The next bride aimed to find a dress that would be flattering for diverse body shapes and styles. We all fell in love with a burnt orange sleeveless chiffon gown with a scoop neckline. Finally, a bride who seemed to have cracked the code! Although wearing identical dresses is a tad too vanilla for my taste, the collective bonding experience and our consensus brought solace. Regrettably, a few months later, as we were on the verge of placing our dress orders, the bride executed a wardrobe 180-degree turn — new style, new colour — just like that. The reason for this abrupt change remains a mystery, a classic case of a bride being, well, a bride. Naturally, none of us dared to question her decision. Instead we summoned our inner martyrs, swiped those cards, and kept our bruised fashion egos on mute.
And then there’s every bridesmaid’s tale of the dress that cost an arm and a leg. Mine happened to be my cousin’s traditional Ethiopian habesha kemis. If an African aunty discovered how much we dropped on that kemis, she might have rolled over in disbelief — we’re talking 30,000 Ethiopian birr, which translates to about $540 officially. Despite providing precise measurements and even doing in-person fittings during our Ethiopian visit, the dress could’ve easily accommodated two of me, not exactly the two-for-one deal I had in mind. It was practically begging for a “What I Asked for Versus What I Got” feature on The Shade Room. And let’s not forget the alterations that set me back an extra $100. It turned out to be my favourite dress of the bunch, but the hefty price tag and quality didn’t quite match up. Needless to say, I have not worn it since.
Now, on to the bachelorette parties, which are no longer a night out in your local bar, not in the age of Instagram and TikTok. They’ve become multi-day getaways, often requiring flights. Even though I skipped a couple, I (reluctantly) attended my cousin’s bachelorette because, well, family obligations. While Miami wasn’t my dream vacation, I managed to have a good time, though not without mishaps, like one of the bridesmaids accidentally buying fake Magic Mike tickets and losing us money. The financial and time commitments were just the start. The endless group chats, Splitwise requests, and coordination on top of my 9-to-5 job drained me. My advice: Go if you genuinely want to, can afford it, and are excited about the destination. If not? Skip it.
But the culmination of my bridesmaid frustration — when the collective list of things I disliked about being a bridesmaid became too long — came during the last wedding I attended. My best friend, whom I love to pieces, had sent the wedding party shared notes with every conceivable detail from shoe colour to makeup style.
There was also a note about hair preference.
The note read, “Hair: curly/wavy, preferably lean into your natural texture; however, curly/wave wigs/clip-ins/sew-ins are cool.” I remembered from a previous conversation that slicked-back hair, ponytails, and protective styles — i.e., braids/twists/locs — were not permitted. As a Black woman, embracing my natural hair celebrates my identity, but when travelling, I always straighten my hair because it’s easier to manage, so that’s what I did.
To my astonishment, during the dress rehearsal, fellow Black bridesmaids approached me with concerns about my straightened hair, concerned I received preferential treatment. We decided to speak with the bride, who reinforced my apprehensions by stating that my hair wasn’t supposed to be straightened. And to make matters worse, the irony was that she had three non-Black bridesmaids with hair straightened and curled with a wand. Whether it was loyalty, love, or a willingness to be amenable on her big day, I went home that night and washed out my hair, even though I truly didn’t want to.
I wish I had known at the time what my best friend was thinking. If anyone understands the complexities and sensitivity of the Black hair journey, it’s her. We went through it together during our years as undergrads. I get that she may have imagined that embracing our natural hair was important and beautiful, but it took away my choice and my own agency. And the shock of realising that even amid the stress of putting on a wedding, there was policing of my hair. It was a deeply personal blow I hadn’t anticipated.