So all that consternation about the dilemma of attending an American wedding? Ended up that I could carry off a little black dress after all. Admittedly, there were a few snags, but most of them ended up being more psychological.

A few key questions were raised in the article leading up to this one titled, The Dilemma of an American Wedding, which can be found here. To recap, these were: How do we as immigrants and entrants to a new society, its ways and mannerisms, deal with these occasions? Do most of us fade into the background because we are unable to mold ourselves to new sensibilities or do some of us venture into the middle and say, here I am, American, just like you? Or, are some of us brave enough to wear our culture on our sleeve and say, we are different, yet the same?

Standing in Macys, seeing a huge selection of dresses in varied colors, shapes and lengths that weekend, I faced all these questions myself and more. While I approached the task objectively, knowing that emotions would only delay the solution, deep in my heart, I was in unfamiliar territory. Some dresses were too short, others were too revealing and many others were too clingy. When three visits to the fitting room succeeded in only more dread, I decided to change my approach.

I picked simple cuts, solid colors and non-distinguishable lengths. After an hour of angst, indecisiveness and silent prayers, the winner emerged. A just-below-the-knees straight black dress, accessorized with a slim, patent belt and a boat neck. The only problem? It was sans sleeves. Now, my bias against sleeveless clothes are both unreasonable yet well-founded considering the many years of indoctrination I received in a convent school, where strict uniforms were adhered to with passion and zeal. Every morning after the hymns, inspection was conducted--the severity of the punishment that was doled out was directly proportional to how high the sleeves were rolled up on our tunics. But, I digress.

My friend suggested hunting for a short jacket to go with it. An easy decision this time, a black satin bolero jacket was found and the outfit finally complete, one week shy of the wedding. Next came the stage of acquiring third-party approval. Although I had bought the outfit myself, I still needed a little self-assurance and moral support that I could actually pull it off. So, I performed a fashion show for my family. As a boost to my confidence, they approved, but what cinched it was when a cousin even said I looked “glamorous,” a word more befitting the description of famous Bollywood actresses. Needless to say, I succumbed.

Come wedding day, I spent the first hour fidgeting and restraining my urge to run to the ladies room to ‘fix my dress’ every chance I could--every time it would stretch above the knee, I would flush. After the third time--and receiving a few glares from my table--I knew I had to brave it. And, wouldn’t you know, it came easier than I could’ve expected. My head high, shoulders back and calves shining proudly in the daylight (for the first time in public), I coasted through the rest of night.

Although this one occasion coaxed me to remove most articles of jewelry I wear on a daily basis, what I couldn’t part with--blending in or not--was my article of faith: my steel bangle. So while I agree that I became ‘American’ to attend an American occasion, I don’t think I insulted my “Indian-ness” in any way. By choosing to blend in, I did not turn my back to my culture and traditions; more so, I wore them like a proud mother. Yes, I wore an American dress, but it was chosen by a set of traditional values and directions subconsciously doing the picking and choosing for me.

Readers, for an Indian girl trying to make it in this American world, did I act properly? Was I wrong to give in as much as I did? I accomplished a necessary social norm, but could I have done it any other way? How could one approach a similar situation differently?