Entry No. 6: On Outgrowing the Bridal Industry’s Rules

Model Jasmine in Epiphany during NY Bridal Fashion Week, Horizon Bridal Show

Hello, My Darling,

Back in Entry No. 3, I shared what it felt like to attend New York Bridal Fashion Week this past spring—not as a designer showcasing my work, but as a guest. Quietly observing. Taking it all in. Now, as I work behind the scenes on my upcoming NYBFW debut for April 2026, it feels like the right time to share something that has completely changed my direction:

I’m no longer designing for stores.

For most of my life, I thought I was supposed to. I truly did. I pictured my gowns on racks, in beautiful showrooms. I imagined opening a flagship location. I dreamed of being stocked in luxury bridal boutiques across the globe. It felt like that was the path—the only path—to real success.

As a teenager, I even worked in a bridal salon before heading off to fashion school. I still remember the weight of those dresses, the sound of the steamers, the way I would carefully restock gowns that hadn’t been chosen. When it was quiet, I’d study every dress on the racks, whispering my opinions in my head. Always pulled to the ballgowns—the bigger, the better.

I loved it. And I still do. But now I know something I didn’t know then: not every dream that sticks with you is truly yours.

Sometimes, it’s the industry talking.

The bridal world loves to define success for you. Vogue features. Global fashion week appearances. Selling in stores. Getting picked up by celebrities. Being “in demand.” It all sounds glamorous—until you realize you’re just trying to keep up with someone else’s definition of what makes you worthy.

So I followed the rules.

Model Jasmine shows off a beautiful back view in Eloria during NY Bridal Fashion Week, Horizon Bridal Show

In October 2022, I showed at NYBFW with Horizon Bridal. Then again in March 2024 at Chicago Bridal Market, which is the largest bridal trade show in the country. I showed up. I smiled. I was hopeful. I scheduled appointments. I even looked into showing in Barcelona. I was doing everything “right.”

But most shop owners walked by without stopping. Some snapped a photo, but barely anyone spoke. I had appointments, yes—but my price point wasn’t what they wanted. They were looking for easy sellers, lower margins, gowns that could be reordered in bulk. I understood it, but it didn’t feel right.

I ended up focusing more on the model I’d flown in from Florida—making content, documenting the beauty we had created. And even though I got follow-up from 18 stores, deep down, I knew the truth:

This wasn’t for me.

My gowns didn’t fit the bridal market mold. And honestly? I didn’t want them to.

I didn’t want to keep squeezing myself into a box just to get noticed. I didn’t want to water down my creativity for the sake of trend-chasing or mass appeal. I had to stop and ask myself something that changed everything:

Do I even want this?

Kimberly models the Jasmine gown, apparently a crowd favorite based on the amount of photos taken by Bridal shop owners during Chicago Bridal Market 2024

And the answer was a quiet, certain no.

What I really want is creative freedom. I want to honor the art of design. I want to create with joy and soul. I want to serve brides who see wedding gowns the way I do—as heirlooms. As stories. As art.

In July 2024, I was one of the featured designers for Springfield Fashion Week. Two different reporters visited my New England atelier—one photographing my gowns and workspace, the other asking about trends. I didn’t hesitate.

I told her what I knew to be true:

A Dani Simone Couture bride doesn’t care about trends.

She cares about elegance. She wants to look breathtaking fifty years from now.

I shared that my design inspiration is rooted in vintage beauty—1930s to early ’60s, with sprinkles of Edwardian and Victorian grace. That conversation confirmed what I’d already been feeling: I had spent too long trying to play a game I never wanted to win.

So I left social media. I reached out to wedding professionals I actually admire—those with style, substance, and artistry. I poured myself into sketchbooks. I studied couture construction. I started gathering references like pressed flowers, building a new world in private.

And it hit me.

My lovely model Kimberly shows off my luxurious bridal peignoirs during Chicago Bridal Market 2024

Stores aren’t my people.

Most of them aren’t built for what I do. They’re built to buy low, sell high, and push volume. That’s not wrong—it’s just not me.

Over the years, I took courses. I followed strategies. I did what I was told. And yes, I did sell to a few stores. Some were beautiful partnerships. Others weren’t. One ended in heartbreak when UPS lost a shipment that included couture gowns, robes, and accessories. The boutique went forward with the shoot anyway—without my pieces.

That was the moment I knew: no one would ever protect my work like I do.

There was another bride too—she got a bespoke gown at a fraction of its worth, sold through a retailer. What began in joy turned into stress. And I thought, if she had come to me directly, the whole process would’ve been sacred.

So I stepped away. Not from bridal. But from that version of it.

I’m not trying to get picked anymore. I’m not submitting myself for approval.

I’m choosing intentionality. I’m choosing protection. I’m choosing to honor the work God has given me to do—on my terms.

And now, with clear eyes and a full heart, I’m designing something extraordinary for April 2026. My NYBFW debut will mark over 20 years of design and nearly two decades of creating wedding gowns.

This collection won’t be diluted to fit store margins. It won’t chase followers.

It will just be beautiful.

Because I am an artist. And while painters paint,

I stitch soul into fabric.

I create for the bride who believes that her gown should carry meaning.

That it should last.

That it should whisper her story for generations to come.

And my Darling, no mass-market bridal rack will ever hold that.

With Grace and Grit,

Dani Simone, The Dressmaker

PS. I am loving the idea of leaving you with deep and reflective questions, like the ones that helped me in my journey so here are some for yours:

Have you ever realized a dream you were chasing wasn’t truly yours?

What does success look like to you—not the world, not the industry, but you?

Can you think of a time when walking away from the wrong path led you straight to your purpose?