Gillian Tett: ‘Why I wore white to my wedding’

I stood in the changing room of a boutique in New York and looked at myself in the mirror with delight. In the reflection was the dress of my dreams: dramatic, unusual and distinctly flattering.

“You can’t wear that for your wedding!” howled my eldest child, Helen, in horror. My friend Vicky agreed. “No way!”

Defiantly, I stared back at the mirror. The dress I was wearing was easily the most wonderful I had seen for a long time. But there was a “problem”: it was jet black.

How did I get myself into this, I thought, wondering if this was divine justice of sorts. More than three decades earlier, in my early 20s, before I became a journalist at the Financial Times, I spent several years studying wedding rituals around the world for a PhD in cultural anthropology. That research was centred on an obvious, but oft-forgotten, point: wedding rituals and symbols are highly emotive in (almost) any society, since they not only bind families (and couples) together, but also reflect values that are supposed to define a culture.

The author in a white dress from Mark Ingram and shocking-pink Carolina Herrera heels on her wedding day © Lina & Tom Photography and Film

Of course, since symbols have long, half-buried historical roots, they are often at odds with how actual marriage participants view the world. Most modern western women (including myself) recoil from the idea that brides should be pure and virginal at the moment of a wedding – the original meaning of white dresses. They might also hate the idea that women are symbolically “handed over” by, and between, men during marriage – the “meaning” of the tradition that brides should wear a veil and be walked down the aisle by a father.

But cultural practices have a powerful hold, however free-thinking we might be. How to square this peculiar cultural circle? It was not a challenge I ever expected to face. Until the age of 56 I was defiantly unwed. Indeed, when I entered my fifth decade I did so merrily assuming I’d spend the rest of my life as a “spinster”, to use the old-fashioned word, since I loved my independence.

But life has a strange way of throwing curveballs. Four years ago I unexpectedly met an amazing man who startled me with a wedding proposal on a beautiful San Francisco beach, in early 2024. I accepted immediately, with joy. When we decided to get married in the chapel at King’s College in Cambridge (where I serve as Provost), we duly plunged into the crazy ritualistic whirl that is western-style wedding planning.

On the lawn at King’s College Chapel, Cambridge © Lina & Tom Photography and Film

Even at the best of times, I loathe shopping. Doing that for a wedding dress filled me with even more horror, partly because of my PhD research. But also because of my age. After all, when a woman hits their 50s it seems inappropriate to wear a wedding dress that looks like a gigantic “meringue”, to cite Four Weddings and a Funeral. Nobody at that age wants to look like a Disney princess. Choosing a sleek, sexy number seemed equally inappropriate for a church setting, particularly in the solemn architectural marvel that is the 15th-century chapel of King’s.

For weeks I simply ignored the issue. Then, in a panic, my daughter and several friends insisted I went shopping. Feeling utterly grumpy, I bounced through endless boutiques, testing different ideas: long and floaty? Slick and tailored? I rejected them all.

Things changed in Carolina Herrera, where I found the black dress. “Just see if they can make it in white instead,” advised my friend Christy – an expert fashionista – as she coaxed me to try it on. I fell in sartorial love; doubly so when I paired it with some shocking-pink heels. But it turned out that it could not be made in white after all.

In desperation, Christy dragged me to Mark Ingram, the high-end version of a nuptials supermarket in New York, which offered every conceivable twist on the bridal theme, (almost) all in white or cream. The staff were horrified to hear the wedding was a mere three months away; their clients typically started preparing six to 12 months in advance, I was sternly told. I felt even more grumpy – and stupid. But they rallied to the challenge, and I found a dress that ticked all my boxes: sufficiently respectful for the chapel; suitably mature for a woman in her 50s; and with a train that would make an appropriate statement down the aisle. And it was white.

Tett wearing the black Carolina Herrera dress to the pre-wedding party © Lina & Tom Photography and Film

What about a veil? I firmly shook my head. Instead I grabbed a lace jacket to ensure I would not display too much flesh and the shop gamely agreed to “rush” the fittings.

Two months later, I returned to collect the garment – and then had a last-minute change of heart. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realised the dress probably did look better with a long veil, as a quasi train, particularly since I was unsure about the jacket. So, with a wry chuckle, I bought it – but kept it “open” to show my face.

Then, in a fit of defiance – and wild extravagance – I went back to the Carolina Herrera shop where I had first seen the black dress and the stunning pink shoes, and bought both.

The latter I wore with the wedding dress; the former, for a party we threw the night before with a fancy-dress theme. Today both sit in my wardrobe. They are by far the most expensive dresses and shoes that I own, but were worth every penny – and not just because the black one can be (re)worn many times, but also because they remind me that while rituals matter, it is possible to challenge them too. Even (or especially) with a wedding.