The Journey to Find the Dream Dress

Sweetheart or scoop neck? Glitter or lace? Mermaid or empire?

By age 10, I had my dream dress figured out: a full princess ball-gown with a strapless bodice (even though Mom would hate that) and a lace veil with an 8-foot train.  

My vision formed from hours of binge-watching “Say Yes to The Dress” and playing bride simulator on GirlsGoGames. By the time I discovered Pinterest in middle school, my ideation entered a new level of precision. When it was finally my turn to attend a Homecoming dance, I was well practiced in the art of calculated garment selection; my instincts told me the preparation and execution of the perfect look for this rite of passage was a deadly serious matter.

And I wasn’t alone in my interest. I recall flipping through picture books with my friends, shoulders bent studiously over illustrations of fairy-tale weddings. Some of my earliest brushes with conflict were arguments over which Disney princess had the prettiest dress (I was, and still am, an ardent defender of Aurora).

But even when we disagreed, a tangible urgency reverberated between us, as if the question of tulle or taffeta was a life-altering decision. 

After all, what kid hasn’t seen “Cinderella,” the prototype Disney princess movie (yes, Snow White was released first, but Cindy’s the real it girl)? When her story starts, she’s an unspecial orphan, trapped under the thumb of her stepmother and overshadowed by her spruce stepsisters.

That is, until her magical makeover. A few flicks of her Fairy Godmother’s wrist and Cinderella’s dirty apron transformed into the iconic blue ball gown which has haunted so many (or at least my) dreams.

There’s no debating it — that dress changed her life.

All hope seemed lost when her plisse reverted to polyester at midnight. Luckily, her abandoned shoe stood as the saving evidence of her ephemeral elegance.

Yes, the perfect dress was the crown jewel of my childhood fantasies. But it wasn’t the reason I wore the tiara in the first place.  

Because what’s a prom without a date, a bride without a groom, a ball without a prince? 

The media I consumed as a child was clearer than Cindy’s glass slipper: “fantasy” meant finding a man, and being beautiful was the way to make it happen. 

So if a fairy godmother wasn’t flying my way, I’d better Bippity-boppity-boo myself. 

But does this mean all my dress daydreams were really about a nameless, cookie-cutter man? We’re often told to listen to our inner child. Is pleasing my “prince” the only thing mine cares about? 

And if my first fashion fantasy was all about a man, what does that say about my interest in fashion as an adult?

But, you know what – at the time, I couldn’t see another option. So today, I choose to look backward with optimism. 

In Cinderella’s world, beauty is synonymous to socioeconomic mobility. When I placed myself in her raggedy shoes, I craved the same power to forge a better life. Planning my dress was a way to prepare for a prosperous future. 

And I wasn’t doing it alone – all those afternoons spent debating details and poring over picture books brought me closer to my childhood friends. At the same time, I began to explore my individuality; How was my dream dress different, and what did that say about me? 

Whether you’re beholden to a literal man or to the anonymous, hulking patriarchy, the perceived obligation to please is hard to relinquish. But I refuse to lose something which has brought me joy since childhood. Instead, I’m learning to indulge my fashion fantasies without checking my reflection in the male gaze. 

So yes, I’ll have the gown – prince or not.