Why being a mother of the bride is a wardrobe minefield

I'm the decisive type. Show me two sets of nearly identical straight black pants and I'll always know which pair to wear.

Now, as mother-of-the-bride, it's not so easy. Here we are, Wedding Day minus six months, and I am the only person in the wedding party who really has nothing to wear.

Believe me, I've tried. I've browsed in shops, I've browsed online, I've wandered into fabric shops and felt all the velvety, silky, stretchy, fabrics. But nothing.

So, bride's glorious dress bought and hanging in a secret cupboard. Bridesmaids' dresses, all three of them, at their various homes. All the men! Suits. Ties. Even tiny buttonholes ordered. The flowers. The food. The wedding cake. Done. Done. Done.

You could say this is the most organised wedding in history. Except for me. I am a fashion failure. A former friend tells me this is my punishment for never ever having been interested in clothes. You reap what you never sewed (dressmaker's joke there, people).

So, what is it that I want that is so hard to find? I revisited my own wedding dress to find out. It was deep rose pink silk, scooped neckline, flowing leaves because I clearly thought I was Guinevere. But I loved that dress and felt like my real self all day. The only slight disruption was a very elderly relative, responding to the colour by announcing: "What a shame she didn't wear white."

That's one colour I certainly won't be wearing on the big day. White is completely off the swatch as anyone who observed the furore over The Dress. Remember that dress that some of you saw as white and gold but was actually black and blue? That whole conversation happened because Cecilia Bleasdale (mother-of-the bride) emailed her daughter Grace (bride-to-be) with a photo. And I totally don't want the whole universe to be engaged with my frock choice.

But as two US academics Jennifer Slack and Stefka Hristova point out, the colour of the dress mattered in the family dispute because in Western culture in the context of the wedding ceremony white is reserved exclusively for the bride. The rest of us definitely don't wear it. And, according to a local busybody, we don't wear black either. She also forbade me from "competing with" my daughter. Having seen my daughter in her wedding dress, that would not be possible. She is always beautiful. Also 10 centimetres taller than me so will never forgive her for that.

My goodness, everyone has a point of view. Apparently I should be regal. Plain. Not attention-seeking. Not white. Not black. Not frilly. Not too girly (does this person even know me?). Not shiny (bad for the photos). Not patterned (makes me look even shorter). Not stripes. And I have some rules of my own. Not navy because Mum always called that Menopause Blue.

Yet not one single person has mentioned my comfort. I can guarantee right now that I will be over-excited, over-heated (yep, menopausal, what of it) and over-enthusiastic. And on my feet all freaking day. So it was very exciting when a newish mate mentioned, quietly, to me that she'd heard I was struggling to find something to wear.

(And let me tell you, I stood outside the window of my favourite clothes shop in Surry Hills and was too frightened to go inside in case I got bossed into something I didn't want. Believe me, it's happened.)

So Christine has OK'd my choice of colours. Purple, orange, red. Not all at once, although I'm tempted. When she suggested a gored bottom, I wondered whether that was penance for all my bad behaviour, but turns out that a gored bottom is actually a "skirt that fits at the waist, skims the hips, slightly narrows to the knees then swings out again for balance around the calves". Which sounds quite glamorous! And possible. Also, she's suggested layers, low neckline and flowing coat. Yes to layers. Especially useful for those of us who don't know when the next hot flush is around the corner.

I'm also thrilled to discover that I'm not the only mother-of-the-bride-to-be who is having wardrobe dysfunction. One Lismore woman who is getting married next month tells me her mother has three outfits ready to go (although she's already worn the hot pink to the hens' night so that's probably out. I'm guessing that's another rule. You can't wear the same thing twice to any of the festivities).

Three dresses ready to go. I am both jealous and covered with admiration. And not much else.