordinate the icon color to your nail polish).
When there is so much ambiguity, so much uncertainty, so much to do, the desire to go on some sort of structured diet plan for the next 30 days is … overwhelming.
Just to lean out a little bit. Lose a couple of pounds before my wedding date. Look even “better” in my wedding dress. [Coz the thinner the better, amirite, ladies?] Count calories in MyFitnessPal for a bit, up the protein, cut out bread, do a peak week right before the big day.
There is no shortage of help. Just ask Pinterest. “Shedding for the Wedding”, and “Brides’ Challenge” and “Wedding Dress Weight Loss Challenge” to the rescue.
OMG, there is an exercise plan based on your style of wedding dress! Wearing something sleeveless? Let’s work those biceps and triceps. Hip hugging? Booty blaster to the rescue!
Yep. Go ahead, and make yourself busy attempting to change YOUR BODY SHAPE based on the shape of a dress. It’s like a special killer-clown alternate reality.
Counting something, controlling something is just so… calming. The structure, the rigidity. So appealing. So tempting. Ahhhh…
What’s the big deal? I could even blog about it. Losing few pounds before a big event in a healthy moderate-kinda way.
Yet… it just feels off. Too easy.
[Much easier to give up ice cream entirely than to find a mentally healthy place between “I would love a bit of ice cream” and “Give me that fucking pint of ice cream and leave me alone, because if I have to spend another hour discussing how many glasses of which type we should rent and why, and are you sure that Pilsner glasses will do if we are serving a lager, I will scream and kill someone”].
And TOO tempting.
Say what? A former binger/purger wants to RESTRICT to deal with anxiety??? What could go wrong?
Over the past few years, I have gotten much better at noticing the feelings of dissonance. I can rationalize this to death, but as tempting as this is, any sort of structured restriction would not feel authentic right now.
It makes sense in the context of experimentation. It makes sense in the context of an athletic event even. It does not make sense in the context of “I feel the pressure to look extra lean and pretty on my wedding day”. That’s not MY voice.
So… fuck that.
I am taking the next 30 days to chill the fuck out.
My 30-day pre-wedding diet will include generous servings of hugs (because… duh!), running (Born to Run, here I come!) and of all things green (both on my plate, and around me).
How’s that for an unconventional bride?
Hugs (see???), SOLO