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Me and weddings don’t mix. Firstly there’s the travel. The current fashion is for the entire party to move en mass to more sunnier climes than our rain-sodden shores can provide. This becomes a “mini break”, a horrific Bridget Jones invention with the added bonus of opposing bridal families – let’s face it, they don’t always get on – and drunken old friends, whose escape to the sun suddenly reignites grudges long forgotten – or buried at least – and what ensues is only a slightly more glamorous version of the Jeremy Kyle Show. Case in point: a beautiful old market town in the South of France was left permanently scarred by the street brawling and caterwauling – I am not exaggerating – of two girlfriends over a borrowed and mislaid Chanel handbag.
Then there are my own wedding malfunctions. Do not turn up to a French Chateau in a scarlet red dress and then sit next to the most intoxicated and verbose guest (female again) at the wedding dinner. Do not humour said guest as their bravado – never normally lacking – will become death-defying and they will loudly and repeatedly heckle the father of the groom’s speech for being too boring. Drunken football-style chants at a wedding do not normally go down well.
Neither should you wear a billowing slash-fronted dress for a June wedding in the South of France. After turning up half an hour late to the proceedings with the best man – and therefore holding up the entire ceremony – the seasonal “mistral”, or rogue gale force winds as I’d like to call them – whipped my dress up into a frenzy and exposed my two best friends to the entire party. Well, if you’re going to be late, you might as well make an entrance.
It seems all my misadventures happened on French soil, so I must look to the Italians for wedding salvation. It may surprise you that I am not yet married – I know it’s insane, when you know this much about me and my friends, can you imagine anyone not wanting to spend the rest of their life with me – but if I were to be betrothed, the incredible Francesco Russo, Creative Director at Sergio Rossi would dress my feet for this very special day.
The purveyors of uber-luxurious footwear have brought their own special brand of glamour to a new bridal collection. Inlaid with a blue Swarovski crystal in the in-step, whether it be strappy flats for a beach wedding, vertiginous heels or death defying lattice-work boots to strut down the aisle in, the modern woman’s Cinderella slipper-maker has something to enchant every blushing bride.
So come on, who would like to make my Sergio Rossi-clad dreams come true, at least for one day?
Oh, and if you had to ask, of course all my friends are coming.
by Marie-Louise von Haselberg