How much of the cost of a veil actually lands in my pocket? The answer, it turned out when I tried to work it out, is not straightforward. I’m not sure whether I was surprised by the figure I kind of landed on, but I found it interesting enough to share it.
This example is based on an Etsy order I received before Christmas for a fingertip Happily Ever After veil.
Woohoo! A new order!
With the local taxes in the customer’s US homeland, the total paid by them Etsy was £421.20 (~$567.72 US).
Before the money leaves Etsy, there are a few immediate deductions, which Etsy very kindly lays out:
Fees laod out by Etsy
I get a little confused here because if you take that £83.58 away from £390 (after tax), you get £306.42 (right?!), but what lands in my bank account a few days later is actually slightly more, £310.52. Where the extra £4.10 came from is anyone’s guess but I’m not complaining, especially in low season.
The mystery figure that landed in my bank account
Either way, I then have some more hard costs to cover:
Hard costs for shipping and packaging
I use (almost award-winning; highly commended in the Quirky Awards 2023) sustainable packaging from Tishwish, Royal Mail’s international tracked & signed service with extra insurance, plus the new US 10% import duty (and Royal Mail’s 50p fee for handling this for me). All this brings what landed in my.bank account down to £242.52.
That’s before I even buy the materials for the veil itself.
Hard costs for veil materials
I make enough veils that I can buy many of these in modest bulk – not exactly the economies of scale big manufacturers see, but, for example, I can halve the cost of tulle by buying it in 50m rolls, knowing I’ll get through it. So, the cost of the raw materials of this particular veil are £26.52, just under 7% of the purchase price, bringing the total going to me to £217.
So let’s consider the time it takes to turn a pile of tulle, thread and ribbon into a Happily Ever After fingertip veil. It takes approximately three days to cut, embroider, sew and assemble to completion, so call it 24 working hours, based on an eight-hour working day.
I set my hourly rate at £75, but the time taken to make this veil for £217 slash that to just £9 per hour, which isn’t even minimum wage.
How much per hour
However, most of the time required to make this veil is for embroidering which my machine (theoretically at least) can mostly get on with without me. So, let’s say only a quarter of those three days requires me hands on. That brings my hourly rate to a more palatable £36 per hour, but still less than half what I should be charging (more on this here).
But, and here’s where it gets a bit tricky to calculate again, we need to consider the cost of that beautiful embroidery machine, and all the other equipment I need to make the veil.
What I bought to make my veils
Embroidery machines are EXPENSIVE. I bought mine, an entry-level industrial multi-needle embroidery machine (swoon), for £6,000 a couple of years ago. It literally cost six times more than I paid for my car (priorities, my queens). For context, the next model up is £10,000. Even my first (now back-up) embroidery machine was £1,200 seven years ago, and that only has a single needle, meaning I have to rethread it myself for every colour change, which is every three minutes or so for this veil.
The software I use to create and edit my embroidery designs was £900 and I’ve since paid a further £250-ish for the latest edition. There’s also my Cricut (£300) which even actually works sometimes, but I do have to swear at it a lot first.
A few further costs not included in the image above are my business insurance (public liability, professional indemnity, stock in trust, etc) which is another £500-odd a year; machine servicing at around £200-300 a year and miscellaneous business costs including phone/WiFi bill, mortgage, etc.
As tricky as it is to put a fair price on my work, I think I usually get it about right. I only employ myself and I feel well compensated, so that’s a decent measure, plus I absolutely adore my job.
If you think I should be earning more for what I create, please consider that the next time you see a veil or wedding dress on an ultra-fast fashion site for next to nothing, and think about what the person who actually made it will earn from it.
Should I store my wedding dress hanging up, in a box or some other way?
I’m often asked what the best way to store a wedding dress is, between buying and wearing it on the day (I’m not talking about preserving it after the wedding – that’s a whole other field). They’re big, don’t fit in many wardrobes and you’re probably also having to hide it – something the size of a person – from your other half.
Special shout-out to my recent bride who kept her wedding dress in the bottom of a laundry basket, partly because it was second hand and didn’t come with a bag or box, but mostly because she knew her financé would never find it there.
The best storage method depends partly on the type of dress you have, how voluminous it it, how long the train is, and the fabric(s) it’s made from. Generally though, these are, in order, the best ways:
1. On a Mannequin, Under a Dustsheet
The gold standard, but turn off the lights and put a sheet over it 👻
This is the gold standard of wedding dress storage, but unless you live in a stateley home and happen to own a mannequin set to your own measurements, it’s not practical for most people. If you actually do have a spare room with a mannequin in it, keep the dress, including train, completely covered with a breathable dustsheet (a duvet cover or flat sheet works well) to keep dirt and sunlight off. Draw the curtains too to prevent sun bleaching but bear in mind that it will probably scare the living turds out of anyone who opens the door to that room. Another reason this is my favourite method.
2. Laying Flat on a Spare Bed, Under Cover
If you have a spare bed and aren’t expecting guests for a while, lay the dress out on the bed and cover it with a sheet.
3. Hanging Up
If keeping your dress hanging up in its bag is the most practical option for you, there are a few things to check. Make sure the hanging loops are what’s taking the weight of your dress, NOT the straps, as they could get stretched out of shape. Check what the train is doing. If you have a hook high enough, let the train hang out of the bag rather than scrunched in the bottom, but keep it covered with a sheet or duvet cover. If not, you can either fold or roll it gently into the bottom of the bag, or use the hanging ribbon usually found on the underside of the train to hook it up to the hanger.
Side-note on dress bags: only use waterproof ones for transport, never long-term storage. The slightest bit of moisture gets in and you have stinking mould. I can still smell the dress I unzipped from its plastic garment bag in the recesses of a boutique a decade ago. Don’t make me smell another one.
4. In a Box
Boxes should be sturdy, protective and breathable
Wedding dress boxes certainly have their place and are usually the easiest way to travel with your dress, and they fit neatly on top of cupboards and under beds. They’re also great for concealing details of your dress. However, keeping your dress folded up multiple times in a box is not ideal, especially for bigger dresses such as ballgown and voluminous A-line styles, and those made from stiffer fabrics such as Mikado and duchess satin. Crepe, stretch, lace and tulle gowns tend not to hold their creases as much but it varies from dress to dress. I’m not saying definitely don’t use a box, but factor in extra time (and potentially cost) for steaming/pressing if it’s so crumpled at your fitting that it doesn’t hang properly when you put it on – I need to be able to see how much it needs taking up accurately. Similarly, make sure you have time to get it nice and smooth before you you wear it on the day.
So, lots of options, each with its own advantages.
Overall, my three essentials are: Keep it covered, keep it dry, keep it dark.
Bonus points if you can prank someone, in which case, hide a camera and please send me the results.
Considering a wedding dress with off-shoulder, Bardot straps? Read this first.
You know I’m not one for following trends for the sake of it, but an unavoidable one this summer is the Bardot neckline. Popularised by the eponymous actress Bridget Bardot in the 1950s and ’60s, the straight (or sweetheart) neckline elongated by off-shoulder straps has actually been around since Regency and Victorian eras.
It’s the straps we need to talk about. Loved for balancing out wide hips, narrowing broad shoulders, showing off the décolleté while remaining elegant and concealing bingo wings, they do have an inherent drawback.
The crux of Bardot straps is this: there will always be a trade-off between how well they fit and how much you can still move your arms.
Gorgeous Sarah opted to remove her Bardot straps (and train) completely, and straighten the neckline.
There are workarounds but all of them involve a compromise of some sort. If you want to be able to lift your arms at all on your wedding day – to hug guests, slow-dance with your new spouse, pick up children, toss your bouquet (or hold it victoriously aloft), throw shapes on the dancefloor, remove your veil or fix your hair – and have your heart set on this classic neckline, here’s what we can do.
Awesome Sophie in her Bardot-neckline wedding dress. Yes, she’s on the loo; yes, she’s allowed me to share this.
Option 1: Do nothing
Accept the fit of the straps as they are, which might be slightly baggy but almost certainly will limit how high you can lift your arms.
Option 2: Tighten them to fit
Some people are happy to sacrifice movement and just want them to sit as straight and snugly as possible. This is fine if it works for you, but your arms will be pinned to your sides and only usable from elbows down.
Option 3: Make them detachable
There are a few ways we can do this, including adding poppers so you can remove them entirely. Alternatively, we can have them fitting snugly but fashion a way for them to fold neatly under your arms if you choose to wriggle your arms out of them completely. Alternatively, you could wear a Bardot style as a bolero or even just a separate ‘collar’ that slips over your shoulders.
Option 4: Add elastic
A popular option with my customers this year has been to run some elastic through (or under) the straps so they fit more snugly but can still extend when arms are lifted. This option will cause some gathering/ruching in the straps, which some have embraced for its frilly effect and had me add elastic to the full strap, while others weren’t keen on the aesthetic and just had me add it towards the back.
Option 5: Engineer an internal runner
This is a clever option if you don’t mind the straps finishing tucked into the back (and/or front) of your dress rather than resting on top. Each strap is looped over a horizontal ‘bar’ of ribbon inside the dress that it can run along, while a length of elastic pulls it back into place when your arms are down. It doesn’t work with all dress and strap styles but worth asking about as it’s the best option for keeping a close fit while allowing maximum movement if it works.
Option 6: Raise where they sit
If you’re open to a neckline that isn’t quite strictly a Bardot, a final option is to raise where the straps sit, so they’re on the edge of your shoulder rather than around your arms. This means losing arm coverage (in case that’s a dealbreaker) and gaining coverage on your back so bear in mind whether you want that or not too.
Beautiful Debs, whose Bardot straps I raised to sit higher on her shoulders so her back would feel less exposed. Her sweetheart neckline lent itself particularly well to this alteration. Raising them also meant that, despite shortening them, she had more freedom of arm movement.
If you’ve yet to start wedding dress shopping, please don’t rule out a Bardot neckline, but remember that it will always require a compromise of some sort. And if you already have your Bardot-neckline dress, please don’t panic. Feel free to drop me a line and we can find the best solution for you and your dress.
Char in her gorgeous Bardot gown (with the five-metre custom veil I made her). Photo: Lauren Brumby Photography
The Three Fs to consider to make sure your dream wedding dress doesn’t become a neurospicy nightmare
Shopping for – and wearing – a wedding dress is a whole new experience for most people. Seeing yourself as The Bride for the first time can be surreal and overwhelming, and you’re often in and out of several dresses in quick succession. Consequently, you might not have time or emotional energy to notice the little things that will make wearing one for a whole day uncomfortable.
Add the sensory issues that often come with neurodiversity into the mix and the dress of your dreams can end up feeling like a nightmare.
But not all dresses are created equal, and there are some common culprits to look out for when you’re choosing your dress, mainly around the three Fs: Fabrics, Finishes and Fit. Feel free to add your own F if you hit all three.
FABRICS
I’m not just talking about synthetic fabrics (polyester, nylon, etc) that make you sweat here, as you’ll be hard pressed to find a dress made from 100% breathable, natural fibres (e.g. silk, cotton, viscose, etc) in most boutiques. Sometimes you get a choice, especially if you’re going bespoke. Get samples you can take away and experiment with if you can.
Lace
Lace can be scratchy (particularly the stiffer kind in direct contact with your skin), or conversely tickly – I’m looking at you, eyelash lace necklines. Eyelash lace can usually be trimmed down to the solid edge if necessary so don’t let it put you off an otherwise perfect dress.
Tickle tickle! Beautiful and delicate, eyelash lace can also be a bit tickly for some people.
Check which parts of your body will be in contact and whether it will irritate you.
Feathers
Another tickly one is feathers. Even if you’re not outright allergic, feathers can tickle mot just your skin but the inside of your nose (they shed too). There can also be sharp bits.
Sequins
One of my biggest bugbears with wedding dress manufacturers is the placement of beads and – worse – sequins under the arms of sleeveless dresses where they will chafe the delicate skin of bare inner arms. Have you ever felt the edge of a sequin? Those buggers are SHARP. Now imagine rubbing your arm on clusters of them all day and night.
Even if they’re not right up in your armpit, check what your wrists will be brushing against if your dress has beads and sequins on the skirt. If they’re somewhere annoying, you can have them removed. Alternatively, if they’re too pretty to ditch, have your seamstress cover them in a soft sheer fabric such as tulle or organza so you can still have the sparkle without the scratching. If you’re open to a bit of a restyle, you could even add sleeves or gloves to protect your skin.
Glitter
A huge trend at the moment is glitter, especially on tulle, although I’ve also seen it on satin and even lace (and I’ve actually made two wedding dresses using a black glitter lace satin!). By its nature, it has a slightly rough texture so I usually recommend putting it under a layer of tulle rather than have it as the top layer of a dress. It will still sparkle but feel softer.
Veils are different as they’re not in constant contact with your skin.
FINISHES
It’s not just the fabrics themselves that can cause an issue, but what you do with them and where on the dress you wear them.
Stitched tulle
For example, even the softest tulle becomes a serious rash-inducing irritant when it’s folded and stitched, especially for a neckline; it makes every tiny fibre an inflexible ridge that RUBS. I see red skin under a lot of illusion panels where the edge has been turned under and sewn. It’s usually better to leave the edge raw and unstitched; I cut some away for a bride during her fitting this week and the relief was immediate.
Some tulle necklines and arm scyes (that’s the technical term for an armhole) have to keep their stitched edge to prevent them stretching out of shape during wear. In these cases, ask your seamstress to put something underneath the narrow hem to protect your skin. Depending on the dress, I’ve used iron-on soft interfacing (often seen on the back of embroidery on T-shirts for example) organza ribbon and clear silicon tape. Sometimes we need to experiment a bit to find what will work best for the dress and the wearer.
Unstitched tulle
It also depends on where on the dress they are. Unfinished stiff-tulle hems (usually in underskirts and inner dress layers) feel like barbed wire if they come into contact with the tops of your feet. When I get in a hot shower after a day when I’ve worked on stiff tulle, my hands and forearms suddenly sear from all the micro abrasions and scratches they’ve sustained from the edges.
Enclosing them in a rolled hem or encasing them in bias binding protects skin. I do this as standard on all my bespoke dresses, but not all manufacturers do (the last Vera Wang dress I altered didn’t; also polyester BTW), or they’re inconsistent with it (some Wed2b dresses have their stiff tulle hemmed, others don’t)
The raw edge of stiff tulle
Boning
Not quite a fabric, but an essential component of many wedding dresses is boning (stop sniggering at the back). It shouldn’t be uncomfortable but check where it finishes at the bottom to make sure it’s not digging in your tummy, hips or the tops of your legs, especially when you sit. I’ve had to shorten bodice bones for many people, especially wheelchair users.
Need a light boning, anyone? Fnarrrr
Smells
Smells might not be the first thing wedding dresses make you think of, but have a good sniff when you’re trying them on or choosing fabrics. Some manufacturers spray fabrics with chemicals that have a distinctive smell that not everyone can tolerate. Some have a sickly sweet smell and others more unpleasant odour of fish mixed PVA glue.
Cheap stiff tulle seems to be a repeat offender here. I once had to leave some outside (literally on the washing line) for two months before I could tolerate it inside, even after machine washing it twice. The smell still hadn’t completely gone so I gave up on it and invested in a better one, making a mental note never to cheap out on stiff tulle again.
If you’ve bought your dress second hand or a vintage number and specialist cleaning can’t get rid of smells, my friends in theatre always recommend spraying with cheap vodka.
FIT
Of course, making sure your dress fits well can solve a lot of sensory issues. But when you’re trying on samples that don’t fit you properly, make sure you understand what a proper fit will feel like.
Heavy + strapless = tight bodice
For heavy strapless dresses in particular, it might have to be tighter than you’d like. A weighty skirt section needs to rest snugly above your hips so it doesn’t fall down and have to doing the yank-it-up dance all day. By snug, I mean firm and supportive; you should still be able to breathe normally and feel like you could enjoy a full meal. Wedding dresses are not usually designed or worn for practicality but they shouldn’t be uncomfortable and should certainly never be painful.
If you’re someone who easily feels constricted in tighter clothes, consider whether a looser style might be for you. I’ve seen a dress trigger a panic attack once it fitted as it should because the bride didn’t realise that it would need to be so tight to stay up. She was autistic and had sensory issues against feeling squeezed. When she bought her heavy satin strapless ballgown, it was some inches too big for her – gaping all over and falling down – and she didn’t realise how much more snug the bodice would need to be to support the weight of the skirt. Even leaving it slightly looser than I would normally to accommodate her sensitivities (she explained them to me at our first appointment), it still felt too restrictive for her.
THE GOOD STUFF
I would love to be able to provide a definitive list of Fabrics, Finishes and Fits that won’t cause sensory issues. As we know though, if you know one neurospicy person you know one neurospicy person. Everyone’s needs, likes, dislikes and sensitivities are different, just as every dress will be different. Satin is lovely and smooth and could be a safe bet for many but it can be heavy and people like my daughter hate the sound and feel of someone running their nails on it. Most things are surmountable but might need more budget for alterations.
What I’m hoping to achieve here is to give some things to consider when choosing a wedding dress, whether that’s in a boutique, creating something bespoke or buying second hand.
Because I don’t ever again want to see someone’s face as they realise at their final fitting that they’ve made a mistake in their dress choice.
Thank you for all the love for these two dresses I revealed this week. But did anyone spot that they’re exactly the same dress, just in different fabrics?
Same same, but different.
The magic of fabric
It’s not just about the colours; texture is everything. Rachael’s dreamy wedding dress was made in drapey, cationic chiffon, which has the contradictory superpowers of being both lightweight and floaty but still falling heavily under its own weight, giving a straight, sleek silhouette (when you keep still!).
The floral confection modelled by Chenai at Rock n Roll Bride Live used printed organza, which is stiffer and bouncier.
OK, I tell a very small lie in that (technical details) the floral dress’s skirt section is cut as a full circle with a horsehair braid hem and Rachael’s chiffon is a double circle. But the number of layers, cut of sleeves, pleating and everything else is the same.
When I create bespoke wedding dresses, I offer a LOT of fabric options. We can pore over stacks of sample books, order in any fabrics I don’t already have and see how each one feels, moves and works with others.
Stroking all the pretties
I am always available for drinking tea and stroking pretty fabrics so please give me a shout if you’d like to come over for a play.
Back in a previous lifetime when I worked on a student newspaper in the Canadian capital, I received a double award at the end of my year abroad: the International Correspondent Of The Year / What’s In It For Me? Award.
Apparently, in addition to my hard-nosed journalism covering the Zapatista movement in Mexico, I’d accidentally earned a reputation for only offering to review the movies and music we were sent if it was a DVD or CD I already knew I wanted (Robbie Williams’ North American debut album was a highlight).
No-one working for The Charlatan was getting paid, other than in honed journalistic skills and CV fillers. I’ve also worked for no pay on my student paper in the UK, my local newspaper in Bedford and the Evening Standard I’m London.
In this incarnation, as a weddingwear designer and dressmaker, I’ve also worked for no money. Here are some examples:
I made three wedding dresses for brides working in the NHS who had had to postpone their weddings because of Covid-19 lockdown. I had already decided to use the cancelled wedding season to make some sample dresses, then realised the time and fabrics would be better used for actual brides rather than my cupboard;
Rock n Roll Bride magazine asked me to make the Geri Halliwell inspired Union Jack cape (worn as a veil) for its ’90s icons shoot in return for a free place in the shoot (otherwise £250) plus social media inclusion and return of the cape which I wore to my child’s school Coronation party;
Credits below
Surprise additions for customers. Sometimes I add something blue, sometimes I include a gift or embroider their cat on their dress lining;
I did bridesmaid dress alterations because the bridesmaid suffered from the same condition I did 30-odd years ago and I finally had the chance to pay forward the kindness shown to me then. This was a spontaneous decision when she came to collect it;
Any time I’ve lent something I’ve made for a TFP (trade for print) photoshoot. No-one involved in these is paid.
In all of these cases, as altruistic as I might like to think I am, there has always been something in it for me. They might not pay the mortgage, but exposure and warm fuzzy feelings do count for something.
I’ve also made costumes for Star Wars (the Andor series) at minium wage to help out a friend and because STAR WARS!
Value
The crux of what I decide to do for no pay boils down to this: whether my work is being undervalued and/or the person I’m doing it for is exercising an inflated sense of entitlement.
This week’s risible request to “create synergy” with Miss Europe Continental for Amazon Prime galvanised my thoughts. In case you missed it, the “synergy” would have seen me design and create two gowns for a contestant at my own expense and for no pay AND I would have had to pay the organisers €1,980 for the privilege of my involvement. Never mind that the project manager requesting this hadn’t noticed that I only do bridalwear.
Other requests I’ve turned down include:
A discount because the couple had already overspent on other wedding supplies (like it would make me feel better to know that everyone else involved in the wedding got paid their dues, just not me);
A discount on alterations because they were going to cost more than half the purchase price of the dress (never mind that the dress in question was an absolute steal);
Let’s not forget the troll who was very cross my moon veils were out of her budget.
Finally, one I did agree to a discount for but only because she caught me off-guard, very early in my career. About an hour after her fitting, she called me and asked to cut her bill by nearly 30%.
Her hen-do dress that she’d also asked me to alter was dropped off to me unwashed and with sweat stains and crusted deodorant under the arms – where I was to take it in – and fake tan covering much of the rest. She spent her next fitting on the phone to a friend, boasting about how cheaply she wangled her latest wedding supplies and how much discount she’d got from someone else.
She doesn’t know I keep a list of customers I will never work with again but it makes me feel a bit better that I do. She’s the only person on it.
My last blog post, confirming that I make wedding dresses etc for people of all sexes and genders, received a surprising amount of love for what I felt was simply a statement of the bleeding obvious.
So I hope I don’t lose any of that love by clarifying a couple of points. The first is about consent. When I said:
If there’s consent in your relationship, there’s no judgment, kink-shaming or awkward questions here.
I didn’t just mean consent in your relationship(s); I also meant with me.
I’ve had requests to make wedding dresses for individuals for whom wearing one is – their words – a sexual fantasy or fetish.
This isn’t an issue. Like I said, no judgment or kink-shaming here. UNLESS – and it is a big UNLESS – UNLESS you expect me to play an active role in the actual sexual experience.
There is a big difference between having me create a wedding dress with which you do what you want afterwards, and the fetishised experience of being measured, fitted and dressed in your gown – by me – for sexual gratification.
I understand that I am sexually irresistable but sorry, I’m not down with that.
Someone once called me to ask if I could provide a three-hour bridal dressing up experience – hair, make-up and all – to fulfil a sexual fantasy. I can’t whip up a wedding dress in that time (he thought I kept ready-made stock), and I don’t think he realised my studio is home-based.
Consequently, I didn’t get as far as asking what he expected me to actually be doing during this time, whether I would be there too or be sitting with my children in the next room until it was time to start the clean-up.
There are companies that provide such fantasy dress-up experiences, and I found one to recommend to him. If you’re interested, it was in Brighton but it was pre-Covid and I forget the name. You can Google it. Maybe don’t use your work laptop.
Anyway, I appreciate he actually asked me, i.e. sought my consent.
Unlike the next chap.
I can’t get into the psychology of flashers but this one felt one step away as he forced details of his fantasy on me (and several of my dressmaker friends is turned out), heavy breathing and sneering down the withheld number.
It started routinely enough: could I make two matching dresses. Of course.
One for his mum. Absolutely.
The other for him. No problem.
Because he enjoyed dressing up with her in her underwear and… I missed whatever the next bit was in all the heavy breathing and the sneering.
I think – I hope – I disappointed him by not being outwardly shocked. Instead I told I’d be very happy to, thanked him for being brave enough to share such personal details and that I’d be happy to send him payment details for the booking fee. But I’m still angry that he forced a sexual experience (for himself) on me without my consent, and did so again with others.
Anyway, I digress as I doubt this was actually a genuine inquiry. So, on to those.
“Do you make wedding dresses for men?” To answer an increasingly FAQ, I make wedding dresses, veils, bridalwear* FULL STOP. For whoever wants it. Women, men, non-binary people, everyone.
I don’t care what your wee comes out of; just don’t leave any on my loo seat.
You are very welcome to, but don’t even have to, tell me how you identify, what you were assigned at birth or whether that differs now, whom, how many – or even whether – you’re marrying. If there’s consent in your relationship, there’s no judgment, kink-shaming or awkward questions here.
Oversharers are always welcome (hello, kindred spirits!) and the only things I ask all my customers to tell me relate purely to the tasks of designing something you will love and making sure it fits you perfectly:
1. Are you anticipating changing your weight, shape or size before you wear what I’m making you? These don’t make it impossible, but need to be factored in. For example, are/will you be:
Pregnant or trying to conceive?
Breastfeeding?
Undergoing surgery?
Taking medication such as hormones or steroid therapies?
Dieting?
Body-building?
2. What else will you be wearing? Bring everything to fittings that changes your shape, size or height including:
Padded bras, cups or inserts (I have a well-stocked basket of boobs you can try if you don’t have your own);
Padded pants;
Shape-wear, corsetry, binder, etc;
Prosthetics;
Shoes.
*I use the term bridalwear as loosely as possible because not all of my customers identify as brides. I try to use more inclusive terms where I can. I specialise in dresses and the traditionally more feminine styles of weddingwear such as dresses, veils, jumpsuits and separates rather than men’s suiting and tailoring and I’m still answerable to the SEO gods – I need people to find me! As language, attitudes and social mores evolve, this will change of course. In the meantime, I’m always happy to learn and stand corrected if I’m saying or doing something deplorable.
Perhaps we should be rivals, but we don’t see it that way. There’s plenty of work to go around and we need to know who we can recommend when we’re fully booked. And you can’t work in weddings and not have at least one back-up plan if something takes you out of action in peak season; last year for example, just as I recovered from Covid, I broke my arm. The year before, I’d picked up brides when a dressmaker friend broke her leg.
We have Facebook groups, WhatsApp groups and Christmas parties. We celebrate each other’s new shop openings, dress designs, birthdays and business anniversaries.
More tellingly, we are open and vulnerable with each other. We ask for advice and help. We admit when we don’t know the technique for something or have never used a particular machine or stitch.
Even better, within minutes usually, someone provides the answer and willingly, voluntarily, steps in to teach what we need to know.
Last month, I wanted to know how to do a delicate edging stitch I’d seen at the V&A’s Chanel exhibition. Unfortunately in that case, it turned out I would need two new machines: a picot hemming machine and a time machine, because picot hemming machines haven’t been manufactured for a century, BUT it was dressmakers in my network who told me this.
Anyway. I’m going to go against the sisterhood grain here and call someone out, albeit not by name.
I’d made a veil a bride not local to me who was having her dress altered by someone else. I’d made her friend’s wedding dress a few years back and included a bustle hook as standard, and she asked her seamstress to add one to her dress. She even described quite specifically the type she wanted (there are several).
When she went to pick her dress up, there was no bustle hook. Instead, the seamstress handed her these three safety pins.
This is not a bustle hook. “Just use these,” my bride was told.
There are bustle pins you can buy, but I’ve never recommended them. Figuring out which bits of many layers to attach them to, usually at the point of the wedding when most people have had a few sherberts, is not simple. Worse, they make holes in the fabric, and my bride asked whether this would happen.
“Yes,” was the response, “but hopefully no-one will see them.”
Pick. My. Jaw. Off. The. Floor.
I want to give the seamstress the benefit of the doubt. We all have off days. Maybe she forgot. Maybe she was rushed. Maybe she didn’t actually know how to bustle this dress but she’a a professional seamstress workong with a bridal boutique. Maybe there was a reason she couldn’t do it that hasn’t occurred to me, because I can’t fathom why she recommended this.
I’m not local or available in time so couldn’t do it myself but, predictably, someone from my needle ninja network stepped in within hours to add the bustle hook (thank you again, Tina).
A member of our Facebook group said of she found out the safety pin seamstress was a member, she’d be kicked out.
Another customer, a tattoo artist, was in awe when I told her about how supportive dressmakers are, and was rightly envious. She told me that her industry was rife with rivalry and bitchiness.
We are so passionate about what we do and seeing it done well. Keep your safety pins for emergencies, not your bustles.
My black and white balls-up, and the loveliest person in Germany
CONFESSION: last month, in a first-time, heart-stopping balls-up of my own creation, I made and sent a glittering black moon phase veil to a customer in Germany who’d ordered a glittering ivory one. I know. I KNOW.
New Moon: the ivory veil I should have made and sent in the first place. Shop here if I haven’t put you off.
And she had to pay a massive customs charge – €80 on a £206 veil – because fuck you, Brexit.
It’s all sorted now, she received her ivory veil yesterday and got her customs refund on the original veil (and I’ve covered all her postage costs), and we’ve chatted quite a bit throughout the process.
The original black veil arrived back with me yesterday too, with this beautiful message from the bride.
“And even if there was that small mistake – we made the best of it!” – the card I received with the returned black veil.
And this morning, she left me a five-star review.
The review left today by the loveliest person in Germany.
She has been so patient, lovely, funny and kind throughout that I’m almost tempted to fuck up more often. Almost.
