“Can I Help You Find Anything?”:
My Hunt for Transtastic Wedding Attire
j.d. gevry
There was nothing for me.
I squeezed my eyelids together; tried to place myself in a sharp suit at the end of a long aisle at the end of a long courtship at the end of a long transition. I saw myself walking down the aisle in this suit, next to (but comfortably far from) my old-school mechanic dad looking awkward in the only suit jacket he owned and a tie he never wears, purchased circa 1985. I felt my sparkle crack; my veracity wither. All the guests did, in some way, even under their own desired beliefs that this was ‘appropriate’ and ‘correct,’ given how she/he Frankensteined his/her body.
I squeezed my eyelids together, trying to place myself in a long ivory gown: lacey top laying smoothly over my flat mastectomied chest, skirt flowing as I walked, eye glitter sliding into my beard on my sun-pressed face. I felt like a trans drag queen bride who’d been unable to escape the predetermined destiny of that throne. I saw my dad in his suit looking both happier and less comfortable than I’d seen since my first puberty, when I began to wear makeup and shave my legs as well-behaved women do. I envisioned him walking beside me knowing he’d always wanted a son knowing this is not what he’d had in mind when making that request to God in the year of his tie’s manufacture. I saw the Catholic disgust ooze from the rows of chairs—I cared. I did not care. I wanted to not care.
There was nothing for me.
Lace bridal tops basically didn’t exist. Thinking perhaps I could turn a dress into two pieces, I searched rows and rows of dresses in shops filled with only women; serpentine sales associates pressing their faces into the glass door of my transitional home this confused wedding attire turmoil, trying to see what furniture lay still disassembled inside. I needed a screwdriver. They had hammers. And no one had a floor plan.
I tried on one. I tried on too many. I drowned inside princess ball gowns and waddled in mermaids and flowed in a-frames and blasted through some trumpets. Sweetheart necklines surfacing sourheart memories of the fatty lumps I cried nights over to destroy, compressed my lungs in the daytime just to get through, sold my body in exchange for freedom from. With darts thrown, impossible to remove, there was too much space for gratefully abandoned pieces; no space for remarkably still-present me. I couldn’t bear to shave my beard during these days; keep the pendulum centered.
Still nothing for me.
I longed for a flowing skirt to float around me as I approached my love in procession, cut our cake, greeted our guests. Intricate ivory lace patterns in a not-too-femme top, delicately complimenting my lightly made-up face; its sheer, lace-framed open back held together with a long line of self-covered ivory shank buttons grazing my spine, snug in their rouleau loops. Pearl earrings and lip studs; maybe rhinestones centered within because sparkle. is. my. jam. I dreamed of dainty ivory low-platform sandals; practical for the grass and being on my feet for a few hours, but cute none-the-less. And who doesn’t love a fashionable pragmatist?
I was shocked when my mother offered her gown to me. She said she’d never wear it again anyway, so who cares if I take it and alter it? I tried it on. It fit. Poofy 80’s sleeves, a beautiful ivory chiffon skirt that was perfection, high lace collar… I wanted to do it; wanted to try. I went to a small bridal alteration shop owned by a middle-aged Armenian woman, completely unphased by my gender—a fear I’d had when trying to select where to go. After turning the dress into two pieces, de-poofing the sleeves, flattening the chest, and sewing lace from the veil onto the newly-created bottom edge of the top, the transformation was complete. But I itched under the imagined eyes of people who would see a woman with a beard in a dress. Standing in the light of gender-acceptance and euphoria fostered within me through the grace of the trans and non-binary community, I tossed that discomfort aside and still… it wasn’t right for me. Was I hanging on to internalized anti-trans messages, scared or embarrassed of what others would think? Did I genuinely experience this outfit as not aligning with my gender identity? In the context of one of the simultaneously most important events of my life and heavily socially gendered, these were not easy questions. Yet regardless of the “why,” the outcome was the same.
A white non-binary person with very short brunette hair faces the camera, standing near a flowering tree with petals on the grass and holding a bouquet of flowers in their right hand. They wear green and black eyeshadow and medium-toned pink lipstick, with two silver lip rings. They wear a white wedding top with sheer shoulders and upper chest, covered in lace appliques and beading, with lace reaching partway up their neck. The fitting white chiffon sleeves end with lace around each wrist. The bottom edge of the wedding top is also lined with white flowery lace. They wear a long chiffon skirt with an ivory satin band around the top opening.
Dress from Behind: A white non-binary person with very short brunette hair stands turned away from the camera, turning their neck to show half their face. A bouquet of flowers they hold in front of them is partially seen. They wear green and black eyeshadow and a medium-toned pink lipstick. They wear a white chiffon wedding top with a sheer upper back framed with white flower lace appliques that reach partway up their neck. The bottom edge of the wedding top is likewise lined with white flower lace appliques. A long line of white satin-covered buttons run from the top to the bottom of the wedding top, down the center. They wear a long, flowing white chiffon skirt.
So onward— Thrift shops. Retail stores. Bridal shops. Online… everywhere online. The skirts were too close to dresses when paired with a lace top. The ivory of a skirt was impossible to match with the ivory of a top. The tops had darts in the bust that couldn’t be altered. I was devastated I’d wasted my friend’s money and made alterations to my mother’s wedding dress that I now knew I’d never wear. Nothing was right Nothing was fixable.
There was nothing for me.
A white non-binary person with short, curly brown hair and a beard holds hands with a tall Black man with very short hair, a mustache and goatee, and glasses. They walk towards the camera on grass, looking at each other and smiling. Behind them is a mountain covered in green trees in front of a blue sky with some clouds. The non-binary person wears a sleeveless top of ivory lace with a low crew-cut neckline and wide shoulder straps; lilac pants; and white wedge sandals. The man beside them wears a medium-toned blue suit, a patterned periwinkle tie and pocket square, magnolia boutonniere, and brown Oxford dress shoes.
A white non-binary person with short, curly brown hair and a beard holds hands with a tall Black man with very short hair, walking away from the camera on grass. Behind them is a mountain covered in green trees in front of a blue sky with some clouds. The non-binary person wears a top of ivory lace with a sheer back that has a line of ivory buttons from top to bottom; lilac pants; and white wedge sandals. The man beside them wears a medium-toned blue suit and brown Oxford dress shoes.
So I created it. I felt like I had to choose between a lace top or a skirt— I loved both, but together they merged into a wedding gown. I found a pair of pants; “men’s” pants that were just soft and lilac enough to feel both masculine and feminine. Reaching past my nervousness in finding someone to create a wedding top for a non-binary person, I found a Slovakian bridalwear designer on Etsy. I looked at lace designs; emails filled with photo after photo of various kinds of lace. I adore lace; I never wanted to see lace again. I got the full back of buttons I longed for, the open back framed with lace, a curved neckline with thick straps that didn’t feel too feminine for me. I sent her my measurements. She did not believe me. I re-measured, telling her I was a “small man,” went back and forth; I sent her pictures. She reluctantly accepted them as fact.
Pearl lip and ear studs, white wedge sandals, and my very dear, deceased grandmother’s borrowed ring: the finishing touches. Standing in the mirror—adorned in all the components of this outfit that took more than a year to come to life— I at last felt like I’d found my vision amid the cishetcentrism of the wedding industry, and married my forever-love feeling uncompromised, unafraid, and completely myself.
Video Transcript:
This was my mother’s wedding dress. She gave it to me when I was about to get married, which was very surprising. So we made some modifications to it— I didn't want to wear a full wedding dress (that was just too much for me), so what they did was cut it in half so now it is a skirt and a top. They added this little satin band [shows band encircling the top of the skirt] and then for the sleeves they actually used the lace that was on the veil and they attached it there [shows edges of sleeves] in little lace appliqués. The sleeves were large and poofy; this was a dress from 1980, so that was very popular style at the time— kind of came back around as well— so they de-proofed it for me because I didn't like that look, added more lace from the veil, they also added these satin-covered buttons on both of the sleeves. There was some yellowing and discoloration when I got it because, again, it’s 43 years old, so they tried to get that out as much as they could and did a pretty good job. There's some beading there [points to upper portion of the front of the top] that is the original beading. This material is a chiffon material that has a lining underneath that did have some darts, so what the alteration person that I worked with did was take those down a little bit so that would fit a flat chest. And then, in the back, it was all one piece, so they actually split it completely down the center and it got the self-covered satin buttons that I really wanted. Again, this [points to bottom edge of top] is the lace from the veil. This [points to top portion of the back of the top] was originally open in the shoulders, she just added a little bit more of the lace here [points to center of the top portion of the veil beside center buttons], along with the buttons. The skirt is really flowy because it's such light chiffon, and it has a liner here that kind of reminds me a little bit of nylon. So that … so that is the dress!
about the author
Image of the face and shoulders of a white non-binary person in front of a brick house. They look into the camera and smile with a closed mouth. They have short curly hair dyed violet, dark brown eyes, and wear a flower crown and black lace top. They have two lip rings, gold and green, small feather earrings, and a necklace with rose quartz and black beads.
J.D. Gevry (they/them; he/him; fae/faer) is an emerging poet from Vermont whose writing is heavily influenced by their experiences as a queer, polyamorous, non-binary and trans person with a disability. Their work has appeared or is forthcoming in several journals, including "The Write Launch", “Spillwords”, and “Lit Shark”. J.D. is currently on the long-list for the 2023 erbacce-prize. Fae has a bachelor's degree in human sexuality and Master of Public Health, focused on sexual health and LGBTQ+ community wellness. They reside in Massachusetts with their husband and several slowly dying plants. You can connect with faer on Instagram: @jd_gevry_poetry and Facebook: facebook.com/jd.gevry.