Becoming my college friend’s bridesmaid was supposed to be a good thing for our friendship, but then she showed me her true colors. I wasn’t going to take her abuse lying down, so I retaliated the best way I knew how. And let me say, she didn’t like it!
Gina and I weren’t best friends in college, but we were close enough to cry into wine and microwave ramen while complaining about professors and toxic exes. So when she called me out of the blue one day asking if I could be her bridesmaid, I thought we were rekindling our bond, but the truth soon revealed itself.
Gina was the type of friend who could dominate a group project without lifting a finger, just by raising her perfectly arched brow. I was more the get-it-done, no-nonsense type. So, our bond was weirdly balanced, a mix of late-night laughs and unspoken competition.
After graduation, life happened, and we drifted apart. We ended up in new cities, getting new jobs, and meeting new partners. Over time, our calls started becoming fewer. So when Gina messaged me a year ago to ask if I’d be her bridesmaid, I blinked at the screen in genuine surprise.
I called my boyfriend, Dave, seeking his wisdom. “Gina wants me in her wedding party.”
“The same Gina who once said bridesmaids were ‘desperate pageant rejects’?”
“Yep. That one.”
“I don’t know, babe, I mean, you guys were close once, so if anything goes wrong – God forbid – you should be able to handle it,” he advised.
“Yeah, I don’t know,” I said.
Still, I said yes, thinking I was being nice. I didn’t want to be the reason Gina had to try and secure another bridesmaid because I said no without a valid reason. That was the truth – I didn’t have a reason to disagree, just a weird feeling about all of this.
Plus, I thought maybe it meant something, like that she valued me. Maybe we were reconnecting. And besides, how often do you get asked to stand next to someone on their “most important day”? I thought it’d be sweet.
I should’ve known better.
From day one, the group chat was less “celebrate our friendship” and more “follow these exact Pinterest instructions.”
She sent spreadsheets, color codes, hair tutorials, and even lash length guidelines! No exaggeration! It soon became clear that she didn’t want bridesmaids, she wanted props.
Then she sent me a message that changed everything in an instant.
“Don’t forget,” she messaged, “everyone needs matching nude acrylics, almond shape, with a thin silver band.”
I typed slowly, “Hey Gina, I work in healthcare. I can’t do long nails. They tear off gloves, and it’s a hygiene risk.”
Her reply came in seconds, and instantly made me realize how indispensable I was to her.
“Then maybe you’re not a fit for the bridal party.”
No discussion. No compromise. Just a casual exile.
I blinked. My fingers hovered over the screen as I tried to decide whether to fight her decision or convince her otherwise, but I’d had enough of her behavior. Finally, I typed, “Maybe I’m not.”
That was it.
When I told Dave, he said, “Well, there it is. I guess that friendship isn’t gonna get resuscitated after all. I’m sorry, babe.”
“It’s okay,” I said as he held me in his arms, “I guess it was a seasonal thing, not a lifetime one.”
Then there was radio silence for two days, and just when I thought we were truly done, forever this time, then came a text:
“You’ve been removed from the bridal party. But you can still attend the wedding as a guest.”
Oh, sure, I thought. After spending over $500 on a custom pastel-blue gown she picked out, not to mention shoes and pricey alterations? The dress was elegant, floor-length, backless with delicate draping, basically a prom dress for grown-ups.
I messaged her, “Since I can’t return the dress, is it okay if I wear it as a guest?”
Her reply felt like ice. “Absolutely not! I don’t want any reminders of negativity at my wedding.”
Negativity?
I took a breath, trying not to scream into my couch cushion. “Alright. Then I guess I won’t come.”
“Fine. Don’t come. And you’re NOT allowed to wear it.”
My jaw clenched. I couldn’t believe her audacity!
“What do you mean ‘not allowed’? I paid for it. It’s mine.”
She actually sent a smug emoji. “I don’t need someone who couldn’t even follow basic instructions trying to upstage my bridal party.”
I stared at my phone, incredulous. “Okay… do you want to buy it off me then?”
Her response? “LMAO! Why would I pay for your leftovers? That look belongs to my wedding.”
She really said that!
After that, I deleted the chat and washed my hands of that friendship, my patience having been worn thin. When I told Dave, he shook his head. “You dodged a bullet, babe.”
But then two days later, this happened.
My boyfriend and I were invited to this formal Sunday brunch at his boss’s home. It was a last-minute thing because we had planned to go to Gina’s wedding together that weekend.
The event was some outdoor thing in a private garden, themed in pastels and florals.
When Dave told me about it, I was excited to do something to clear my mind of the drama with Gina and the sour taste it left in my mouth.
“What should I wear?” I muttered, flipping through my closet. And then I saw it. That dusty blue dress, still in its plastic wrap, was flawless.
Dave looked at it. “Wear that. You paid for it. Besides, it’s gorgeous.”
I hesitated, flipping through my other formal dresses, noting how they all didn’t fit the theme. I had some greens, blues, browns, and even white, but the bridal dress was the only one that matched the theme perfectly.
“It’s… technically her dress code.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Technically, she kicked you out. Her rules don’t apply anymore.”
He was right.
So I wore it.
The morning was golden, the air crisp. I let my hair down in loose waves and paired the dress with minimalist jewelry. Dave wore a pale pink button-down and looked like he stepped out of a catalog. The brunch was at this estate-like home with trimmed hedges, blooming hydrangeas, and white linen tables.
We had a fantastic time and met incredible people! Gina’s wedding far from my mind as we took pictures, nothing fancy, just candid snaps. I tagged Zara, not some exclusive bridal boutique, in one of my social media posts because that’s where the dress was from. I didn’t think twice.
What I didn’t expect was the wildfire that followed.
By evening, the post had a few hundred likes. Some mutuals commented things like “You look ethereal!” or “Obsessed with this fit!”
Then the phone buzzed.
“Wow. So you really wore the dress after everything?? You just couldn’t stand not being part of it, huh? You’re sabotaging my wedding vibe!”
It turns out that a few of our mutual friends recognized the dress because it was the same color scheme. So some photos got back to Gina.
And she lost her mind!
“It’s… a dress. Leftover. Remember? That I paid for. For an event I wasn’t allowed to attend,” I replied, shocked at her audacity.
“You’re so disrespectful! You ruined the whole aesthetic! Everyone saw it and now they’re messaging me about you!”
“You said I wasn’t welcome. So I made the dress work elsewhere. I didn’t crash your wedding, but you’re digging yourself deeper right now,” I texted furiously.
She didn’t respond after that. But I heard things.
Apparently, she spiraled! On her wedding day!
I got a call from Chelsea, another bridesmaid. “She made us triple-check the guest list for your name!”
“What?”
“She thought you’d show up uninvited, in that dress.”
“You’re joking!?”
“Nope. Then she saw one of us liked your Instagram photo and flipped out and accused them of liking your photo on purpose!”
The bride’s entire wedding weekend, I learned, was a haze of paranoia. She spent more time policing social media than enjoying her big day.
Meanwhile, I got nothing but kindness. Friends who had sat on the fence messaged me, “Honestly, you dodged a disaster. You looked amazing! Gina overreacted.” One even said, “You looked like you were in a perfume ad. She’s just mad you didn’t need her wedding to shine.”
And I didn’t.
My favorite part? I never once raised my voice. Never retaliated. I just wore the dress, and somehow, that was enough to pull her back to earth.
I’m not sure Gina and I will ever be friends again. But sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is take a step back, dress up, and live well. Because that kind of peace? That’s priceless.
