Last week I turned 26, which means that within 14 days, every person who I have ever met will be married except for me. This is fine! I love weddings, because I love love, my friends, and when other people pay for me to drink champagne until I cry.
Lately, I’ve been using Rent The Runway for my formal dress needs. It’s an incredible service; I’ve paid a fraction of the retail price to wear gorgeous designer dresses for the weekend. But, in typical Carly fashion, I’m starting to Catholic-guilt myself out of paying $40-ish rental fees for a dress that I’ll never get to wear again.
I’ll be attending a beach wedding in 3 weeks, so I’ve been on the hunt for something short, fun, and that makes me look like I’ve been on the GOOP diet since I was 2 years old. With these criteria in mind, I made my way to several non-RTR dress purveyors.
After 5 minutes spent perusing, it became apparent that my list of criteria needed to be significantly longer: something short and fun, and that also had no side cutouts, front cutouts, back cutouts, nipple cutouts, batwing cutouts, fallopian-tube cutouts, muffin-top cutouts, very-front-of-armpit-fat cutouts, or right-in-the-place-where-my-bra-is-pushing-down-my-rib-chub cutouts, and that is not entirely backless except for a motherfucking Cat’s Cradle where a normal fucking dress would have, I don’t know, BACK FABRIC???
I am not angry with the ever-present cutouts and/or complete lack of fabric involved in today’s fashion because of modesty. Ladies who can and do rock The Backless WonderDress, I’m not going to Ayesha Curry you with some “WELL, I RESPECT MYSELF, SO ONLY MY HUSBAND IS ALLOWED TO SEE MY LOWER NECK!” bullshit. If you prefer to live your best life in 1 sq ft of draped silk and some nipple tassles, GET DOWN with your bad self.
However: the rest of us would also like to get down with our bad selves, and I for one would rather die than purposefully show a whole wedding full of people where I am keeping my Secret Fat. I need JUST ONE DRESS that doesn’t have cutouts in Spanx Territory.
This once-simple task is proving to be impossible. (THANKS, OBAMA!)
Let’s take a look at some of the worst offenders.
Nachos? More like no-chos! As a woman, I’m definitely not storing any nachos from 2007 in THIS region! I don’t even know what a nacho is! HAHA!
This one is great for a beach wedding! Love that shade of peach; not too formal; perfect for showing everyone that when I put on my bra, it displaces any ounce of under-boob fat that I may be in possession of…
INTO THIS AREA RIGHT HERE!
Okay, okay, we’ll definitely cover that part up; it’s kind of an awkward part of the body to showcase anyway, right? How about something a little darker? The wedding’s in the evening, so it would still be appropriate, and teal is a great color on me.
Done! I’m sold. Cute, easy, lots of room for surf’n’turf’n’Pinot. I don’t care, it’ll be fine and I’ll be drunk anyway.
Hey, I wonder what the back looks like?
Okay, focus. Deep breath. I didn’t love that one anyway. This little number is way cuter. Periwinkle!
What’s cuter at the beach than a motherfucking periwinkle dress?
A) a baby octopus learning to swim in the ocean
B) those tiny lil crabs that burrow in the sand
C) the fact that if I even look at a food that has salt in it within 14 months of my period, my armpit fat blows up like a nervous pufferfish, because my life is a joke. WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO SHOWCASE THEIR ARMPITS? THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER BODY PARTS! I’M DONE!!!!
At this point, I need to remind myself that I’m going to a beautiful celebration of two of my friends’ everlasting love, and not to the deepest pits of hell to rot for eternity. Because if I were to be assigned a dress to wear for my eternity in hell, it would be this one:
“Hey, design team! Come in here real quick, we need your opinion on something. What part of their bodies do even the smallest, thinnest, most toned and goddess-like women usually feel self-conscious about? […….] Gotcha. Brad, did you hear that? Let’s remove ALL the fabric from wherever the ‘muffintop’ is.”
Maybe I’m not taking the whole beach thing literally enough. Remember in college when every other party was a theme party? Anything But Clothes, 80s Dance Party, or, in some fraternities and sororities, Dress Like You’re Rich And Super Fucking Racist?
Maybe we should bring the theme party into adulthood! “Beach wedding”, you say? So… I should dress like I had to swim to your wedding from the mainland, was attacked by a shark, and barely escaped with my life???
For anyone who thinks I’m overstating the seriousness of Cutout-Gate, I offer as evidence the name of the above dress:
Slash. Attack. Sheath. The first, and hopefully only, dress named after a style of murder!
Ladies, we are facing an epidemic, and we must stick together. Whether you choose to let your rib roll free to dance in the wind; crump with the bride’s uncle on the dance floor to “Shout!” in a fully backless number; or envelop yourself in a full-body Spanx and stalk the waiter with that tray of bomb-ass salmon canapés: THERE SHOULD BE A DRESS FOR YOU.
Stand with me in the fight against Big Cutout, and let your freak flag fly in whatever amount of fabric makes you feel like the baddest of bitches. And always remember…