Botox. Check. (My first time, I swear, and only between the eyebrows.) 

Brown spots on my face erased. Check. 

Teeth bleached to a blinding white. Check.

It was countdown time to my daughter’s wedding last March. 

“You have Mr. Spock eyebrows,” my daughter quipped at the bridal shower I hosted the week before her wedding. A medical student, she eagerly offered her professional opinion. However, when I ask her for medical advice, she answers, “You should ask your doctor.” 

Well, I liked my new eyebrow arches. Like many women past a certain age, my eyebrows had thinned with time and decades of plucking. Also, like many Asian-American women, my brows defied conventional beauty standards, stubbornly refusing to arch in the right place or taper off where they should.

It was all part of my process to look my best for my daughter’s and our family’s Big Day.

Searching for the Best Mother-of-the-Bride Dress

But perhaps the most important part: What would I wear? I began the hunt for my dress for the wedding three months before the appointed date. The in-store and online petite pickings for gowns were slim. They either screamed matron or featured spaghetti straps that would expose the stubborn fat under my armpits.

The petite dresses either screamed matron or had spaghetti straps, exposing the stubborn fat under my armpits.

“You just need to look respectable,” a close friend advised when I complained. Respectable—a kinder, gentler way of saying old and invisible. I texted a flurry of dressing-room selfies to my two daughters in our Liu Ladies group chat. “Mom, you’re way past form-fitting,” said one.

I tried on at least a dozen gowns from various retailers. I visited every site that popped up in searches for mother-of-the-bride dresses. But nothing felt or fit right. Thank heavens for generous return policies.

One month before the Big Day and still no dress. I texted the mother of my daughter’s fiancé. A fellow petite person, she suggested I look for a regular-sized dress and get it altered. What a great idea! Why didn’t I think of that? Well, probably because I always believed alterations are expensive. A whole wide world of dresses was now possible. Two weeks before the wedding, I selected a navy blue gown with pleats from a well-known online site. The dress was ready three days before the wedding, and the tailoring cost was reasonable.

Don’t get me started on the shapewear that I couldn’t even pull up over my knees.

However, don’t get me started on shapewear. I am 5 feet 1 inches and 122 pounds on a good day. When I ordered a size small that would supposedly slim and smooth my thighs and stomach, I couldn’t pull it up over my knees. I tried a medium and still had no luck. Finally, I went to a national department store and a kind woman recommended shapewear and a size that fit—and allowed me to breathe. Alas, no amount of synthetic sorcery could transform my apple figure into an hourglass one. 

I thank the fashion gods for the delicate chiffon “capelet” gracing the front of my gown. It covered a multitude of sins. Little did I realize the lengthy sashes, repeatedly wrangled into submission by a patient bridesmaid, created a bump on my back rivaling a kimono obi knot. Front-facing photos only, please!

Getting Ready for My Close-Up

After the makeup artist had put the last touches on my daughter at the bridal Airbnb, I asked her to enhance what I had already applied. She worked her magic and affixed fluttery false lashes on me. Sparse lashes are a lament for many Asian-American women, and at my age, they’re practically nonexistent. I smiled and batted my lashes before we left for the wedding venue.

During the ceremony, I teared up while my husband and I walked our daughter down the aisle. As I sat in the front row, I wiped my eyes with a tissue I had tucked into my purse. And then something furry blocked my left eye—a false eyelash! My older daughter, the maid of honor, made frantic motions towards her eye. I reached up and removed both “falsies.”

Something furry blocked my left eye—a false eyelash! I reached up and removed both of my “falsies.”

Turns out I didn’t need them. The ceremony and reception were magical, and the happy couple was overjoyed. During the parents’ dance, my husband and I foxtrotted to Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight.” At the end of the song, I relished not thinking about how I looked. I was too busy enjoying the moment.

 I realized that my fretting about my appearance and my mother-of-the-bride dress choice was insignificant compared to the sheer delight radiating from my daughter. The wedding wasn’t about me or my false eyelashes—it was about being present, cherishing every moment, and supporting my daughter as she entered a new chapter in her life.

Yvonne Liu is a Los-Angeles based writer who is writing a memoir.