I Said "Yes" to the Secondhand Dress

I never went to prom, and it was something I always felt like I missed out on.

As a first-generation Asian-American and the youngest of six, I didn't want to burden my parents and ask for money we didn't have so I could experience some kind of "rite of passage" ...it felt selfish.

When I said "yes" when Ben proposed, of course I thought about the dress. I was so excited to go dress shopping. And since I was paying for my own dress, I wasn't going to cut myself short. I was going to allow myself to do it big because I didn't want to carry that feeling of missing out again.

The venue was booked, so the next thing major thing was to find the dress.

On a cold weekend in February, I went dress shopping (with my support system of course) after months of window shopping online. I tried on all silhouettes and designers. There was a dress in particular that I fell in love with—I even teared up. I thought she was the one, until I saw the price tag. And of course I picked the most expensive one...my mom used to tell me that I always had expensive taste (the apple doesn't fall far from the tree). * eyes roll *

So I walked away. I said I wanted to discuss it with my fiancé first before I said "yes to the dress." When I came home, I told Ben I found a dress, but it was over my budget...and of course he said I should have whatever I want and we'd find a way to make it work.

I sat with it for weeks...even trying on cheaper dresses at another bridal shop. Nothing was giving. That feeling of selfishness came back. Sure I could spend almost $5,000 on a dress, but the more I thought about it the more angry I became with the wedding industry and capitalism (something I will always be angry about).

I went rogue. I scrolled. I searched. And I finally found the dress. A stranger was selling her wedding dress on Depop, and she happened to be my exact size. I messaged her, we became friends on Instagram, and we even got on a call. She answered all my questions, I even counter-offered, and just like that, I said "yes to the dress" on FaceTime.

While I was waiting for my dress to come in the mail, I wondered if I was making the right decision...what if I don't like the dress? What if I don't have that same "this is the one" feeling again?

Truth is, I didn't fall in love with the dress like I was hoping. It arrived in a box, and when I pulled it out, it was so long—just so much extra fabric. It didn't give me the silhouette I was hoping for. But it was classic, and the quality was better than the other ones I tried on for a fraction of the cost...it was a steal at $750, I couldn't beat it.

So I spent months looking at it hanging in our spare bedroom. And I came to the conclusion that the dress doesn't change anything...I still wanted to marry the love of my life regardless of what I was wearing.

Two months before the wedding, I finally got it altered. To my surprise, I immediately felt at ease when I met my seamstress. She felt like a fairy godmother.

At my last fitting two weeks before the wedding, I was honestly terrified. An additional $400 for alterations for a dress that I just kinda loved and I was running out of time.

There I was, just me and my best friend in a dressing room trying on my dress for the last time before the big day. My feelings didn't change—still just kinda in love with it.

The morning of the wedding, I waited until the very last second to put my dress on. Just my best friends and Aimee...pulling and snatching the waist. I still hadn't looked at myself in the mirror. I put on my shoes, my jewelry, and my (also secondhand) veil.

I took a breath and finally looked at myself in the mirror.

Cinderella.

After all the back and forth, all the overthinking...I looked exactly how I wanted Ben to see me walking down the aisle.

Nothing was more perfect. It fit me exactly how I imagined my dress would.

I was ready to marry my best friend.