transretrogurl

A bit of fun for an Autumnal Tuesday morning. Did a session on Saturday as a little treat for myself, given I’ve been training way too hard for the marathon on the 25th. The Morton’s Neuroma in my foot is still painful, my back still hurts and I’ve got that mixture of excitement and dread, so a day in London, even given the six and a bit hours drive combined with the lunacy that is driving in London (when I come back I go across Tower Bridge and up past the pub where the they have the Wayout, then over to Old Street and all the way along the road/racetrack that calls itself the A40, which is suicidally scary on a Saturday night at 21:00+), is the perfect medicine to take my mind off of stuff.

It was a wonderful session; I’ll write up the looks, and there were some utterly gorgeous ones, in forthcoming Frock Tales, but I thought I’d share the last look, and some hilarity around it, as a little taster.

So yeah, another bridal look. I’ve done a number before, when I was a little more rotund around the stomach area, and they are always a lot of fun. They feel, well, a little naughty; the bridal experience is something that is only for the woman, something that is hers, and it feels a little deliciously odd to be taking on that role. Of course, the ultimate would be do to a photoshoot with a male model/willing victim to play the husband, but that has all kind of odd (and delightfully delicious) connotations attached to it that need to be part of another blog post, so we’ll gloss over that idea for now.

This one came about as a result of me being retro’d out – I take a lot of outfit options to Cindy’s and nearly all of them are retro. This time I had a 60s look (very Cilla Black), an adorable halter neck dress that I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to pull off, a couple of other Unique Vintage frocks and, something I’ve been doing for the last couple of sessions, some ‘retirement’ frocks.

Not retiring from dressing, so don’t worry, but actually retiring the frocks. A lot of the stuff I have is delightfully wonderful but now, courtesy of the exercise and daft diet, about two sizes too big. They literally look like I am playing dressup with an older sister’s wardrobe. So this time I had some, gasp, size 14 frockage and, with the exception of one that was just slightly too small, they all fitted like a glove.

But I’m getting off-topic – we did a load of retro looks and as the day wore on I was getting a little worn out with the style of look, so, and also to give Cindy a break from the old fashioned styles I keep choosing, I lazily handed myself over entirely into her ‘dealer’s choice’ approach.

She picked three outfits; a valley girl ‘evening’ look, a very nice ‘normal’ woman look and, squee, a wedding look.

Now, the dress she had for the wedding look is something special because I’ve seen it a lot but never been anywhere near small enough to get into it. It’s a size 14 with no zips, very long skirt with an under-skirt which gives it some weight and a tight bodice style top. It’s a real toothpaste tube experience to get into it and, and here’s where I start to explain the bag on the head reference, it’s pure white.

I assume like the majority of Cindy’s clientele aside from when I’m at her place I never wear make-up. I just can’t do it, I always end up looking like a cross between a startled clown and Norman Bates, neither of which matches my internal need for feminine perfection(ish). So I’m a little blasé when it comes to the annoying overhead of washing makeup off of clothes.

We’d already had an aborted outfit during the day because of inevitable transfer; we looked at doing a lovely pink polo-neck but it just wouldn’t expand enough to get over my head without leaving the majority of Cindy’s artwork on it so we bailed. With the wedding dress getting it on was easy; we do the ‘tunnel of love’, as I call it, where I bend over like I’m about to dive into a swimming pool, arms outstretched, and between us, a lot of squirming and holding of breath, we can get a dress on and off with barely a touch of the powder and paint escaping. The dress slipped on beautifully and, not ashamed to admit it, it fit like a glove.

Yeah, that sentence shouldn’t really give me the squee’s the way it does, but what the hell; I love the idea of a wedding dress fitting me like a glove.

So we did some wonderful pictures (interspersed here) including some fun ones with my trying desperately to squeeze a tear out. I did consider punching myself in the groin region momentarily to get some tears but decided that was one step too far in terms of achieving the feminine look. Did a couple on the newly re-upholstered chaise lounge (which is far too comfortable to lie on; I kept suggesting using it so I could slip in a couple of sneaky little moments of snoozing), some gratuitous ‘look at my rings!!!!!’ shots, some wonderful poses with some roses, the works.

Forgot to say this was the last look of the day; this will become important.

Time was ticking on; it was a ten hour session (yeah, I don’t do things by half) and the clock was ticking towards 19:00, the point at which we call it a day, wipe off the artwork that is the makeup, do an Uber eats order (curry normally) and I hit the road amongst the Saturday night party-people before the three hours of dull drive until I end up in the quiet countryside of Herefordshire. We finished the work and went back into the dressing room for the disrobing.

Now, this dress fit me like a glove but as I said, no zips. I could see Cindy considering the options; do we ‘tunnel of love’ and risk smearing the inside of a pristine white wedding dress with the ruby red lipstick and foundation? Do we try folding the dress over rather than pulling it, an option that usually ends up with me stood in the room with a dress wrapped around my head and arms, trying not to giggle too much?

And then it hit me – it was the last look of the day so we didn’t actually need to protect the makeup. I had a plan which would work a treat but actually made Cindy blanche a little.

“Stick a shopping bag on my head!” I said brightly.

It worked a treat, even though we both got the giggles. I put a Marks and Spencer’s green shopping bag completely over my head and pulled it tight, and Cindy lifted the dress up and over without getting any makeup on it.

Don’t try this at home.

I did suggest that it was a good way to stop getting client’s makeup on the dresses but I’m not sure Health and Safety would be too happy with the idea of tying a carrier bag around someone’s head. Hell, some people might pay extra for that.

It did make me laugh though.

But I deflect somewhat. The look itself was gorgeous. The bare arms and pearl bodice was lovely to wear, the long skirt felt delightfully soft, satiny and cool on the skin, and wearing a veil is a thrill that shouldn’t be as nice as it is. It’s a wonderful feeling that I really can’t describe, the whole ‘being a bride’ scenario. Ah well, a girl can dream.

Stay beautiful and please don’t put bags on your heads. Leave that to the professionals and the certified idiots (i.e. me).