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 the stereotype that comes 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 a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling inside me. This was the first time I was actually doing this. The first time I was setting foot in a bridal salon. The first time I’d be looking at wedding dresses.
But I also knew there was a slim chance the salespeople would welcome me. 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 exactly as I had seen online. Exactly what was promised to me.
And the best part?
Rows of stunning gowns hanging from every corner. I couldn’t believe how each dress looked so different from the rest. 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 floating 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 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 thought I didn’t know 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, 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. Her ponytail was so tight I wondered if she could breathe properly.
“Yeah, we’ve got some great clearance dresses in the back. They’re more last season’s dresses. But they’re probably more in your price range,” she smirked.
I clenched my jaw but forced a smile.
“Actually, I’d like to try this one on,” I said, pointing to a lace gown on the mannequin in front of me.
The blonde’s eyes widened, her smirk turning into a soft laugh.
“Oh, are you sure?” she asked. “That dress is over $10,000. It might be a little out of budget for someone like you.”
The condescension in her voice hit me like a gust of wind. But I refused to let them see it. I smiled through it.
They thought they had me all figured out. To them, I was an older Hispanic woman who wasn’t dripping in diamonds. They probably thought I was a maid, given that stereotypical comment about my hands.
I was just another “out of place” customer.
Little did they know, they were in for a surprise.
As if on cue, the manager, John, appeared from the back. He was dressed smartly in a black suit and had a smile. His eyes darted between me and the two saleswomen, and I could tell he knew something was off.
“What’s going on here? Girls?” he asked, his voice carrying strong authority.
Before I could say anything, the blonde sneered.
“Oh, nothing, just trying to make sure our merchandise stays safe. This lady was eyeing the more expensive gowns. And you always told us to watch how we handle the gowns.”
She thought she was being clever. John, on the other hand, was livid. He turned to her, his face growing darker by the second.
“This lady?” he asked, his voice tense. “You mean Ms. Morales? Soon-to-be Mrs. Shepherd? The new owner of this salon?”
Shock took over their faces.
“Wait, what?” the blonde stammered. “The owner? I thought the owner was an old Mr. Thomas?”
“Mr. Shepherd, Ashley!” John barked. “He’s Ms. Morales’ fiancé. She has taken over the store. You’d know this if you paid attention to anything but yourselves!”
You could have heard a pin drop. The saleswomen were frozen in their spots. They had no idea who they had been speaking to, but now the realization of who I was made them think about their jobs dangling by a thread.
“I have the mind to fire you both on the spot!” John shouted. “So what if Ms. Morales wasn’t the owner, do you two treat customers like this?”
I turned to John and shook my head.
“John, don’t fire them,” I said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Ma’am, are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded, turning back to the saleswomen. Their arrogance was long gone, replaced by something far more satisfying.
Fear.
“Instead of firing her,” I said, pointing to the blonde. “I want her to be my personal assistant for the next month. Thomas and I have a lot to do before the wedding.”
Her jaw dropped.
“P-Personal assistant?” she stammered, eyes wide.
“That’s right, Ashley,” I said. “You’re going to learn what this business is really about. You will serve customers, no matter how they look, what they wear, or where they come from. You’re going to understand this job isn’t just about pushing expensive dresses on people. It’s about making every bride beautiful. We’re not just selling dresses. We’re helping women’s dreams come true.”
The room was dead silent, the weight of my words sinking in. John just nodded, not daring to challenge my decision.
“And what about me?” the brunette asked. “I’m Matilda, by the way.”
“Matilda, you will do exactly the same thing, but you won’t focus on being my personal assistant. No. You will study wedding dresses. You will learn every material we carry in this store. You will learn every style of dress. And every type of bridal veil.”
I paused, looking between both of them.
“Do I make myself clear?” I asked.
They both nodded vigorously.
“So… what now?” Ashley asked nervously.
“Now, you get me some champagne and ask me what kind of dress I want, Ashley,” I said boldly.
The poor girl went running through the curtained area, getting me a glass of champagne, while Matilda ran off to the lace section, pulling the same gown from the mannequin off the rail.
“What do you think, Matilda?” I asked. “Think it will suit me?”
Matilda looked at me earnestly, as if trying to figure out how to react.
“I think you’ll look beautiful in anything, ma’am,” she said quietly. “But I think a sweetheart neckline will suit you better, it will enhance your shoulders.”
“Much, much better, Matilda,” I said, smiling sincerely at her.
I knew there was a lot to come, and I’d have my hands full with these two girls. But they both deserved to learn how to do well in this industry.
As for me? I had a wedding dress to find.