The Princess and I went prom dress shopping on Saturday.
For those of you who don’t have daughters, prom dress shopping is NOTHING like you’re picturing. It’s not like when we were young. It’s not like any of the Disney movies make it out to be.
It’s like taking all the teenaged emotions and attitudes, mixing them with equal parts “Mom knows nothing” and “I can’t decide—Mom, what do you think” and sprinkling a heavy dose of glitter, tacky rhinestones and “Wait, where’s the rest of the dress?”.
First, we went to a boutique she’d heard about. It was organized by an OCD person—type of dress, color and size. Based on what the Princess thought she wanted, we were instructed to look at three—and only three—aisles. The salesgirl took the dresses and placed them in the dressing room, helped her get in and out of each one and was generally helpful.
I stood there, held her coat and was allowed to voice my opinion.
She found a dress. I was amazed. I’d figured we were going to have to hit at least four stores over several weekends. She tried on others to make sure. She liked it. She wanted it.
But we weren’t done yet. First, she had to check with her friends to get their opinions. This required some sneaky photo taking, since pictures weren’t allowed.
They liked it.
Then she had to check Facebook. Because unlike when I was a teenager, no one can have the same dress. And to ensure that this social faux pas does not occur, each class creates a Facebook page. When you purchase your dress, you post a photo. It’s yours and no one else is allowed to wear it.
Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, but what do I know?
So she looked on Facebook and it wasn’t there.
She hemmed and hawed a little longer. And finally decided she’d found the one.
We walked to the cashier and waited our turn. The cashier smiled and began taking our information.
Oh no. Turns out one of the girls in her friend group had purchased the same dress in a different color.
So we left and went to a different store. That had a ton of dresses. I was sure we’d find something.
And we did. We found about ten somethings. There was no helpful salesperson here, however, so I trailed her, carrying dresses like a pack mule.
She took them back in the fitting rooms and tried them on. One by one, she discounted them, and I started getting worried. Turns out, she purposely started with her least favorites.
Then we got to the ones she liked.
One was pale pink lace with sparkles. It was beautiful. She loved it. Until she realized (thanks to her friends) that it made her washed out. So she tried it on in baby blue. And it was really pretty.
Then she tried a black one with lace in the front. It was gorgeous.
Then she tried a navy one with stuff on the side and back. I honestly don’t know what the “stuff” was. At this point, I’m lucky I recognized it was a dress. It was stunning.
And she couldn’t decide. She hemmed and hawed. Her friends liked some better than others.
She tried the baby blue one on again.
And we left without anything.
I don’t want her to buy a dress she doesn’t love. But I also don’t want to have to do this again. Except I am. Next weekend.
Pray for me.