Bride to Be

Ever since Carrie angled those razor-sharp cheek bones and held up her gloved palm (read Paloma Picasso) to the camera in that Vogue shoot during out of control preparations for her “Big” day, I have been semi-obsessed with the art of wedding style. If Miss. Bradshaw- the eternal single girl can swish and sashay with a grin, whilst dressed in bridal couture, without feeling any apparent meringue indignity, then maybe we shouldn’t overlook nuptial chic.After all it seems everyone in Paris was doing brides. Not quite like that, tut-tut at your smut *disappointed frown*. Every designer from Jean Paul Gaultier to Viktor & Rolf was showing whiter shades of pale. JPG presented a dream-like, wispy, negligee of a virgin bride. Even Lacroix presented veils although they obscured Bambi-like legs not a bride’s demure visage.Chanel was all white too. In white, nurse-preppy, above knee, hopscotch dresses, styled with intricate posey-rose headdresses to rival any veil. Karl’s wrist mitts were once again a popular theme. But, if you squint, the twin sets, collars and coats seem a tad like a frosty, English, mother of the bride.But the finale was worth waiting for. What a twist. As modern and unexpected as Carrie’s end of film closet proposal. The bride was a boy. Okay maybe that wasn’t the case but wouldn’t that be jaw dropping genius?■ BexBella