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I always had a feeling I’d be pregnant at my wedding. I figured I’d be an older bride, having focused so long on my career, and therefore need to multitask marriage and babies. The order of things wasn’t important to myself or my family—and, to be completely honest, I wanted an excuse not to drink at the reception. I didn’t want to start married life with a physical or mental hangover.
So when I found myself engaged at 46 and about to embark on a round of IVF, I didn’t panic. I’d already had an idea about how I wanted to look on my big day.
For decades, I’d dreamt of the finale dress from the Gucci spring 2002 runway show. I loved its relaxed but restrained vibe, plus the model’s beachy hair. I put vintage hounds Lynn Yaeger and Gab Waller on the case, but I knew finding it, let alone in my size, was a long shot.
Luckily for me, I own Hero Shop in the San Francisco Bay Area, so I have better access than most to designer looks. When I went to Paris to shop the spring 2024 collections, I spotted The Row’s Madeline dress, a drapey confection of the most beautiful cotton gauze that ties effortlessly at the bust. It had the same strapless column silhouette as my Gucci fantasy, and I loved that it was inspired by the idea of wrapping a towel around you after a day at the beach or the world’s most expensive hammam. Plus, it would happily fit a bump, or whatever I’d have by the time I was at the altar. Without hesitation, I placed an order for my size to arrive within weeks of my June wedding date.
Putting all my eggs, as it were, in The Row basket seemed risky though. So when we hosted an Attersee trunk show at Hero Shop, I tried on the Cecily jacket and tailored trousers in cream. (I also always saw myself getting married in a suit. I was single for 25 years; I had time to think about these things.) The neckline showed off my shoulders and neck, and the wide leg felt modern. I felt sophisticated and comfortably unconventional. I was also already looking forward to wearing them together or separately for years to come—the jacket with jeans out to dinner, the pants with an ivory cashmere sweater to an event. When I saw Barbara Guggenheim had chosen a similar look for her nuptials, and looked beautiful, smart, and tasteful, I was even more into it.
In April, I learned the IVF was successful and I’d be 13 weeks pregnant by the time I was at the altar. Okay, I thought to myself, I won’t be showing that much by then. I’d lose a little waistline, probably, and my bust would be bigger, but nothing drastic. I tried on the Attersee look weekly to check the fit. In mid-May, I could still button the pants and the jacket would have to be taken out for my chest, but just a little. By Memorial Day, though, my shape—and therefore the suit’s on me—started to shift. From the front it still worked, looking long and lean, but from the side (which is what the photographer would catch at the altar, for our first kiss, for our first dance) I was as shapely as a stick of butter. My waistline had filled out to meet my bustline, but not with a discernible bump. And the weather was getting hotter. A virgin wool and silk long-sleeve suit in 90 degrees started to feel impractical. I panicked a little.
I searched for white dresses on Net-A-Porter and Matches, but nothing tugged my heartstrings. From Hero Shop, I did grab Khaite’s Sicily dress, a semi-shapeless spaghetti strap sheath in cotton poplin, for the rehearsal dinner and High Sport’s gingham Petra skirt, with a deliciously stretchy elastic waist, for the Italian-themed welcome dinner. That felt like progress.
The Row dress, thankfully, arrived just in the nick of time. The bodice was as advertised—drapey, comfortable, and allowing for whatever was going on underneath to continue. The bustline had to be taken out, but my seamstress was able to do it quickly and seamlessly. I started lifting arm weights to tone my triceps.
On the day of the wedding, I felt completely at ease—as relaxed as if I had just come from an expensive spa. The dress allowed me to move and dance and not have to worry about anything going on from the neck down. It didn’t ask me to force myself into any other shape other than what I was: pregnant, and happy.
