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Gourmet Gowns


BY LIZ BROWN
243-2122 EXT. 325


Most people (including my closest friends) aren't aware that I've been married--more than once. In fact, I've walked down the aisle so many times with different men (some of them gay, no less) that I lost track after the first eight or nine...or was it 10? Even more shocking, perhaps, is that all of these ill-fated marriages began and ended before I had reached the tender age of 20. Maybe it's a curse related to having the same first name as Elizabeth Taylor.

Truth be told, my oft-wedded past is the result of modeling in more bridal fashion shows in the late '80s than I care to remember. I've worn countless white- and cream-colored, scratchy, poufy, lacy bridal gowns, all of which seemed designed to make me sweat like a hog and stumble in my hated satin heels. Mosquito-net veils clung to my pasty lipstick and teamed up with the dress to encourage humiliating wipeouts by impairing my vision.

Don't even get me started on the trials and tribulations of cavorting around a makeshift, convention-center runway like a giant party mint with a pasted-on smile in the latest, horrific bridesmaid dresses. The only consolation was that I didn't have to buy the damn things or even pretend I'd ever wear them again. (Plus, I got to scream "I want a divorce!" immediately after each show.)

I had a flashback to those days while sitting in the audience of a bridal fashion show at the Red Lion in Vancouver a few weekends ago. The show was classier than most, but the dresses still weren't anything I'd ever wear down the aisle. They looked fine on the models; some were simple, slim-cut, backless numbers that shone above anything I wore in shows 10 years ago. But the rhinestones, embroidery, iridescence and the heels--it all just seemed so, well, ornate, so fancy, so stiff (the word "gaudy" applied to only a few cases).

Luckily for girls like me who crave simple yet elegant style when playing dress-up, local designer Priscilla Burns is hard at work. In a combination warehouse-retail space in Southeast Portland, she's putting together a line of formal wear that's refreshingly different from most. I took a peek at the fruits of her labor during a recent visit.

The graduate of L.A.'s Chouinard Art Institute and former swimwear designer for Speedo and Jantzen set up shop here last spring to start work on a formal wear line she's been envisioning for years. She put her plans on hold when an unexpected flurry of custom bridal-gown orders came her way over the spring and summer months. Now she's making her vision a priority again, sewing prototypes for the collection she hopes to sell to stores, over the Internet and out of her retail space.

Burns describes her style as "gourmet dressing with a historic twist"; in other words, specialty pieces reminiscent of specific eras. The white, early 1800s-inspired, empire-waist gown pinned on a dress form the day I visited is a perfect example (think French Revolution). It's simple, trip-proof, non-poufy and elegant. Even more appealing is a bias-cut, '30s-style, lingerie-look satin dress with a soft flower print ($52) that made me long for summer wedding invitations. A mossy green, satin-backed number reminiscent of the same era ($159) could be my substitute if I get invited to a whole slew of weddings. Then again, these dresses would be appropriate for any swanky occasion.

Unfortunately, only a handful of Burns' dresses are currently available at her store as she focuses on building the whole line, in addition to doing custom-design work. She's hoping to coordinate with an Indian manufacturer to have some of the pieces fashioned from gorgeous sari fabrics. But a few pieces that she has brought in from other companies are consolation in the meantime. Two styles of Gatsby-era beaded ivory dresses ($99 and $159, also in black) with matching slips ($66) have been snatched up by brides, their mothers and old-time car collectors over the past several months. If I'm ever ready to tie the knot and opt for something other than jeans, I'm calling Priscilla Burns.

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Willamette Week | originally published February 9, 2000

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