a disappearing act in five scenes: the case of dissolvable wedding gown

At three o'clock in the morning, one is bound to find the most fascinating happenings. (I mean this with the utmost sincerity — the part about the fascinating endeavours (to which people commit themselves).) I fall very fast head over heels in love peppered with rapturous pleasure and mixed with a good helping of reverential awe  — at least for the few moments when a piece of clothing or artwork catches my fancy. Immediately, I want to be BFFs with the person behind the inspiring creation, and in appreciation, said piece of genius is bookmarked stat (uhhh.. joining the masses of inspiring —but sometimes forgotten, unfortunately —  items in my bookmarks' folders.

It's how I forget what I want to write about on a daily basis; professional dilettante à la Kaiser Karl, that I am!

So yes, three a.m., and I come across this account of the dissolvable wedding dress on Ecouterre. Clearly, I've just been greeted at the pearly? gates of heaven. A press release of this undertaking available at the Sheffield Hallam University explains that fashion and engineering students at the college "combined forces to create a wedding dress that could be dissolved after the wedding to transform it into five new fashion pieces. The pieces, each a stage of the transformation process, are now on public display at the University's Furnival Gallery".

Immediately of course, my brain is whirring about the possibilities and the dopamine surge now coursing my system has made me feverish.

"You know I'm having three or four wedding gowns on my wedding day right??
Are you trying to say I could possibly have said three or four pieces from only one dress??"

Only later this morning would it become clearer.
          "Yes, Ms, we know about your three-four dresses!
           No, Ms, said dress you 'thought' — sleep-deprived, as you were— had five different possibilities, ie styles... is actually the illustration depicting the dress in five stages of disintegration/dissolution, which accompanies both narratives from Ecouterre and SHU.
            No, Ms, I know you're thinking it, there are no price attachments at the moment. It is merely showing at the University's gallery. Calm yourself."

Ahhh...

So the gist is that you do put on this dress for your wedding and then when the ceremony is over, presumably and not before, you can dissolve it in water. Viola! All disappeared. I love its brilliance.

Jane Blohm, a lecturer on fashion design course at SHU justifies, "In order to reduce fashion's impact on the environment, the fashion industry must begin to challenge conventional attitudes and practices. The exhibition demonstrates what could be possible when design and scientific innovation combine forces." Good for the earth, good for all. Like I said, l.o.v.e.

But,
1. This idea's taken shape in my head: what if you came into church with an elaborately bustled gown and when the presiding officiator skilfully sprinkled his holy water unto you/your dress, the dress began to disintegrate at specific areas to reveal a new version/style of said dress?? By the time you made it out for pictures in front of the worship house, you'd be showing off a new dress. After pics, sprinkle a bit of rose-infused water (must change it up, besides rose water is glorious for your skin). When you get to the reception after a quick retouch of your make up, you'd be walking in with another! new dress. And after the party's all over, you'd be left in a mini dress, say; and by the time you make it off with your new hubby, all he'd have to do would be to douse you in a little more celebratory rosé (preferably) and your dress would be completely gone. (Or would that be a little creepy? I'm thinking of an artist whose name I can't remember.) Beats the man untying/unhooking a bustier on your wedding night, perhaps... Does he do that?? I wouldn't know.

2. A few  technical questions... how long does it take for the dissolution, per sq. m or something? Clearly I wouldn't be able to sweat and forget crying at the wedding.

3. Good for the environment (thumbs up!); but I was going to recycle my gowns anyway. They'd be dyed and refashioned into new pieces. I don't think I'd want them to disappear completely forever...


The questions, the possibilities.

Love, me. x.xx