In Athens, I hopped in a scorching hot cab and trundled through rush-hour traffic to Costarellos in the Kolonaki neighborhood—just west of the area around the Acropolis. There, I squeezed myself into sample dresses even smaller than the ones in London. They may not have zipped up, but it was the first time I had put on a wedding dress and felt like myself. The delicately draped silk chiffon moved naturally as I walked, and the design felt special while remaining modern. I felt hopeful that I could be a bride after all.
I decided perhaps it was worth looking to the past for some inspiration, so made an appointment at Those Were the Days Bridal while visiting a friend in Edinburgh. In a room full of sartorial snapshots of love-filled days dating back as far as the Edwardian era, I swooned over a delicate silk long-sleeve 1930s dress, the art-deco detailing perfectly matching my engagement ring. Given the way bodies have changed over the years, it was a rarity to find a dress from that era in my size—and, had it not been long-sleeved, I think it would have come home with me. At the other end of the history spectrum, a slinky, cowl-neck, backless dress from the ’90s was the first time I felt truly sexy in something I tried on.
In Stockholm, I window-shopped By Malina’s chic gowns that epitomize effortless Scandi style because I was too late to get an appointment. In Buenos Aires, I made my fiancé hover outside El Camarin while I browsed vintage wedding dresses and tried and failed to work up the courage to try them on. In Ljubljana, I had grand plans to make my way to a wedding shop I had scoped out on Google Maps, but my flight was delayed and I ran out of time. At Laura Dols, a sizable vintage store in Amsterdam, I distracted my partner with the menswear and tried to sneak off to the wedding dress collection, quickly flicking through piles of ivory crochet and tulle, only to U-turn like Alan Rickman in Love Actually when he came looking for me.
In Mallorca, I finally attended the first and only bridal store with both my mum and my sister, my maid of honor. The two of them had flown from New Zealand and Australia to Spain for a family holiday, and I managed to negotiate a trip to Palma for the day to visit Cortana. Navigating gridlocked motorways and bumper-to-bumper city streets, we arrived sweaty, breathless, and 15 minutes late to my appointment. As soon as I put on the second dress, the stress of the journey slipped away; it just felt right. I looked up, and both my sister and my mum were crying. At lunch at El Camino later, we shared a bottle of cava, and I excitedly texted photos of myself in the dress to my bridesmaids, wondering if I had finally found the one.
