Town&Country Weddings
Spring/Summer 2010
Uniquely Yours
When the dresses on the racks simply won’t do, there’s only one solution: a custom-made wedding gown. By Nora Zelevansky
As soon as I got engaged, I began to envision my wedding-day self. A fashionphile, I’d be wearing something nontraditional yet classic – perhaps a runway look from Zac Posen or Karl Lagerfeld. I would rebuff bridal shops in favor of the racks at exclusive fashion house on Rodeo Drive and Fifth and Madison avenues. But once my boyfriend had popped the question, I quickly learned a crushing lesson: those silky red-carpet gowns I admired that drip, sans structure, off sinewy celebrities are not forgiving on five-foot-four-inch civilians. In miles of luxurious satin, I looked less like Uma at the Oscars and more like an Oompa Loompa. When I finally gave in and began hunting for a real wedding dress at department stores, I fell in love with a Reem Acra number that made me look like a character in a Jane Austen novel. In a period of bridal lunacy, I bought it, returned it and five minutes later was second-guessing my decision. This was not the delightful quest for the perfect dress that I had imagined.
My search eventually hit a dead end. It was too late to order from the bridal shops I’d snubbed. The dresses at sample sales all looked the same when viewed from an endless line of hysterical customers. Vintage options were limited. Then, two months before my wedding day, a miracle happened. I called an industry-insider friend and lamented, “I’m dress-less!” she brightly suggested, “What about custom?” And so began the happy ending of my wedding-dress story.
DRESSMAKER, DRESSMAKER, MAKE ME A DRESS
Fashion houses like Chanel and such bridal heavyweights as Vera Wang create drool-worthy couture gowns, but with brides with short timelines, realistic budgets and/ or a desire for a more creative collaboration, smaller gown-making operations are ideal. My industry friend, Harmony Walton, Of the Bridal Bar in Los Angeles, sent me to R-Mine Bridal, a Studio City boutique run by Armine Ohanessian, who had recently shifted her focus from high-end retail to mostly couture dressmaking after more than fifteen years in the bridal business.
Over champagne and mini cupcakes, Ohanessian, in her signature horn-rimmed glasses below the dark-brunette fringe, discussed with my mother and me the look I wanted to achieve. She explained that her gowns generally range from $2,000 to $20,000 (mine would cost $5,500) and can take between eight months and a year to create (rushing is possible but discouraged). I had eight weeks. The clock was ticking.
I immediately surrendered my manila folder of “inspirational” pictures: Oscar dresses, runway designs, old Hollywood starlets and beautiful textures and patterns. Because most of us are not versed in dressmaking lingo, communicating our vision verbally can be difficult: one woman’s “flounce” can be another woman’s “ruffle”; one’s “demure” is another’s “Lady Gaga.” Visual references, therefore, are invaluable. R-Mine also carries a heavily edited collection of gowns from Amsale, Melissa Sweet, Elie Saab, Valentino, Kenneth Pool and other established names. As an artist, Ohanessian would never copy existing designs, but having me look through the selection provided her with some visual and tactile cues. I pointed out a simple Oscar de la Renta, for example, which helped her understand my stripped-down taste (as opposed to her embellished aesthetic).
Personality figures heavily in Ohanessian’s designs as well, so she asked me lots of questions, especially about my art-world background (my mother is a contemporary-art curator; my father is an artist). “Then you’ll be open to the more avant-garde!” she said enthusiastically. Hmm…maybe?
WAIST NOT, WANT NOT
Like marriage, commissioning a dress that exists only in the mind’s eye is a leap of faith, so due diligence in choosing a shape is key. Eons into my search, I encountered an essential truth: there are but five silhouettes, and for each woman only one or two work. Even if you’re Heidi Klum. Especially if your not.
That said, brides must try them all, because what’s flattering proportionally is often counterintuitive. A busy girl, I’d never have chosen strapless, but a heavily boned, corseted top was narrowing. I assumed that my high waist should be hidden by an Empire cut, but a ”natural” waist slimmed me down. This was thrilling: I desperately wanted a mermaid silhouette, inspired as I was by retro vixens like Veronica Lake and Jessica Rabbit and by an old photograph of my maternal grandmother in the mid-1930s. In the picture Grandma is wrapped in an emerald green getup that hugs her hourglass figure. Ohanessian promised to build me a mermaid gown with proportions to balance my top and compensate for my lack of bottom.
But at the follow-up muslin fitting, the dressmaker shook her head. “The seam at the waist is foreshortening,” she said. “It looks unfinished.” I was aghast at the idea of a change. At this point, a stitched waist seemed as essential to the dress as food to my survival (albeit less food than usual in the run-up to my big day). I had yet to realize that a good bridal dressmaker has a gift: she can instantly register unusual proportions and inadequacies and thus correct them in the creation. The expert, it turned out, was right.
COLOR ME BEAUTIFUL
With silhouette and shape set, we marched to a sewing room awash in organza, Mikado and French Chantilly lace. R-Mine carries only silk fabrics–including Ohanessian’s own, locally made materials–each suited to a different season, price and draping. Although stitched taffeta puckers more than satin and can have an almost crumpled look, the effect felt youthful and less formal. To continue the textured theme, I chose edgy gazar (like frayed cheesecloth) for the elaborate bottom ruffle. Luckily, some was in stock: the rare fabric can take six months to order.
As for hues, I didn’t even know that white was a color. In fact one must choose between gradations of pure white, ivory and vintage-like cream. I practically had an out-of-body experience as I heard myself utter the words “ivory taffeta would be perfect.” After all my anti-traditional-wedding-gown protests, I’d be head –to-toe in ivory taffeta? Why, yes, I would.
FITTING IN
Once the basic skeleton was created, I returned regularly to R-Mine to fine-tune the sizing and detailing, from the pleated bodice flaps (which shifted about 500 times) to the fower-inspired bottom pouf. Ohanessian’s straightforward approach to design inspired confidence and (admittedly) a little fear, but I didn’t always cave. Though we compromised on a few elements, I sometimes fought for a simpler vision; the dressmaker loves beading and adornment. And despite my long décolletage, Ohanessian eventually agreed to make the neckline more plunging. After all, what would Jessica Rabbit do?
The final fitting was scheduled within one week of my event to accommodate inevitable pre-wedding weight loss. That day, I slipped on my accessories – iridescent Loeffler Randall heels and my grandmother’s diamond and ruby bracelet – and slipped into my dress. At last this dreamy art project was complete; we had created a mermaid-shaped gown to suit the particulars of my frame and my taste alone. The result was heavenly.
Even more than gorgeous, the dress was comfortable. That’s the beauty of a custom gown: it fits like a glove and doesn’t require a single shaping undergarment, not even a bra. Wearing a look that reflected my style, I felt like an elevated version of myself, with hints – I hoped – of my grandmother’s elegance and my mother’s edge.
On D-Day, guests gasped at the flawless piece. And now, whenever I show off pictures, other brides-to-be ask where they can find it. My answer is always the same: “I’m afraid you can’t.” The final benefit of a custom-made dress: it is one of a kind.