For most of my twenties and thirties, a wedding invitation was not a happy arrival in the mail. It was a problem to solve. A dress code to decode. A body to hide, a fit to achieve, a “don’t upstage the bride” silent contract I was being asked to sign without ever being asked.

I’m writing this on a Sunday after attending two weddings last year that changed how I feel about these events. Both went sideways, in different ways, and the lesson from each is what I want to leave here.

Wedding #1: my cousin’s backyard wedding, late August

This was a daytime wedding in the family’s backyard. The dress code was “summer cocktail.” I interpreted that loosely.

What I wore: A tea-length dress in dusty sage from a brand called Cathryn (they go up to size 32, sizes 1X–6X labeled). Sleeveless, A-line, structured bodice. Paired with low block heels in a similar tone and a single statement earring.

What went well:

The dress did a lot of work on its own. Tea-length, A-line — the look was modest enough not to upstage, flattering on a pear-shaped figure, and unusual enough that I felt like myself. I got two compliments from people I hadn’t seen in a decade, neither of which were about losing weight.

What I’d change:

I would have brought a wrap for the evening. The ceremony ended at sunset and by the time the dinner started I was cold. I should have just brought the cardigan and not been cool-girl about it.

Wedding #2: a college friend’s black-tie-optional wedding in October

The dress code here was the more fraught one. Black-tie-optional weddings ask the guest to either wear a floor-length gown or a formal suit. The default for plus-size women is often a floor-length gown — and here’s where the problem came in.

What I wore: A floor-length velvet dress in deep burgundy that I had owned for three years and rarely wore. It was originally bought for a different event I ended up not attending. I’d been saving it.

What went well:

Less than I hoped. Here’s why.

I’m pear-shaped. Floor-length gowns that are not specifically cut for a pear-shaped figure hit me at the widest part of my hip and then hang straight to the floor. That silhouette reads “drag,” not “formal.” The burgundy was great. The dress was a problem.

I ended up spending most of the night wishing I’d worn the wrap dress I mentioned in my capsule workwear post, which would have been slightly under-dressed but felt like me.

What I learned:

It is fine to be slightly under-dressed at a wedding. It is not fine to feel like a costume in your own body. I spent most of that evening in the bathroom talking myself out of leaving. I should have worn the wrap dress. The bride would have understood. She has, in fact, since said so.

The lessons, distilled

After two weddings in one summer, here’s what I’ll do differently next time:

1. Honor the body you actually have, not the body you wish you had

If you’re pear-shaped and the dress is a column silhouette, find a different dress. If you’re apple-shaped and the dress has a high waist, find a different dress. The wedding is one day. You will be in this body for many more.

2. Bring the wrap

Bring the wrap, the cardigan, the jacket. It is cold at night. You will be cold. Just bring it.

3. Wear something you’ve worn before

This sounds boring. It is not. Wedding dresses are stressful. Wearing something you’ve worn before means you already know how it sits, how it photographs, whether the underwire pokes you.

That said, do not wear a dress specifically associated with another friend’s wedding. Just don’t.

4. Skip “upstaging the bride”

The bride will be upset about seating charts, not about what you wear. Wear something that feels like the best version of you. If anyone’s eye is on you instead of the couple, the problem is the seating chart, not the dress.

5. Be the guest who is comfortable

You’ll dance more. You’ll eat more. You’ll talk more. Comfort looks better than formality on a plus-size body. Trust me.

Looking for a wedding outfit rec for a specific dress code? Tell me the code and the season. I’ll recommend something from my closet or a brand I trust.