Do you, Helen, take this dress....?

Over the past month I’ve plundered the pages of every wedding magazine in Smiths, logged on to so many Flash-happy dress designer websites I swear my glasses prescription has changed and visited enough bridal boutiques to confidently advise anyone looking to open one (don’t employ snooty staff, by the way, is rule number one).

And what do I have to show for this monumental effort? A short list of six (six!) dresses, all of which I really like but none of which I love to the point of tearing up in front of the mirror, and a diary packed with follow-up fittings and punctuated with angrily Biro-ed out former appointments which bit the dust when I saw something so obviously better/examined the photos on my camera/decided I wasn’t a demure/statement/traditional/modern bride.

The problem, you see, is that I can wear anything. Yes, I know, I’m very lucky etc and blah, but in this case I’d kill for someone to just say “hmmm, this style really isn’t for you is it” in that thoughtful yet firm way bridal shop staff do as they start unlacing you and herding you back behind the curtain.

Because I’m stuck, basically. I’ve tried fishtail and mermaid, beaded and lacy, A-line and drop-waisted, ivory and taupe, ruched and corseted – and all have been ok. Not “wow I never want to take it off again”, but “ok I could wear this to walk down the aisle”.

But is that enough? Any of the six remaining dresses (which, to be fair, fall broadly into two camps so it’s a little more 50/50 than it sounds) would look good, feel great and make for some lovely photos. Each one has made me examine myself happily from all angles and feel like I am actually getting married – something which nothing has succeeded in doing before now. But shouldn’t I be bursting with happiness and wiping my eyes demurely as I whisper “this is the one” a la Hollywood? It sounds such a cliché but so many people have said I’ll know when I see it, that I’m actually expecting to.

Perhaps on my second lap of London’s bridal boutiques I’ll feel it. Maybe one of the six will leap out declaring itself as “my” dress and I’ll be able to picture myself walking down that aisle at last. Maybe someone will pull a previously absent dress from the rails, I’ll put it on and boom, all bets are off. Or possibly I’m just going to have to narrow it down to the one that looks the best and suits the venue. When it comes to picking a wedding dress, how sure is sure enough?