As soon as my son told me that he and his fiancée were planning a wedding, I started to look for a dress. Normally I don’t obsess about clothes. Wardrobe doesn’t really apply to the contents of my drawers and closets. My goal was to quickly find a dress I liked and be done with it.
I knew I had a few sartorial quirks that might not work in my favor. For example, I shop in stores only when facing a weather or travel-related emergency. I live in jeans and haven’t bought a dress in over five years. The words “Can I see it on you?” send a cold shiver down my spine. My in-store shopping style is slalom, with me competing against myself to see who will get out the door the faster.
In short, I prefer to make my fashion mistakes alone, in the privacy of my own home.
My search for “mother of the groom dresses” felt like landing on the moon without a rover. It was all unfamiliar territory, with brand names I didn’t know – Teri Jon for Ricki Freeman, Mac Duggal, Sachin Babi, Badgley Mischka, Rich Radiqs, NicoBlu, and, the unfortunately named Tuckernuck. All at prices some data mining bot knew I could afford.
At first the dresses appeared in a nice horizontal line just under the search window. But soon, like diabolical gremlins, they began to multiply exponentially on my screen. Each time I opened my laptop, dresses would pop up in grids of four, eight, or twelve choices between paragraphs of news feeds, below the ingredients of recipes, and everywhere in my Facebook feed.
Many looked pretty enough (on the models, anyway). But they all struck me as too colorful, too busy (prints), too meshy, sequined and sparkly. There was a time, I knew, when mothers of the groom were supposed to “show up, shut up, wear beige.” Now, apparently, we’re expected to dress for the red carpet.
It was all too much to process: the Alexes and Alexias, Laras and Lesleys, Sophias and names I can’t recall. Were the brands trustworthy, I wondered. I felt like a sheep asking a wolf what he might like for dinner. Still, I did. Surprisingly, the answer was often no, with links to comments and unhappy buyers’ photos of dresses that look nothing like the one they thought they were buying in the AI-generated photo.
Bombardment worked as intended. I was becoming obsessed. The search for a dress had taken over both my laptop and my mind.
And so, began a steady stream of orders and returns. Sometimes I’d open a newly arrived box, stare at the contents and shudder. Other times – well, worth a try. The reputable brands make returns pretty simple. And I have to say, it’s great to be on a first-name basis with the folks at UPS.
A couple of times I thought I’d hit it. The first was a navy-blue V-neck, long-sleeved column dress in a stretchy fabric with metallic threads. I kept it for three months, until my son and future daughter-in-law set the wedding for October in a big-city botanical garden. I couldn’t see myself shimmering down an aisle, pre-sundown, surrounded by actual living plants. Luckily Nordstrom accepts returns effectively forever.
Another time I got had by the bots. They knew I’d been eying a $1300 Teri Jon, now on Gilt (think online upmarket remainders) for a mere $249. Meant to be, I thought. But it wasn’t. Neither was it returnable. (Lesson learned: read the fine print.) I forgave myself and moved on.
Four months out, I’ve broadened my search. After trying on a dozen column dresses, I realize that my own has gone mysteriously from Doric to Corinthian. So a waist and more of a skirt? Maybe. That I’m feeling less rigid and more open to having fun with fashion, the process is becoming less fraught. With high hopes for the next one, set to arrive early next week, I began to wonder… how do other women face the same challenge? Asking around, I found the range of experience both reassuring and fun.
Susan M., Cazenovia, NY., College Professor, Retired
With four grown children, all married, I have dress-buying stories around each wedding. But the third – for my daughter’s wedding at the Florence Butler House in Washington, D.C. – is my favorite.
Just after retiring, I began to volunteer at a thrift shop run by a small Episcopal church in town. Each spring, we’d put out a display of prom dresses. Usually, they were all scooped up. But one year, we got in a pretty pink Adianna Papell that didn’t read “prom.” It was sleeveless, with embroidery and beading on the bodice and a long chiffon skirt. After the season, when it didn’t sell, we marked it down from $50 to $15 and put it up on a mannequin in hopes of finding a taker.
At the time my daughter was dating, but not yet engaged to the wonderful man she’d later marry. Still, whenever I passed the dress, I’d think, well, if they ever decide to have a wedding… Apparently, I must have said it, too. Because my co-workers encouraged me to try it on “just to see if it works”
It did. I paid for it, brought it home, and packed it away. The following year I was on a walking tour in Italy with a friend when my daughter called to tell me she’d gotten engaged. The wedding would be in six months. Off the phone, I excitedly told my friends the news.
“Well, you’re got things to do!” she said, And I did. But looking for a dress was not one of them. For this wedding, during cherry blossom season in D.C., the dress was perfect.
Marina K, Watchung, New Jersey, Writer
My daughter’s husband is from northern India. They had two weddings: the first in the small town he grew up in, and the second at the Newark Museum.
With the Indian wedding a multi-day affair – each day themed with a different color – our in-laws, who are warm and lovely people, assured us they’d have made-to-order garments ready when we arrived. Just to be safe, my husband and I bought one outfit each at an Indian clothing store in Edison, New Jersey.
We shouldn’t have. When we arrived in India, everything was there for us – four outfits each for me and my husband and still more for our daughter, the bride. Everything was beautifully tailored, in gorgeous pinks, yellows and several shades of red, and of course had cost much less than the garments we had purchased back home.
I wore what are called cocktail sarees. Dressier than saris, they have cropped tops that show some stomach and a built-in drape to minimize exposure. This brilliant design looks good on women of every age and body type.
For the Newark Museum wedding, I looked first in department stores and boutiques. But everything I saw had too much sparkle and glitz. Two months before the wedding, I decided to give David’s Bridal a try.
“Isn’t that the discount store?” a few friends asked. Maybe. But they had real variety in brand-name dresses, and I liked the no-pressure vibe. Within minutes I’d picked out an Oleg Cassini (not couture). And with their buy one/get one deal, my sister, who’d come shopping with me, got hers, too. Mine was the same champagne color my late mother wore to my wedding, So, in this small way, I felt like I was honoring her. The total for both dresses was very reasonable.
Joan T, Retired Lawyer, NYC and The Berkshires
I started looking about six months before my daughter’s wedding, enough time, I figured, to get down to my fighting weight. I walked through Bloomingdales and Saks. But I wasn’t thrilled with what I saw. I searched online, too. But almost everything that came up was low-cut or off the shoulder, which wouldn’t be right for me.
My daughter has a close friend who shops at Carolina Herrera. She introduced us to the stylist she works with. I made an appointment and my daughter came with me. I don’t usually shop that way and didn’t know what to expect. But the stylist was great; she made the process relaxed and fun. At her suggestion, I first tried on a light blue column dress with sequins.
“I’m not coming out,” I groaned from behind the closed door.
“Got it,” she said. “I’m going to bring you something I think you’ll like.”
And she did. It was a warm, creamy textured silk that worked with my fair coloring. High waisted, with a jewel neckline and a lightly sequined placket down the front and full skirt, it also met my bottom line wish for sleeves.
I came out of the fitting room to take a look in big mirrors with good lighting. When my daughter smiled and nodded, that said it all. In the end, I tried on one more dress – as my daughter put it – “just to be sure.” It looked okay. But the three of us agreed that Number Two was Number One.
I needed a couple of minor alterations, which were free, whatever that means in the context of a gown that cost $5,000. The wedding was fancy and formal: black tie at the Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Center. The dress felt just right. I’ve seen the very same dress in ballet length. I’m thinking I’ll have it shortened, so I can wear it to other events, too.
Margaret C, Magazine Editor, NYC
Months months before my daughter’s wedding, we were focused on getting her dress—which is the way I felt it ought to be. It was her day and I wanted the spotlight to be on her.
I can’t say I agonized. That’s not my style. I visited department stores in the city. I wanted something with sleeves that was dressy, but not flashy. Nothing I saw fit the bill.
Like a true New Yorker, I tend to dress in black and grey— not that I was adamantly opposed to color. In the end, I ordered online from Nordstrom. Less pressure all around. The dress was made by Pisarro Nights, a brand that specializes in festive evening wear, apparently for adult women. With the wedding in darkest January, I through a little sparkle was in order. The dress has a jewel neckline and falls to the floor skirt with a very slight flare.The asymmetrical hemline was shorter in front and than in back.
My daughter and her husband are serious “Lord of the Rings” fans. And the wedding, which took place at a venue in Atlanta, reflected that with woodsy flower arrangements and photo stations like miniature LOTR environments.
My dress cost $300 – exactly what I’d paid for my own wedding dress nearly forty years before. I paid another $100 for minor alterations around the hem. While the wedding was relaxed, with most men in suits and ties, I didn’t feel I overdressed – just a little special as Mother of the Bride.
Elizabeth M, Photo Editor, NYC
About a year ago, I started to shop for my daughter’s wedding to be held this summer at her fiancé’s family’s farm in Oregon’s wine country. At Saks, I found a dress by Shoshanna. It looked a little like a mid-century party dress: strapless, with a fitted bodice, and full skirt with pockets. I need pockets because I always carry a cell phone and take a ton of photos. At $700, it cost more than I’d ever paid for a dress. But I figured: one daughter, one wedding. Fine.
A few weeks later. I took some photos of it and sent them to two friends who know fashion. Both said no way. “It’s a New York dress,” said one. “And that neckline…” said the other She didn’t have to finish the sentence.
I tried to return it to Saks. But it was day 31, and the stores’ policy is “no returns after thirty days.” My plan is to donate the dress to charity an take the deduction for the full amount paid. I once sent $600 Jimmy Choos to The Real and got a check for $15.
More shopping. Back at, Bloomingdale’s, Bergdorf Goodman, Saks (no hard feelings). Everything was expensive and nothing stood out.
One day I found myself in the Garment District. I’d offered to make my daughter’s veil because her dress didn’t come with one. But the fabric and little flowers I saw looked cheap – everything machine made in China. Demoralized, I was about to leave the area when I spotted a sample store and walked in.
The space was so narrow, I was squished between racks of gowns in clear plastic. An iridescent lavender and grey silk fabric caught my eye. It looked like a knockoff of a Christian LaCroix from the nineties. I tried it on. Perfect.
Like the Shoshanna, it’s strapless, but with a beautiful heart-shaped neckline and surplice bodice. Slim to the waist, it has a straight skirt and a pretty train. Unfortunately, I can’t give you a photo of it. if my daughter were to find out I got my dress for $75, she’d be appalled.
Diane K, Music Publicist, Retired— NYC and Westchester
My son’s wedding is coming up in July at a mountaintop inn in the Catskills, close to the northern Hudson Valley.
I always look first online, because there I can see entire collections of designers I like, such as Prada, Valentino, and Brunello Cucinelli. With them, you pay a lot, but you get impeccable quality, pieces you can wear forever and pass on. Unlike fast fashion, their artisans are well paid. I feel lucky to be in a position to help keep the tradition alive.
I fell in love with a Bruno Cucinelli gown he makes in a different color each year. It nips at the waist, then falls to the floor in Grecian folds. But the color I wanted was last year’s green, not this year’s pink, which was no longer available.
I also saw a Valentino gown I liked made of two layers of silk—the top a very fine mesh with little flowers sewn by hand. I thought the price was $3,000. But on closer inspection I realized I’d missed a zero. End of story.
I saw a few others, on designers’ sites and Net à Porter. But my size (I’m not small) often sells out fast. With one, I could have bought a size 48, which is quite large. But the prospect of recutting a $2,000 dress made no sense.
Then I remembered the shop I’d pass each weekend on my way to the farmers’ market: a young designer named Andrea Moore. I’d been in a couple of times, bought a few small pieces, and decided to give her a call. For a week or so I couldn’t reach her. She was sequestered, as it turned out, as a contestant on Project Runway.
Soon we were sitting together in her pattern room, looking at bolts of fabric and talking about design. We’re now at drawing nine, and fabric 13 – a gorgeous silk blend with a multi-color floral splash that will be placed near the hem. The dress will be elegant but not at all fussy, with a deep V neck down to a fitted waist, a flowy skirt, and minimal arm cover.
I didn’t get to support a village of Italian artisans. But for $3,000, I’m helping a young designer whose creativity and work ethic I admire.
Louise C., Attorney, Cumberland Foreside, Maine
My daughter’s wedding will be at the end October in Maine. The setting is rural: a former working farm where they’ll be married in a pretty garden. Then there will cocktails and dinner in tents that flow to a big, beautiful old barn for dancing.
Looking for a dress has turned out to be much harder than I expected. I had visions of waltzing into a couple of department stores and finding the right one. After moving up from D.C., I was surprised to find not a single boutique or department store that carries the kind of dresses that I wear. People here don’t dress up. I’ve been looking online, but so far nothing.
In color, I’m learning toward fall forward—mauves, plums, moss greens, chocolates. Design-wise, I’m thinking column. I’m small. So A-lines skirts engulf me. Same for big patterns. Off the shoulder might work. Sleeves okay, as long as they don’t flutter. For fabric, no charmeuse, which clings and shows everything. Maybe crepe or brocade for more structure.
Recently, I got so frustrated I turned to Chat GPT for ideas. What came back – a deep violet dress with puffy sleeves – looked like a dress Morticia Addams might wear. “This checks all your boxes,” Chat wrote with confidence. A couple maybe. But the whole was hardly a reasonable sum of its parts. Back to the drawing board. Or rather my computer screen. It’s been interesting to browse. But now it’s time to bite the bullet: to start the process of orders and returns with the first click “Buy.”
Top Shutterstock photo by Kyryk Ivan
Center Shutterstock photo by Vadym_Hunko
