A Chinese-American bride says yes to a lucky red dress

My wedding plans didn’t begin with a red dress. The idea was to bring the wedding to my dad in his assisted-living facility – a nice one housed in a former hotel in suburban New York, complete with a cinema and a fancy swimming pool. My fiancé and I also made arrangements with the pastor, the DJ and the photographer, as well as a short and sweet guest list, while artificial intelligence (AI) helped us come up with a special cocktail for the occasion. With 60 days to go before the wedding, I thought we were in good shape. “What about the dress?” a good friend asked. What about it, indeed? I had bought not one but two white wedding dresses post-engagement. I’d been through the ritual of being fitted by both a boutique and a national bridal retail chain. I had photographic proof of myself ringing a bell and posing with a “I said yes to the dress!” sign. In Western tradition, white wedding dresses symbolise purity, while the gown has become the centrepiece of the event. Not only have romantic comedies such as 27 Dresses spotlighted the wedding gown, the search for it has also inspired reality television series like Say Yes to the Dress. But because I meant to pay tribute to my father on the big day, it slowly sparked a desire to incorporate our culture. The Chinese dress known as cheongsam or qipao surfaced from memory. I’d attended wedding banquets myself where the garment was a must-have. I dug up lovely photos of my aunt’s wedding in 1960s Hong Kong, showcasing the qipao she and her guests wore – as personalised as a fingerprint, not a single inch of extra fabric. The figure-hugging dress has long evolved from the loose Qing-dynasty robe, and red is traditionally worn for good fortune. As I did more homework, I learned that modern Chinese couples’ preferences have changed: brides increasingly prefer the white dress, or make sure they have two – one white, one red – for dual photo shoots and ceremonies. Suddenly, I wanted to have the best of both worlds too, and began frantically searching for a suitable red dress weeks shy of the wedding. I googled Shanghai Tang, but shook my head at the exorbitant prices. My cousin in Hong Kong WhatsApped me a more practical solution: a link to affordable ready-made dresses, which unfortunately weren’t meant for a Chinese-American with broader shoulders. An XXL dress sent from Hong Kong was a bit snug. I could only suck in, smile and thank my well-meaning relative. Ultimately, after more scrolling and swiping, I found the winner: a Chinese dress from a company run by a Caucasian couple out of Hawaii, who have given a modern-day twist to the cheongsam. Once this dress was settled, the rest of the wedding quickly fell into place. A traditional Chinese tea ceremony was cobbled together at the eleventh hour, with a tea set bought via Amazon. AI proved helpful in providing a script for the tea ceremony. What tea would be sipped and what song would be played during the ceremony? Well, we’d figure it out. Most guests … didn’t necessarily understand the intricacies behind the cheongsam and the tea ceremony. But they would remember the two dresses and the laughter. And what’s a wedding without lucky red envelopes? I filled ours with faux-ancient Chinese coins, red candy and fortune cookies. The menu consisting mostly of Italian-American dishes was offset by noodles for longevity and spring rolls symbolic of gold bars (and therefore wealth). As the finishing touch, my sister and I hung red-stringed jade ornaments on an arbour indoors, between clusters of sunflowers. Then it was time. The DJ cued us in with “Long-Jing Tea Garden”, an instrumental piece that reminded me of westernised Chinese restaurants. Cups of scalding tea were served to elders on both sides. The new mother-in-law was enthralled. “Mmm, this is good, it’s sweet,” she said. “Bottoms up!” my sister quipped, and the room exploded in laughter. Soon afterwards, I dashed into the gym and changed into bridal white. This gown was sequinned and pretty, but at the end of the day, I felt a deeper affinity for the red dress, knowing it was a connection to my father’s roots. And when it was my turn to speak, I had to reference the fortune cookie, an American invention forever associated with Chinese restaurants. Addressing my dad, I said: “Your story and journey have been an inspiration for so many. Like a fortune cookie, you open and speak and a gem of wisdom falls out.” For example, when I received some good news that dispelled a health scare, my dad told me to take it slow. I asked him what he meant and his answer stuck with me: “Spend your time on the things that appeal to you, and steer around the things that irritate you.” Most guests, including my husband’s Irish-American family, didn’t necessarily understand the intricacies behind the cheongsam and the tea ceremony. But they would remember the two dresses and the laughter. For myself the red dress wasn’t simply another outfit. It was a bridge to my father, his homeland and a part of myself I hadn’t realised I wanted to reclaim.

A Chinese-American bride says yes to a lucky red dress

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}The cheongsam I wore to my wedding tea ceremony wasn’t just another outfit. It was my way of celebrating my father and my heritage

The cheongsam I wore to my wedding tea ceremony wasn’t just another outfit. It was my way of celebrating my father and my heritage