One last item for you from the V&A swish: it's... well it's a wedding dress.
Now, let's just get this straight from the get-go: I am more than overjoyed for all my lovely married friends, and I must admit that I do love a good wedding (such as Alex's last month, which I blubbed all the way through - it was the poems that did it. OMG the poems). HOWEVER - and this is an entirely personal feeling - I'm not at all ready to buy into an institution with more baggage than Victoria Beckham on a round-the-world trip just yet.
The wonderful India Knight describes white-dress-syndrome with devastating succinctness: 'here is my virgin daughter, she is yours now.'*
Oh no she isn't.
So. I refuse to go weak at the knees at the first glimpse of beaded silk georgette... really I do... even if it does have the most exquisite pintuck-seamed panels... and just *happens* to fit me perfectly...
Cynical old spinster that I am, my original plan was to dye it. I was thinking grey. But I *might* just keep it for dressing up. At least for a while... Oh, come on: show me a girl who can resist playing dress-up in white chiffon and I'll show you a better feminist than I am, Gunga Din.
*I paraphrase for want of my own copy of her genius book, The Shops. Go and read it. Or even better read The Thrift Book, also by IK, also genius.