Every day on my way to work, I pass by a Japanese bridal boutique. Fortuitously located next to a notoriously stubborn stoplight, the shop's street front display is a highlight of my morning. In this display the store boasts a rotating showcase of the most over-worked, sequin-encrusted, lace infested "wedding" gowns I've ever seen. Not for any Japanese woman the (relatively) sedate tulle-skirted wedding gowns of America's bridal princesses. Instead, the brides of my Japanese village glide down the aisle in gowns of canary yellow and cotton candy pink, pleats and ruffles clamoring over each other; the gowns' sheer volume is surpassed only by the saccharine sweetness of the embroidered bustles. This week the store featured a mermaid gown of red organza and gold brocade, ruched, draped, and tucked into a
cacophony of textures that would have put its recalcitrant designer on the Project Runway chopping block. Last week's feature was no better--a sherbet gown of Scarlett O'Hara proportions with puff sleeves and a lace/sequin overlay that
hearkened me back to my hometown
quincenieras.
What confuses me the most about these confectionery overdoses is how the dainty frames of Japanese women could ever compete with these towers of cheap organza. As a Westerner with curves, I cannot understand why a Japanese bride would not want to show off that lithe, slender figure in, say, a silk sheath. I wince with jealousy at the image of those porcelain petites floating ethereally through a ceremony of orchids. Or, if my vision of columnal elegance is too tame for my neighbors' wedding dreams, how about exploiting the aesthetic wit of Japan's major fashion designers? A Commes de Garcon sartorial touch would at least evoke more than an aesthetic toothache from its viewers.
Regardless of my fashionista disgust (and urbane snobbery), I can't fault the store for the amusement it provides me on an otherwise mundane trek to work. I'm already looking forward to next week's concoction.
