At my bridal fitting, my fiancé’s mother looked me up and down in a $14,000 gown and said, “White is for girls who have a real family waiting at the end of the aisle.” And while the entire salon stood frozen, my fiancé lowered his eyes and said nothing.
“White is for women who have a family waiting for them at the end of the aisle.” The sentence did not arrive all at once. It came in parts, each word placed with cruel precision, as if Beatrice Sterling were selecting knives from a velvet case and testing their balance before deciding which one would…
