The wedding dress conundrum for an over-50s ‘J-Lo’ bride

Following the news that Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck had finally got married last weekend - fourth marriage for her, second for him, I suddenly realised that I now have three things in common with JLo - I too had got married later in life and to a handsome man called Ben. Plus our wedding had similarly been postponed from its first announced date. That’s pretty much where the comparisons end.

Bennifer’s wedding jamboree took place on Affleck’s sprawling estate in Georgia and the bride wore three couture bridal gowns designed by Ralph Lauren, reputedly costing $1m each. That’s on top of the two white dresses she had worn for the Vegas service, back in July. Their Georgian wedding party was a celeb-packed event with guests under strict instructions to wear only white. My day consisted of a London registry office, restaurant and pub with a handful of friends and fashion choices that had been hurriedly put together 10 days earlier.

Unlike JLo, I had never been married before I made my vows to Ben in Chelsea Town Hall in September 2020. Our original day had been cancelled due to Covid and the September date was all the more appealing to me with its severe rules and restrictions. I was allowed to indulge my ideal day of intimate, hassle-free eating and drinking with a maximum of 12 close friends and family. No one could chide me for not being invited and I could avoid all the Bridezilla arguments around placement and the First Dance.

Ben promised to take care of everything - all I had to worry about was what to wear. Simple, I thought. My feminist self deplored the idea of being “given away” in virgin white. Apart from anything else, in my middle years, the whole concept of a white wedding seemed ludicrously frou-frou and attention-seeking. My whole raison d’etre was to pull off the event under the radar - no fuss, no bother, no tantrums or tiaras. I decided to go to the opposite extreme of Pinterest wedding planners and create a look that was more dressed down than up. I immediately rushed off to Me&Em, one of my failsafe fashion brands. 

Having always been a trouser girl, the brand’s tailoring, jumpsuits and athleisure are the mainstay of my wardrobe, whatever the occasion. I quickly purchased a flattering pair of new season, navy, wide-legged trousers that the brand is famous for. I then selected a Stine Goya shirt in sky blue to match. It was a relaxed and simple shopping experience and I was proud not to have caved in to societal pressures of three outfit changes a la JLo. I might be getting old but I could still look cool, I smugly thought. Oh foolish, foolish me!

As the days ticked closer to the Big Day, I enrolled my “best woman” to be chief witness, photographer and make-up artist. That’s when my calm demeanour started to unravel. She looked aghast when I explained my outfit choice, but tactfully kept her silence. The facial expression had said enough. Flying into a blind panic, I decided to call in the experts. 

Luckily Sarah Christie, of Style Curators, a two-woman team offering bespoke private styling, is a good friend and on speed dial for whenever I need discerning fashion guidance. I explained my dilemma about wanting to feel and look good, confident but not too try-hard. Let’s face it, I said, I need to look good in photos. “I think the main advice that we would give any client getting married in their 50s,” Christie expounds authoritatively, “is to wear whatever you want and resist being dictated to by trends or traditions. Long, short or jumpsuits, puffy or fitted, white, pastel or dark - nothing is wrong, everything is right. It’s all about finding that outfit that makes you feel absolutely fabulous!”

Excellent - this was the reassurance I’d been seeking. I needed to be myself on my best day and eschew external pressures. But then Christie sent me a subsequent email recommending I check out Vampire’s Wife and Dior collections, thus causing a fresh doubt to explode in my head. I finally had to admit that my impulse purchase of a trouser and shirt combo was a fashion fail. In an effort to play down the joyful occasion of a wedding, I had inadvertently turned myself into a self-effacing, torturous wimp. 

I returned for wise counsel to my best woman, Charlotte. She remembers her own wedding fashion with great joy and enthusiasm. “At 22 I was studying feminist theory and raging about the patriarchy. At 27 I was walking down the aisle on my dad’s arm wearing a big white frock about to be ‘given away’ to my fiance. Caught up in my new romance, I was utterly seduced by the dream of being a  princess for the day. I wanted to wear a white dress and didn’t care in the slightest that I’d made a mockery of my feminist values.”

Her enthusiasm worked a treat. Somehow I had to find the balance between Princess and Patti Smith. But what now? At this stage, my single style inspiration was Camilla Parker Bowles whose cream silk wedding outfit I had admired. But it was so far from my normal look that I couldn’t envisage wearing anything close to it. I decided I just wasn’t bridal material. I talked to a friend of a friend in her 50s, who is getting married for the second time this October and who shares my anxiety. “A major bridal gown feels over the top for a second marriage. On the other hand, I want to feel special and don’t want to look like the mother of the bride” she says. “I want to feel like a proper bride but the idea of spending £3k on a dress you wear once is outrageous. Perhaps I just need to let go of white…”

Her frustration completely mirrors my own. Trawling online occasion wear, I hated everything. If you don’t wear white, primary colours seemed the popular option. And if not colour, then floral prints were the order of the day. I wailed to myself. How had such a small decision become so unachievable? I ordered a few Simone Rocha and Vampire’s Wife dresses from Net a porter but returned all in haste as none were remotely suitable. Finally, I received an email inviting me to an online sale of Preen by Thornton Bregazzi, one of my favourite brands. Again, I ordered three quirkyish dresses and this time, bingo, one midi-length monochrome silk number seemed to suit me perfectly. Its shirt style fitted my tailoring taste and would work well under a Carven coat I’d owned and loved for years. Balenciaga rip-off sandals from Office at a cost of £15 finished the look. I felt I had fulfilled Christie’s brief of finding something that made me feel special but that was completely idiosyncratic to me.

10 days later, reader, I married him. And thanked God that it was all over.