Let’s just say I do not want to look or feel like a princess on my wedding day. I want to experience love and elation, of course, and have mad admirers and get hella presents and have everyone tell me how amazing I look—but princess, no. Unless, in this hypothetical situation, my face would morph into future-princess Charlotte Casiraghi—and then, in that case, just call me your highness.
I imagined my wedding dress to be tea length, modern, textural, and the opposite of Kim Kardashian’s in her marriage to Kris Humphries—and also apparently super hard to find. After giving up on the dress I died over (more on that later), a few try-ons with the girls (sweaty, slightly buzzed with bad lighting and worse underwear), an embarrassing amount of same day Net-A-Porter deliveries to my office, and one almost custom dress, fate intervened. The dress I had given up on months ago when Balenciaga told me it wasn’t made had been found: look 18. And my cute-as-a-button mama hand-carried that sucker back from Paris just for me (love you, bitch). It was officially on.
With my dress secured, I could finally focus my energy on all the most important aspects of my wedding: who would hook up with who, the wine list, honeymoon accommodations, and my hair and makeup. Luckily, my friend Siobhan is a fab hairstylist who dabbles in makeup and is flying out to Santorini to beautify me and my party for the big day. (Side note: I kind of hate when people call your wedding day your “big day.” It reminds me of when you go home and visit your parents over Thanksgiving and your mom is like, “You should get some rest because tomorrow’s going to be a big day” because you have like four doctors appointments and have to go see your grandparents or whatever, so like I’m immediately stressed when someone calls anything a “big day,” but anyway.)
When marinating on it, part of me is like, “You need to look fly as fuck and definitely not bridal or too pretty. Wave your freak flag high, you know? No mascara, bleached brows et. al.” Being conventional gives me anxiety. I know it’s irrational but I’m a Tilda (without the bone structure), not a Blake Lively, and that’s just the way the burrito crumbles. On the other hand, I’ll have these pictures forever, so maybe I'll skip wet look hair and pale blue eyebrows.
All I’m saying for makeup is: Gemma Ward’s comeback in POP. She looks romantic, ethereal, and Botticelli-esque yet totally modern, badass, and sexy. (A question about that: Is it weird to want to look sexy at your wedding? Eight months of Soul Cycle and personal training better elicit some sort of response, like, “OMG I totally just thought your abs were Kate Bosworth’s in Blue Crush. What a trip!”) A wash of apricot on her lids, glowing, lit-from-within skin and a rosebud pout round out her look as utter perfection.
For hair, I’m thinking sleek. Like Rooney Mara circa The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo award-ceremony-circuit sleek. I’ll hit up Aura Friedman to get things white and bright, do a deep side part or right down the middle, pull it back at the nape of my neck (possibly with a gold, circular barrette like the one from the Spring 2015 Céline show), and call it a day. Maybe a textured ponytail or a haphazard knot. I want it to feel real. I’ve been being really good (I need praise, y’all!) and have not cut bangs, shaved any part of my head, or dyed my hair strange colors. I’m even taking Viviscal (almost) regularly so I can grow it long and strong.
I’ll see my girl Jasmine Urzia leading up to the ceremony so my skin is flawless. I have been taking care of little things here and there that have been bothering me, like the broken capillary on my earlobe that looks like an infected piercing (so cute in pictures). And since we’re talking about a September wedding, that means I'll have had a full summer of beach time to get my tan on point. All I keep thinking about is Charlize Theron winning the Oscar for Monster. Was it the world’s best spray tan? Had she just come back from a two-month-long vacation? I freak over that contrast of super-bronzed skin, pale brows, smoky eyes, and a 1940s bob. The fuck? Actually, you know what? I’ll take the whole look, dress and all. And the body. And Sean Penn—just to toss him away (JK love you bae).
So now it’s time to focus on all the things I’ve been neglecting: floral arrangements, seating charts, and legal documents, and it's also time to work on my tolerance (hello bachelorette party!). I want this whole experience, to be fun, carefree, and a fabulous time for everyone involved. That’s the kind of wedding you remember.