“Wear your pearls, Bullen!”
That’s what my darling Jamie texted me a few days ago to inform me that the Bridal Expo 2010 had a recommended dress code. While I decided to leave the pearls at home, I did wear a blazer and button-down shirt — dressing to impress, as any good MOH should. (As I ecstatically shared a few months ago, I’m Jamie’s Male of Honor.)
So! A “luxury, ultra high-end” wedding exposition! Fancy. I imagined breathtakingly decorated booths with friendly vendors dolling out fabulous swag and free champagne delivered by cute waiters in tuxes. Perhaps add some cascading flowers and towering ice sculptures, with a string quartet playing in the corner? And don’t forget about the cake samples! Mountains of cake samples. A low-key, yet high-energy event: that’s what “luxurious” and “ultra high-end” mean to me. At the most basic level.
What we got instead where long, disorganized lines, a mob of VIBs (Very Important Brides) scrambling to see every vendor possible in order to meet some crazy requirement to win the expo’s Grand Prize, and a clusterfuck of a venue that seemed more interested in pushing you along like feted pigs ready for the slaughter than allowing you to peruse and mingle. And let’s not forget the slurring* wedding gown designer who presented his new line at the “fashion show.”
Nothing, and I repeat, NOTHING, was high-end or luxury about this event. NOTHING.
Buyer beware, I say. I knew my pearls would be better-served elsewhere.
But, the drinks and laughs afterward with Jamie, Eric and Jamie’s mother, Mavis, made up for all of it.
(*Edit 1/27/10: I’ve no proof that the guy was intoxicated — that was just our initial impression. Maybe he was simply nervous? And red-nosed? Who knows? At any rate: it was uncomfortable to witness.)