I’m getting married next week, which should be a big deal but after the bureaucratic hassle that is German Matrimony with Ausländer and the bureaucratic hassle that will be Post-Matrimony Ausländer Verification and Grading this seems more like a pause for a nice lunch that I have to put on eyeshadow for.
When I moved to Germany I got rid of nearly everything, including those beautiful patent Nine Wests with the perfect sabrina heel, so I have to put together a bridal outfit essentially from scratch. The problem is that I dislike clothes shopping. I dislike clothes shopping about as much as clothes like getting stuck halfway on me in the dressing room while I attempt the worst half-moon pose ever trying to get something past my extra-wide shoulders or executing a very sloppy twist while trying to persuade any kind of movement past my upper thigh if going the over hip route. For these purposes I am told the appropriate cry is “hilfe” but since my German is not sufficient for me to offer an apology or an explanation I can’t be bothered.
Since Steilmann, a designer I previously knew to be kind to us sisters of wide currently exists in name only I decided that the vintage route would result in a minimum of popped seams and wounded pride. I spent three hours compiling a Google map of vintage shops in Berlin (this would have been a much faster process were my MacBook not dying and Firefox not eager to be the assassin); then I spent another hour researching why the Android Google client disabled the “My Maps” feature. After I had yet again reconciled Google’s shit usability with its creepy and abusive desire to be my everything (which is to say that I loaded my map up in Chrome and considered locking myself in the bathroom) I set out with a game plan that included nearby shops on or just off of Schönhauser west to Torstraße. I decided to start off with cache coeur, a shop two blocks from where I live renowned for their work in costuming for stage and film. The owner of cache coeur is amazingly friendly and within seconds of speaking to me had already started picking suitable dresses off of the rack, including a beautiful A-line 1970s number resplendent with the rich palette of East German fashion (brown, in case you were wondering).
I don’t know which particular fount I used up this karma from, but I’m going to give the next person I see begging outside of REWE some change just to be safe. On the second or third try-on, a perfect knee-length number I think I saw as an extra in the Breakfast at Tiffany’s party scene, I came out from the dressing area and the owner and I gave the “this is the one” smile and half-nod to each other. Her collection was so extensive that I tried on a few more dresses, but it was clear that this trip was a fast and sound success.
Although finding the dress so quickly brought an immediate yet anticlimactic sense of relief, I have yet to buy the shoes. I dislike shoe shopping, as I generally require flats in size gunboat.