A week before the wedding, I go for my tux fitting. After careful thought, I've decided to buy,
not rent. Whether to rent or buy you wedding tux is a personal decision every groom must make.
My verdict was reached when the salesman told me if I wore the tuxedo even twice, it would be more
cost-conscious to buy the tux, rather than rent one multiple times. I'm not much of a tux man now,
but Jane's always dragging me to her high-power, high-tech glitterati, and I have a feeling the whole
sport coat and jean thing isn't going to fly once we're married.
So I spring for the tux, and as a result have been to about thirty fittings a week for about three
months. Nevertheless I go through the obligatory motions, stepping into the dressing room, expecting
to feel the familiar sense of deja vus. I step into the pants, begin buttoning the shirt, and... wait
a minute, something is wrong! The button won't close, won't budge, what the #@%! I looked down and
noticed an unfamiliar bulge in my belly that I swear hadn't been there a month, or even a week ago.
Looking back I considered what I had eaten that week: Gordito's Tacos with the guys, Jane's homemade
lasagna, ice cream pie with the in-laws, midnight snack Eskimo Pie to ward off wedding stress...
"My gosh," I realized in horror. "I am the victim of wedding weight." Wedding weight, much like
the freshmen fifteen is a horrible affliction that occurs at an already stressful point in your life.
As brides scurry off to the gym to look buff and sculpted for the big day, grooms are left with many
stressful errands along with wedding fears and concerns they can't talk about to anyone. They figure
they have found The One, so the apathetically consume whatever food is in sight to alleviate their stress.
The result is wedding weight, and I was staring mine in the unforgiving dressing room mirror as I
again tried to force the stupid, stubborn button into place. Of course the button popped off and rolled
onto the floor with an accusatory ping! The salesman who had sold me the suit came to check on me.
"Is everything all right sir?" he asked.
"Oh yes, everything's fine," I replied hastily, trying to button the jacket over the offensive hole.
It was no use. I looked like a J. Lo video and there was no way I was walking down the aisle in a
peek-a-boo tux shirt. What was I going to do?
"Why don't you step outside and show me how it looks?" the salesman said.
"Aah, sure," I said, again attempting to button my suit over the humiliating gap.
"Oh, my" said the salesman when I emerged with a good half inch of hairy gut hanging out Homer
Simpson style over my tux jacket. "Are we missing a button? We can always sew it back on."
I didn't have the heart to tell him if we sewed the button back on, the same problem would
probably occur again. I had already paid for the shirt and tried it on multiple times. The arms
were stretched out and it reeked off Aqua Di Gio, the fancy cologne Jane had bought me for Christmas.
There was no way I could exchange it for a larger size. What could I do? My wedding was a week away.
There was no time for a Benicio Del Toro diet. I was screwed.
Luckily the salesman came up with a solution. Two hours later, after multiple twists and tucks,
I was standing in the three way mirror, proudly admiring my wedding attire, now complete with an
The salesman assured me that groom's vests are in fact the height of fashion, and that no I did not
look like Willy Wonka, and yes the vest hid the wedding weight perfectly. For any groom out there
who finds himself the unexpected victim of wedding weight gain, a grooms vest is a handy solution.
For a uniform look, suggest your groomsmen wear them as well.
My groom's vest is light green (clover actually, according to the salesman) and actually looks
pretty snappy with the charcoal gray tux, if I do say so myself. Best of all, my little weight gain
will be carefully concealed, to be worked off on the honeymoon, naturally. And the salesman? Now an
honored wedding guest.