When I was on the left coast visiting my fiancé's family last week, I had to field a lot of wedding questions; by the end of his parents' holiday party, I'd come up with the vague catch-all, "we're talking about the Spring." The one question I could field with total authority was the gown one, which I described in rapturous detail — save the little detail, of course, of having gotten it when I was engaged the first time, nearly four years ago.

Allow me to explain. I'd been with my boyfriend for six years when we got engaged, and the idea came as no shock to anyone. Now, that wedding was planned — no thanks to me — and my grandparents offered to buy my dress as their wedding present. When things unraveled, it was no hardship to return the ring, and I could deal with the pain of informing everyone and calling things off, but I saw absolutely no reason to taint my gown by association. About six months after we called it off, I discovered my mother had taken the dress out of my closet and hidden it in a guest room, thinking to spare me pain. But the dress had brought me nothing but pleasure, and I knew then that if I ever did marry, I'd still wear it. If I didn't, I'd just wear it around all the time, Miss Havisham-style.

Because it was so, so lovely. It was the dress I'd had in mind long before I'd met my first boyfriend; he'd never seen it; and, most of all, it had been made for me. It was, and remains, the only custom garment I've ever owned, and there seemed an unspeakable luxury to stepping into a dress I'd envisioned and having it fit perfectly. I'd long peered into the windows of the dressmaker's small shop in lower Manhattan, and it was with great excitement that I'd first breached the doorway and explained what I wanted: Swiss Dot; sweetheart neck; full, ballerina-length skirt. I was quickly persuaded to adopt a pale pink underskirt and a dainty tulle halter that sounds slightly ugly but is, I assure you, truly lovely. Without the crinoline, the dress would simply be a pretty, retro party-frock; with, it reminded me of the wedding gown from Funny Face.

Not that the process was all pleasant. The dressmaker was an intimidating and exacting figure. On my first visit, she asked me if there were any parts of my figure I didn't especially care to showcase. I considered the matter, and allowed as how I felt me shoulders were slightly broad in proportion to my frame (as the basic design of the dress was already chosen to mask and hilight more pressing concerns.)

"Everyone has some crap!" she snapped, which seemed to me very unjust given that I'd been effectively set up. In future visits, she seemed irritated by the throng of friends and relatives I brought to marvel at its progress, at my requests for swatches of material, and the consistently inappropriate underpinnings I'd wear to fittings. But by the end, we were both enchanted with the end result, with the dainty little kitten heels I'd found to wear with it, and with the tiny hairpiece I had had a milliner make to decorate my retro hairdo.

I could never blame the dress. After I found it, it brought me pleasure just to slip my hand into the garment bag and feel the fine, thin cotton. I toyed with dyeing it, of course, but it was too perfect. I didn't wear it, though, at least not until I met my fiancé — Matthew, that is. On one of our first dates, he asked me how far the wedding had progressed and whistled when I alluded to venues, dates, gifts and a dress. "Can I see it?" he asked eagerly. As this was one of several bizarre comments he'd made, and I was covertly checking my watch under the table, I was fairly sure I'd never be confronted with whatever sort of fetish this surely indicated, and let it pass. A few months later however, once we were embarked on what I insisted on referring to as a "fling," and we found ourselves at my parents' house, he brought it up again. Since by this time I'd learned he had an equally bizarre but somewhat less sinister interest in women's tailoring, I agreed, and he became the first and only man to ever see the Dress.

Which is, I suppose, bad luck now. But having seen it, he agrees that any substitution is simply out of the question. Its provenance is not something I am particularly eager to reveal to Matt's family, because I know it sounds flippant and a little tacky. The dress reminds me of a lot of painful things, naturally; but at the end of the day it's the frock I wanted to be married in, and I'd much rather be accused of vulgarity than have some tragic monument to disappointment sitting in my closet. More to the point, it's a beautiful, custom-made dress that must be worn! And the fact that it will be carrying me to City Hall instead of a fancy wedding by the seashore just goes to show: tacky or not, it is always in style.

According to the Times — and now the Pratts — elopement is back in a big way, the inevitable backlash to the age of the bridezilla and an obvious solution to the economic climate. Says one wedding planner, “Many young people are conscious about not wasting money and concerned about the expense for friends and family.” Of course, the celeb elopement is nothing new — Britney, anyone? Peaches? — and has always been a fitting bookend to the general impermanence of such arrangements. (Not like the big weddings are so stable.) But the confluence is certainly curious.

Interestingly enough, alongside the elopement trend pieces come a spate on "post-nuptial depression." According to the daily Mail:

The expectations of newlyweds are so high, and married life is such a let-down after all the planning and the excitement of the big day that an increasing number of brides are suffering from post-nuptial depression, say American doctors. In fact, the feel-good factor fades so fast that up to 10 per cent of America’s 2.3million couples who marry every year - that’s 230,000 couples - suffer strong enough remorse, sadness or frustration to make them seek professional counselling, said California therapists.

In addition, the fact that a lot of couples cohabitate pre-wedding makes them think they know what it'll be like, and the reality of such a big step can still come as a shock. While the experts speculate that a lot of this letdown comes from unrealistic expectations, at least part of it arises from the inevitable lack of excitement post-festivity when a huge wedding - rather than marriage - has been a goal for a year or more. Writes Jeninne Lee-St. John in Time, "The problem may be that after months consumed by wedding preparations and feeling like the center of attention, the sudden shift back to everyday life can be a shock. 'I put a lot of time and effort into the wedding planning process,' says Erin Hastings, 28, who got married in 2006 after an 18-month engagement. 'Where do you redirect your energy once it's over?'"

In this regard, the elopement trend seems like a very wholesome response to the prevailing wedding pressures —even if its increasing acceptability just serves to make those going whole-hog feel less pressured. Big weddings aren't going anywhere — they bring a lot of people pleasure and are regarded as a necessity by many, even in hard times — but the pressure to have one is definitely abating. And if anyone was going to go whole-hog, wouldn't you think it would be Heidi and Spencer? Whether their elopement indicates a trend has jumped the shark or whether they're in the long line of celeb impulse marriages remains to be seen. But we'd recommend they brace themselves for what've come to be called "The Wedding Blues."

Spencer & Heidi Got Married!!!!!!!!!!! [Perez Hilton]
Like Romeo and Juliet, With a Happier Ever After [NY Times]
Huge Increase In 'Post-Nuptial Depression' As Newlyweds Turn To Therapists For Help With Bridal Blues [Daily Mail]
Postnuptial Depression: What Happens The Day After [Time]