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

Hello, My Darling,

In my third entry, I shared what it was like attending New York Bridal Fashion Week this past April—not as a designer presenting my own collection, as I’ve done before, but simply as a guest. Now, as I quietly work on my upcoming NYBFW collection and debut in April 2026, I feel it’s time to open my heart about something that has quietly shifted everything: my decision to no longer work with stores.

For most of my life, I believed that my gowns belonged in stores. As a little girl, I imagined it. I even worked at a bridal salon before college, while preparing to study fashion design. That job is still etched in my memory, even though it’s been 25 years. I was a runner—tasked with stocking the fitting rooms, pulling gowns, accessories, and underpinnings to help the consultants dress their brides. I’d return the untouched gowns to their places, again and again. I lugged heavy wedding dresses from storage to sales floor, from rack to rack. And when the boutique was quiet, I would study each gown carefully, deciding which ones I loved most. The princess ball gowns—with corseted bodices and clouds of tulle—always won my heart. Some were so voluminous they could stand on their own. I adored them. I still do.

For years, I dreamed of bridal stores. I envisioned opening my own flagship locations, selling in luxury boutiques around the world. But looking back, I’m not sure how much of that dream was truly mine—and how much was shaped by the industry’s voice, whispering what “success” ought to look like.

In the fashion world, success is so often defined by others: placement in Vogue, features in Brides, appearances at New York and global fashion weeks. And of course, one of the ultimate status symbols—selling to stores. Selling to celebrities. Selling in high volume.

So, I followed the path.

In October 2022, I showed my gowns at NYBFW through an independent platform called Horizon Bridal. I showed again at Chicago Bridal Market—America’s largest bridal trade show—in March 2024. I even considered doing Chicago again. Barcelona too. I researched show after show. Each morning during market week, I dressed with excitement, full of hope. I stepped onto those showroom floors ready to meet shop owners. But most would pass by without a word—some pausing for photos, few stopping to speak.

I did have a handful of appointments. But my prices weren’t aligned with what they were seeking. So, I turned my focus to creating content with my model—who had flown in from Florida just for me.

The show wasn’t a total loss. I had follow-up with 18 stores. Still, part of me knew: this wasn’t where I belonged. The stores wanted low price points. They wanted to test small orders. They were there to support brands they already carried—not to discover something entirely different.

As I walked the aisles of bridal market, I started to see it clearly: my dresses were too unique. Too different. They didn’t fit the mold of what was expected or easily marketable to the average bride—one seeking budget-friendly options and popular silhouettes that could sell in volume. I could have let that discourage me. For a moment, I did. It’s easy to wonder if maybe you’re not good enough, if you just don’t “have it.”

But I had to look in the mirror and ask myself: Do I really want this? Do I even want a store?

And the truth rose quietly, like breath after silence.

What I want is to honor my creativity without compromise. I want to design freely—unfettered by quotas or margins or what’s trending on social media. I want to create from that sacred place in my soul where art is born. Because I am not here to chase virality. I am here to make beauty.

In July 2024, I was one of the premier designers for Springfield Fashion Week. Two reporters visited my New England atelier. One photographed my gowns and my space. The other asked about trends—what brides were wanting, what I was seeing. I answered with certainty:

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

She cares about timelessness. She cares about elegance.

She wants to look breathtaking fifty years from now.

I shared that my influences remain vintage—1930s to early 1960s, with a deep love for Edwardian and Victorian silhouettes as well. That interview affirmed what I already knew in my spirit: I had been trying to play in an arena never meant for me.

I had been trying to follow the rules—rules written by people who weren’t dreaming the way I dream. So I stepped back. I silenced the noise. I left social media. I reached out to wedding professionals I truly respected—those in the UK and US who embody the refinement and romance I adore. I filled sketchbooks. I studied couture construction. I gathered references like wildflowers—free and full of soul.

And in the quiet, I realized something liberating:

Most stores—whether in the U.S. or abroad—would never be the right fit for me.

Because their model is built on purchasing low and selling high.

Because their focus is on sales volume—not on art.

Because my gowns are not meant to be mass-marketed.

Over the years, I’ve taken course after course on selling to stores. I did everything they said. But in the end, I lost myself in the process. I let someone else’s rubric define me. And in doing so, I nearly abandoned the path God carved for me.

I even had a few store partnerships—some fruitful, some disheartening. One ended in disaster: UPS lost my shipment of two couture gowns, robes, and pins en route to a boutique’s photo shoot. The store went on with the shoot anyway—without my dresses. That was the moment I knew. No one would ever protect my work like I do. I also made a bespoke gown for a bride, sold at a fraction of its worth. What began joyfully became burdensome, and I realized:

If she had come directly to me, the process would have been sacred.

So I stepped away.

Not from bridal.

But from the model that never fit.

I no longer seek store placement. I no longer aspire to be “picked.”

Because my magic is in maintaining the integrity of what I create—how it’s sold, how it’s shared, how it’s protected. It’s better for me. It’s better for my brides.

And most importantly, I’ve let go of caring what others think I should be doing. Bridal shops are not my benchmark. I’ve finally embraced the whisperings I’ve had all along—those wild ideas that didn’t fit neatly into the retail world. Ideas like designing collections that tell love stories.

And now I’m ready to share them.

My New York Bridal Fashion Week debut in April 2026 will be the culmination of over 20 years as a professional fashion designer, and nearly 20 years designing bespoke wedding gowns.

This collection will not be shrunk to fit someone else’s margins. It will not bow to trend reports. It will not chase virality.

It will simply be beautiful.

Because I am an artist. And while a painter paints,

I sew life into gowns for women who believe in the power of art—

Affluent brides who value story, beauty, and soul.

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

Handwritten from my heart to yours—let us stitch a story of beauty and becoming. Subscribe to read what unfolds.

With Love,

Dani Simone