As Marissa walks into a wedding dress salon, ready to find her dream gown, she’s met with two entitled saleswomen who judge her based on her appearance. At 55 and Hispanic, Marissa already knows of the stereotype that walks in with her. When John, the salon manager, reveals who she really is, the saleswomen learn a lesson.
Walking into the bridal salon, I couldn’t help but feel the excitement mixed with a bit of nervous energy bubbling inside me. This was the first time I was actually doing this. The first time I was setting foot in the bridal salon.
The first time I’d be looking at wedding dresses. But I also knew there was a slim chance the salespeople would receive me well. I was 55, Hispanic, and unapologetically myself.
I knew I didn’t exactly fit the “usual” bridal mold. But so what? I’d worked too hard to let anyone dim this moment.
The salon was practically gleaming. The marble floors and chandeliers looked like they belonged in a palace. It was as I’d seen it online.
It was exactly what was promised to me. And the best part? The rows of stunning gowns that were hanging from every corner.
I couldn’t believe each dress looked so incredibly different from the rest, too. I couldn’t wait to start pulling the dresses I wanted to try on. But as I stepped further inside, something in the air changed.
The young, polished, sleek saleswomen in their black uniforms gave me a quick once-over. I knew they were already judging me as an older woman who had waltzed in like she owned the place. I could feel their eyes linger just a little too long, their whispers carrying through the room.
I took a deep breath, my heels clicking on the shiny floor as I approached the nearest rack. Suddenly, one of them, a tall blonde with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, sidled up to me. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice thick with fake politeness.
I nodded. “Yes, I’d like to try on some dresses. Lace would be my first choice, but I’m open to trying out anything else that might flatter my figure.”
Her eyebrows shot up like I’d just asked her to buy the entire store for me.
“Yeah, uh, it’s just that… these dresses are quite delicate,” she said, drawing out the word like she didn’t think I knew what it meant. “You should be more careful, you know? Try not to touch them with your… hands.”
I blinked hard, trying to process the insult.
My hands? I glanced down at them, wondering what exactly she thought was wrong. They just looked like the hands of a woman who worked hard.
“My hands are clean,” I said slowly. She smirked slightly as if amused by my response. “I just meant, these dresses are very expensive, ma’am,” she said.
“You might want to look at something more affordable. We have a range of those, too. It’s quite small, very little to choose from, but you’ll probably find something, right?”
Before I could respond, another saleswoman came forward, a brunette this time.
She had such a tight ponytail that I found it difficult to believe she could breathe properly. “Yeah, we’ve got some great clearance dresses in the back. They’re more last season’s dresses.
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