Fifty Pounds of Satin

January 30, 2005

I really had no interest at all in the big social event of the year, Donald Trump’s third wedding. I was not impressed by the twelve-carat, 1.5 million dollar diamond engagement ring, or the priceless Fred Leighton jewelry that Melania Knauss borrowed for the big day. My mouth did not water when I heard about the five-foot-high Grand Marnier chiffon layer cake with 3000 white roses embedded in the buttercream frosting. Let’s not forget the 18,000 square foot ballroom at Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida, with 17 crystal chandeliers, 24-carat gold-leaf moldings and marble floor, which was the setting for the reception on the Trump estate. I did not try to visualize what blue La Perla underpinnings might look like, but when descriptions of the wedding dress began to surface, I took notice.

It might have been the 98 yards (the length of a football field) of white satin that intrigued me, or the 28 seamstresses that spent 1000 hours stitching and hand-embroidering 1500 crystal rhinestones in place, or the sixteen feet of dress that gracefully trailed on the floor behind the bride. Estimates on the cost of the garment were from $100,000 to $200,000. I wasn’t surprised at any of this, but what did get my attention was the fact that the voluminous gown designed by Christian Dior for the Slovenian supermodel weighed over 50 pounds. That would be the equivalent of two five-gallon pails of shelled corn. Making my way across the yard with the weight of the feed pails pulling down on my shoulders, I wondered how Melania was going to make it through such an elaborate celebration without fainting from exhaustion.

Perhaps the reason I was so interested in the dress itself was because those details were a little bit hard to believe. I made my own wedding dress a number of years ago. It was satin and lace with a big ruffle at the bottom and a little train that touched the floor behind the heels of my shoes. The material cost a total of forty dollars, probably two to three hundred at today’s prices. I remember being afraid to cut into the most expensive fabric I’d ever worked with. I have constructed nearly a dozen special occasion dresses since then, with nine yards being the largest amount of fabric required. Nobody thought to weigh the finished product, but I’ll venture a guess that none were heavier than a medium chicken or our big gray tomcat.

I could not resist the temptation to purchase the February issue of Vogue magazine so that I could see “the dress.” It was not as breathtaking as I expected. Maybe my opinion was diminished by the connection it had to “the Donald.” The arrogance and callous authority of the billionaire with the really bad hair does not appeal to me. From the image he projects on television, I don’t understand why anyone would desire to be his apprentice or his wife. It would take a strong person to put up with such a character for a mate, and to drag around a fifty pound dress.

By Patsy Bronner